"That's right," Geneva told her.
The woman's face suggested that she didn't approve of the girl spending time in the company of a man three times her age, even if he was a policeman.
"Roland Bell, ma'am." He showed his ID.
"Lilly said there was something about the police," she said uneasily. Bell continued to smile and said nothing more. The woman repeated, "Well, she's in the living room."
Geneva's great-aunt, a frail, elderly woman in a pink dress, was staring at the television through large, thick glasses. She looked over at the girl and her face broke into a smile. "Geneva, darling. How are you? And who's this?"
"Roland Bell, ma'am. Pleased to meet you."
"I'm Lilly Hall. You're the one interested in Charles?"
"That's right."
"I wish I knew more. I told Geneva everything I know 'bout him. Got hisself that farm, then got arrested. That was all I heard. Didn't even know if he went to jail or not."
"Looks like he did, Auntie. We don't know what happened after that. That's what we want to find out."
On the stained floral wallpaper behind her were three photographs: Martin Luther King, Jr., John F. Kennedy and the famous picture of Jackie Kennedy in mourning with young John John and Caroline beside her.
"There's the boxes right there." The woman nodded toward three large cartons of papers and dusty books and wooden and plastic objects. They sat in front of a coffee table whose leg had been broken and duct-taped together. Geneva stooped and looked through the largest box.
Lilly watched her. After a moment the woman said, "I feel him sometime."
"You . . .?" Bell asked.
"Ou' kin, Charles. I feel him. Like the other haints."
Haint . . . Bell knew the word from North Carolina. An old black term for ghost.
"He restless, I'm feeling," the great-aunt said.
"I don't know about that," her grandniece said with a smile.
No, Bell thought, Geneva hardly seemed like the sort who'd believe in ghosts or anything supernatural. The detective, though, wasn't so sure. He said, "Well, maybe what we're doing here'll bring him some rest."
"You know," the woman said, pushing her thick glasses higher on her nose, "you that interested in Charles, there some other relations of ou's round the country. You 'member yo' father's cousin in Madison? And his wife, Ruby? I could call him an' ask. Or Genna-Louise in Memphis. Or I would, only I don't have no phone of my own." A glance at the old Princess model sitting on a TV table near the kitchen, her grim expression evidence of past disputes with the woman she was staying with. The great-aunt added, "And phone cards, they be so expensive."
"We could call, Auntie."
"Oh, I wouldn't mind talking to some of 'em. Been a while. Miss having family around."
Bell dug into his jeans pocket. "Ma'am, since this is something Geneva and I're working on together, let me get you a phone card."
"No." This was from Geneva. "I'll do it."
"You don't--"
"I've got it," she said firmly, and Bell put the money away. She gave the woman a twenty.
The great-aunt looked reverently at the bill, said, "I'ma get me that card and call today."
Geneva said, "If you find out anything, call us again at that number you called before."
"Why's the police all interested in Charles? Man musta died a hundred years ago, at least."
Geneva caught Bell's eye and shook her head; the woman hadn't heard that Geneva was in danger, and the niece wanted to keep it that way. Through her Coke-bottle lenses the woman didn't catch the look. Geneva said, "They're helping me prove he didn't commit that crime he was accused of."