“Lily Campbell. And of course I remember you. You were the middle one with the big eyes. Never thought I’d see any of you girls in this town again.”

Her polite smile froze. She remembered Pecan Valley as everyone being kind, with a lot of “honeys” and “ma’ams” and “bless her hearts” in drawling, liquid voices. Herman’s tone wasn’t harsh, just stiffer than starch.

“I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes,” she said.

“Why sure. Got a mighty busy morning, but I’d always spare the time for a pretty girl, bless your heart, honey.”

There was the old-fashioned Southern flattery she remembered; yet somehow, she felt increasingly uneasy as he motioned her into his office. Office was a nomenclature. The room had waist-high walls, with windows on three sides facing the central, open space. No private conversation was possible here. Herman hitched his belt and then plunked down behind his battle-scarred desk when she took the only spare seat.

She came immediately to the point. “I wonder if you still have the investigation record of the fire when my parents died.”

“Aw, honey. I was afraid you were here for something like that. Sweetheart, it’s foolishness. Your daddy was a good man. When the mill closed, he just lost his way, sank into whatcha call a depression, a serious depression. He adored you girls, you must know that. And your mama. He would never have done anything to hurt you, not deliberately.”

“I believe that, too,” she said. “But I’d still like to see the report from the fire.”

“Well, the investigation report is public. I’m sure you know that. But I think it’s a bad idea for you to go digging there, honey. There’s nothing to gain. Nothing to know. We all knew what happened. Your daddy was desperate. Didn’t know how he was going to support you girls and your mama. There wasn’t a job to be had for quite a while, after the mill closed. What we think-what we all believed at the time-was that he set a fire for the insurance money. Only, he just didn’t know much about accelerants, didn’t know how or when such a fire could get out of hand.” The sheriff leaned back as if relaxed for the first time all day. “We all felt bad. The whole town. And he died trying to save you girls, you know.”