I nodded.
'For my wit and charm,' I said.
'So I figure you must be pretty good,' The Preacher said.
'There's that,' I said.
'I'm pretty good, myself.'
'How nice for you,' I said.
'And I got forty men with me.'
'Even nicer,' I said.
'So you're clear on it.'
'So who killed Steve Buckman?' I said.
The Preacher croaked an audible version of his smile. It was like hearing a shark laugh.
'You keep after it,' The Preacher said.
'Un-huh.'
'Would you believe me if I told you it was nobody from the Dell?'
'Not so much that I'd declare it solved and go home,' I said.
'I'll tell you anyway.'
'Did you threaten him?'
'I authorized it,' The Preacher said.
'Because?'
'Because he wouldn't abide by the rules.'
'Your rules?'
The Preacher nodded.
'Dell rules,' he said. 'You can look out there, and you can see that it ain't a huge fuck of a lot. But it's enough, and it belongs to us.'
'Like a carcass belongs to vultures?' I said.
The Preacher smiled without showing any teeth. They were probably pointed.
'Except that it ain't dead,' he said.
'And Buckman?'
'We charged him rent for his business. He refused to pay it. He was told there would be a penalty.'
'That bring him around?' I said.
'No.'
'So?'
'So somebody shot him,' The Preacher said.
'Not you.'
'Not none of us. We was going to stomp his sorry ass. But we'd rather have him alive and earning so he could pay his rent.'
'How about his widow?' I said. 'I understand she runs the business now.'
'We'll get to her,' The Preacher said. 'We thought we'd let the murder thing sort of burn out, 'fore we hit on her.'
'Grieving widow,' I said.
'Sure,' The Preacher said.
'Sheriff's detectives,' I said.
'Sure.'
'So that's the local industry here in the Dell?' I said.
'Living off the town?'
'We was here first,' The Preacher said.
'We was?'
'Been people in the Dell since the Mexican War.'
'Your ancestors?' I said.
'What you might call spir-it-u-al ancestors,' The Preacher said. 'Been people like us living here hundred and sixty years.'
'Supporting themselves off the town,' I said.
