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redheaded man in his late sixties with bony shoulders
the width of an axe handle looked up from a desk when I
entered. His hands were red, his neck was red, his face was
red, and even the freckles on his face were red. I suppressed
a smile when the random thought darted through my mind
that if anyone deserved the nickname Red, it was he.
    In a guttural voice, he said. "Yes, sir?"
    "Sheriff Perry?"
    He nodded. "Yeah"
    I introduced myself and pulled out the snapshot of Justin
Chester. I quickly explained about the inheritance. "I heard
he might be around here"
    Perry studied the photo, his frowning face a field of
wrinkles, then handed it back to me. "I haven't seen any
long-haired hippies like him around. Of course, every day
more and more city folk are moving in. He might be one of
them"
    I shrugged. "Might be. You know, one guy over in Dallas
told me that Chester was interested in UFOs and that one
was supposed to have landed around here. He said the pilot
was buried in your cemetery"
    Perry stared at me a moment; then a wry grin creased his
craggy face. "Hoax. Over a hundred years ago Elysian Hills
was a big town, but the post office was moved to Reuben,
and we started losing population. The mayor and a couple
other of the town fathers made up the story."
    Back on the highway, I pulled in at the first convenience
store on my side of the highway, Hooker's.

    Inside, I stopped in front of the checkout counter that sat
in the middle of the store. Several newspapers with the
banner The Rueben Journal were stacked next to the cash
register. On one side of the store were grocery items and,
on the other, a lunch counter and several tables, around two
of which were seated several old-timers sipping coffee, perusing the Journal, and idly chatting.
    It brought back memories of my youth in Church Point before my old man ran out on us. When it came to farm work,
he left it all to his pa, my grandpere, Moise Boudreaux.
Whenever Mom or PawPaw wanted John Roney, they could
find him at the pool hall, playing forty-two or dominos.
    The old-timers shot me a glance, then turned back to
their discussion.
    A matronly woman in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt
nodded from behind the lunch counter. She wore no lipstick
or nail polish. Liver spots covered her hands. Her grayflecked hair was pulled back into a ponytail bound with a
red band bearing the Confederate stars. "Be right with you,
mister."
    Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she hurried over. With a
wide grin on her plump face, she bubbled, "Howdy, stranger.
Welcome to Hooker's. I'm Mabel Hooker. What can I do for
you?"
    Handing her the snapshot of Justin Chester, I said, "Would
you happen to recognize this gentleman, Mabel?"
    Her smile faded. Her brow knit as she tentatively took
the picture. She studied the photo. "I don't know"
    "He was fifteen years younger there. Could have changed
his whole look" I paused, then added, "And I'm not the law.
His father passed away, and the family wants me to find him"

    She studied it again, then ambled over to the crowded
tables and handed around the photo. A roar of laughter
erupted from the tables, a roar that puzzled me.
    With the smile back on her face, she returned. "Finas over
there says that, without the long hair, this fellow favors the
janitor down at the school" She handed me the picture. "I
guess he does business down the road at Fuqua's. I don't
know him. Finas over there can tell you more about him."
    All the old-timers were watching me as I approached. I
nodded. "Good morning, gents. Which one of you is Finas?"
I searched their faces.
    A weathered old man in khakis and a blue jean jacket
grunted. "That's me" He pointed to the picture in my hand.
"You must be from the loony bin"

     

he others roared with laughter again.
    I grinned sheepishly. "Why? Should I be?"
    A second old farmer spoke up. "We reckoned you was, if
you be looking for Chester there"
    The third one joined in. "Maybe he