She’d come into the pawnshop from the door that led onto the landing. Her feet were bare, and the rest of her was swathed in a pair of blue fuzzy pajamas decorated with sheep. “I’d be glad to talk to you right now, Sheriff. Did you want to come down to my place? I’m sure Bobo’s got things to do.”

“That’d be fine.” The sheriff followed her to the door to the stairs. He turned before he went through it. “Oh, Bobo? One more thing you ought to know. Aubrey’s brother, Macon. He’s pretty upset about Aubrey. If you meet him, watch out.”

After the door had closed, Bobo said, “Thanks, Sheriff. ‘Hey, Bobo, there’s this guy who wants to kill you because he thinks you killed his sister. So you watch your step, now!’”

Bobo got off the stool. The sheriff had left the velvet chair facing the counter, so Bobo turned it to face the street door, its proper position. He retrieved a Craig Johnson novel from a nearby piecrust table and settled down to read, the Coca-Cola on a coaster on the table beside him. Somehow, his conversation with Arthur Smith had cleared his mind. He was officially not a suspect. He was not going to be arrested for murder. On the other hand, the publicity about Aubrey’s death had resurrected all the gossip about his grandfather, and Aubrey’s family hated him, including Aubrey’s unknown brother.

“Two steps forward, one step back,” Bobo muttered out loud. He glanced up just as a car paused at the stoplight outside, and he smiled as he remembered Fiji dashing to his rescue. It would be nice to go to dinner with her tonight, resume his normal life.

Not his old normal in which the woman he loved had left him because he’d done something awful that he couldn’t fathom, the old normal in which he waited to hear from her every day.

It would be the new normal; the world in which Aubrey had never loved him, had told him many lies, and had vanished through violence.

21

The next night, at the diner, the Rev preached after his dinner. He finished his food, patted his lips with his paper napkin, and stood up, turning to face the round table.

In a surprisingly deep, sonorous voice, he began to give them the Word as he interpreted it. Bobo put down his fork and folded his arms across his chest, prepared to listen. Olivia looked down at her plate regretfully and followed suit. On her left, Manfred was just beginning to cut his meat, but Olivia laid a hand on his arm. “Nope,” she whispered, not turning her gaze away from the Rev. “Respect.”