“Nothin’ like fresh venison jerky,” said Jefferson between chews. Across the table, Jethro Yoder nodded and glanced at his wife Bonnie.
“I understand y’all was together with Larry, and Coomer, and Chief Ridgway last week, that right?”
“Yes.” These people didn’t say much, but at least they were hospitable.
“And can I ask what you was doing?”
“We had dinner.”
“Did y’all go anyplace when you was done?”
“Here,” said Jethro.
Jefferson wasn’t sure if this man was hiding something, or just soft-spoken by nature. He never offered more information than he was asked for, and trying to learn anything new was a maddening process. His expression was equally unhelpful, an ambiguous blend of piety and irritation.
“Look here,” said Jefferson, rising from his seat, “Molly Ridgway done told me you had something big to show the boys. Now what was it?”
Jethro remained seated, arms crossed solemnly. “A letter.”
“From the ACLU. Seems the Browns weren’t at all done with Lake Derry yet.”