Sheriff Smith didn’t answer. He’d taken off his hat and was twirling it slowly, his fingers working their way around the brim.

“So you do,” Bobo said, nodding gently. “Well, I’ve definitely swung the other way. I’m pro–gay marriage, pro-choice, pro-environment, pro-whales and tuna and wolves and every damn thing you can think of.” He put the mended brooch back in the case in front of him and regarded the other man very seriously. “If there’s anything in my life I wish I could erase, that time I spent listening to my grandfather spitting out hate would be what I’d pick.”

The sheriff looked down at his hat as he said, “You know it’s all over the Internet hate groups that you have some fabulous cache of guns and grenades and rocket launchers hidden away somewhere. That you can’t get rid of ’em and you can’t destroy ’em, so you’ve hidden them. And all those hate groups feel that you owe them that cache, because of your grandfather’s martyr status.”

“His legend is bigger than he was,” Bobo said, with a kind of sad anger. “I can’t show you any such treasure cave.” He sighed. “I can’t imagine why they think I’d hold on to such a stockpile.”

Arthur Smith stood. He was not a tall man, but he was a serious man, and his presence was large. “All right, Bobo. You take care. I’m sorry we had to search your place.”

Bobo shrugged, in an unhappy way. “That’s okay. I know you had to do it. Her parents have all her stuff?” Two days ago, two deputies had shown up with a warrant to remove Aubrey’s belongings. Since they’d all been boxed up and in the pawnshop storage closet, that had been quick enough; but they’d had to comb Bobo’s apartment in case he’d forgotten anything.

“Yeah, they’ve filled out the paperwork. There wasn’t anything you wanted?”

“Nah. I’ve got pictures and memories, and none of her stuff ever belonged to me in any sense. She didn’t bring any furniture or appliances, other than the toaster and the air filter and her grandmother’s sewing machine. I made sure that went with the other stuff.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks. Do you know when the funeral will be?”

“Her parents don’t really want you to know, and they don’t want you there. I don’t know any nice way to tell you that.”