Anna Pigeon 08 Deep South by Nevada Barr

By Nevada Barr

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W hen she finally found her way onto the Trace, the sun was rising and, with it, her spirits. The vague picture she'd formed in her mind of a bleak and dusty place, over farmed by sharecroppers, dotted with shacks and broken-down vehicles, was shattered in a rainbow brilliance of flowers. "Wake up, Taco," she said, nudging the beast with her knee. "Hang your head out the window or something useful. " The Natchez Trace Parkway, a two-lane road slated, when finished, to run from Nashville, Tennessee, to Natchez, Mississippi, had been the brainchild of the Ladies' Garden Clubs in the south.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she wandered into the dining area, the short leg of the L-shaped living room. On the wall near the windows overlooking the backyard were two shockingly green lizards, each about four inches long. For a moment she watched them doing push-ups as they gauged the distance between themselves and this intruder. "If you eat spiders, I'll ask Piedmont to let you live," she told them. Saying the eat's name reminded her of her responsibilities. Having rescued the orange tiger cat from the Rambler, she establisbed him, a litter box, food and water in one of the back bedrooms, opened the door of his carrier and shut the door to the hall to let him acclimatize to one small piece of real estate at a time.

Mine? Oh, I don't know " "Aw, come on, help a Yankee girl out," she cajoled. She could see the gears grinding behind his high, unlined brow. "The best way's you find a dead chicken. They like chicken. " "You do that? " Thigpen nodded. "Now, that I'd like to see," Anna said honestly. Adding a few banalities lest he realize she'd been leading him down the garden path, she took her leave. Time would tell whether or not Randy Thigpen was going to be a supervisor's nightmare. He clearly wasn't a dream come true.

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