Olivia met up with Manfred on the way through the door. Joe was waiting for them, and Chuy with him, which was no surprise. Rasta was sitting in Chuy’s lap. The Peke often came to meals with his humans, though Madonna had forbidden any feeding from the table or plate. Joe and Chuy had pretended to be shocked she’d think such a thing was possible. Instead of sitting at the big table in the center of the little restaurant, the usual spot for all town residents (and until the hotel had reopened they could all fit around it), the four settled in one of the booths against the west wall, which signaled they had something to talk about.

A teen boy from one of the ranches to the south of Midnight was working as a combination busboy/waiter. He hurried to bring them water and to take their drink orders. Chuy put Rasta down on the floor and pretended he wasn’t curious when Joe said, “What do you all want to talk about?”

Manfred said, “It’s like this. You know about my situation. With the law and with Lewis Goldthorpe.”

Joe and Chuy nodded.

“And you heard what Rachel said at the séance.” They nodded again.

“So Olivia has come up with a plan.”

Joe listened patiently as Manfred explained. Then Olivia told them about her bargain with Suzie, Mamie, and Tommy. Chuy, after he’d grasped the outline of the proposal, sighed and looked down at his cutlery.

“I can’t do it,” Joe said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go with the old people.”

Whatever Olivia had expected, it wasn’t a flat refusal.

“What—why?” she said, shocked.

“Olivia, we can’t be involved in this. Unless there’s a direct threat to us or our town.”

Olivia opened her mouth to protest. Chuy held up his hand.

“We aren’t what we once were. But we still have rules,” Chuy said.

“This is a direct threat,” Olivia argued.

“Not to us,” Joe said.

“Not to Midnight,” Chuy said.

“How is this different from Connor Lovell?” she asked. She did not raise her voice, but her intensity was laserlike.

Manfred inhaled sharply. He had not wanted to ever hear that name again. He knew Olivia had made a misstep.

“Let it go,” he told her. “Olivia, that’s their right.”

“Okay, then,” she said, struggling to regain her composure.

Manfred noticed uneasily that Joe’s eyes, normally a calm, boring brown, were sort of glowy. Chuy’s, too. Rasta had leaped up beside Chuy. He was relieved to see that the dog’s eyes looked absolutely normal. “We’ll make another plan, guys. No problem,” he said, in a brave attempt at a cheerful voice.

There was a lull in the conversation, during which they all took a step back from being upset.