By six o’clock the Buick was humming down the two-lane highway toward Deer Park.

The new coolant from the truck stop was holding the needle right in the middle of the gauge.

I kept both hands locked on the wheel at ten and two, watching the pines flash by in the gray evening shadows.

Clara had no cause to lie to a stranger over a plate of diner sausage, I suppose.

Sarah Rountree was just the baby of some local high school girl in Tyler, raised by decent people who tied a pink bow on their mailbox.

Mama had never driven to Smith County in her life, and she surely hadn’t given away a baby that died in the delivery room in Deer Park.