“Then I’ll tell you why.” She leaned close to his ear, and said, “Money. One way or another, it’s money. Specifically, it’s going to be money that somebody isn’t getting that they think they should get.”

“It’s a theory,” Virgil said.

One of Visser’s breasts gave his right ear a brief massage, but the hair snipping never slowed. “You’re dismissing me. You shouldn’t. This whole town was doomed until we got the Marian apparitions. Not only was the town doomed, all of us residents were, too. Except for a couple of government people and teachers, we were all poor. Or getting that way. Now, all of a sudden, everything has changed. But . . . But . . .” She leaned close again. “Some people have been left out. They’re still poor. They’re still doomed. They hate that.”

He got the ear massage again, as though for emphasis. He said, “That’s an interesting idea. Somebody who’s been left out but still owns a good, accurate rifle.”

“Piffle,” she said. “Everybody in town owns a good, accurate rifle. Roy has a .308 that could knock the testicles off a chickadee at a hundred yards.”

As she said it, the front door banged open and then banged shut again. She shouted, “Isn’t that right, honey?”

Roy walked in. He looked like a Special Forces sergeant, arms like small tree trunks, a neck that went out to his ears, small waist. He was dressed in a gray work shirt and gray slacks with oil splotches.

“Isn’t what right?” He came over to get a kiss and then sat down in a customer chair at the side of the room. The odor of 10W-40 wafted through the room.

“This is Virgil. I told him you had a .308 that could knock the testicles off a chickadee at a hundred yards.”

“Only if it was bendin’ over,” Roy Visser said. He added, “You gotta stop this craziness, Virgil. It’s ruinin’ the town.”

Virgil asked for names of people who’d been left out of the gold rush and who might own a highly accurate .223.

“You know, not many people around here have .223s, because they’re pretty useless. All you can do with them is play army. I understand the Nazis got a couple, and they play army, and they’re left out and poor. I don’t know who else would. You could talk to Glen Andorra about that.”

“Who’s he?”

“Farmer. He’s got some rough land out west of here. He didn’t know what to do with it, and then he came up with the idea of starting a sportsman’s club. You know, rifle range, trap, skeet, sporting clays, pistols, archery. I believe the rifle range goes out to six hundred yards. He might have some ideas.”

“Does he live out there?”