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"I got me a daughter — Linette's her name—and I'se afraid Linette's one'a them people who were just born bad..."
    Kind of an odd thing to say about your daughter, Westmore mused.
    "Noot were a wonderful man, and I'se loved him so much. Married over twennie years, we was. He was everything ta me... But then it was Linette who got herself all inta this stuff they call meth. Lotta folks gettin' inta that. Used ta be it were the moonshine that turn folks lives inside-out, but fer the younger ones? It's the meth."
    "It's stuff like that that's ruining the whole country, I'm afraid."
    She nodded blankly. "And it were Linette, mine'n Noot's flesh'n blood, who got Noot 'dicted to it too. Then, see, all of a sudden-like, they start ta needin' money to buy it. And the meth? It's that damn stuff made my own husband up'n fall in love with my daughter..."
    Holy SHIT! This is getting real heavy, real fast!
    "It's the way it make 'em feel Westmore, that make 'em turn bad. So, Noot, he start sellin' stuff 'round the house, solt a lot'a the gold things Grandpop left, and jewels been in my family fer ages, and Linette, it were far worse things she do fer the money. Thing's I'd be ashamed ta tell ya..."
    Westmore didn't have to wonder. He struggled for some consoling words but all he managed was, "Easter, don't dredge up things that upset you."
    There, again, she smiled oh-so-gently. "Aw, I ain't upset. Noot, like I tolt ya, he's dead now 'cos of her, but like Grandpop say, death is just the spirit movin' on ta the next place it's s'posed ta be..."
    "Of course," Westmore blabbered.
    "Ever mornin' of ever day I wake up, I'd say ta Noot, 'You are my everything,' and I'd have done anything for him. Anything. And it were true, and he knowed that. And then..." The long pause was worse than if she'd sobbed. "I lost it all."
    This was tragic. Westmore barely knew her but he couldn't help feeling for her. However, even after all she'd let out, she still had that tiny smile.
    It was the worst part of all: the smile was all she had now to counter her life-upheaving loss.
    She was looking at him; not out of self-pity but something as simple as curiosity. "You ever love someone that much, Westmore? So much ya'd do anything fer 'em?"
    Westmore felt staggered; he could scarcely answer, and with this he found that he envied her even more. He answered rigidly, and in a tone that he hoped sounded only half-serious: "I'm afraid the avenues of love are something I've never found room for in my life..."
    "Aw. That's too bad. 'cos when it's real, like me'n Noot —it's the most wonderful thing." Her voice lowered. "Guess I got as 'dicted to my love fer him as he got ta that meth...and Linette..."
    Westmore put the car in gear, desperate for a subject-change. "Well, now that your prayer's recorded, you can show me the Crafter house, then I'll drive you home." He pulled out of the lot, then followed some preliminary instructions from Easter, and then they were off.
    The one thing he would never notice was this: the tiny carcass of the blue-bottle fly was no longer on the dash. Instead, the insect was walking around now on one of the rear windows.

    ***

    Only minutes had lapsed before they were out of Pulaski and on some main semi-rural road. Pastures and farmland passed by as the late-afternoon sun threatened to bring on early evening. "Now just take this next turn here," she said, "onto the Tick Neck Road — "
    Westmore laughed. "Now that's a name for a road, Easter."
    She seemed not to hear him, instead relaxing back into the rental's plush seat. That gentle smile had never left her face. She seemed to be reflecting inner thoughts, and Westmore could only presume they were nice thoughts in spite of what she'd implied earlier. Incest, he thought. Was it a cliche, or something more?
    Just another tainted facet of humanity. Not just rednecks, not just backwoods people and trailer parks. It's everywhere —the pursuit of the forbidden. Addiction, lust, lies,