As usual, by the time Bobo went downstairs, Lemuel had been asleep in his apartment for over an hour. Bobo reopened the shop, turned on the lights, and sat down to read the customer register that Lemuel insisted they keep, though everything was entered on the computer as it ought to be. Lemuel had had two customers during the later part of the night, but that wasn’t what Bobo was checking for.

Yes, Price Eggleston had been in the store a few weeks ago. Bobo had a good memory (one better than he wanted, actually), and he recalled the man clearly once he saw his register. Eggleston had come in with an antique gun he’d wanted to pawn. The whole time he was in the shop, Eggleston had looked around constantly, as if he expected to see someone in the corners. Then he’d haggled over the money he could get for the weapon, but with a suspicious lack of fire. The gun was worth something, though it was no fine family heirloom. In fact, it needed some work to be usable. Eggleston had suggested Bobo restore the gun.

“I don’t know anything about working on guns,” Bobo had replied, surprised. “You’ll have to get someone else to do the work. You’d get a lot more money for it if you have it cleaned up and in working order.”

Eggleston had looked at him sharply and with some contempt. “All right, then,” he’d said, clearly angry, and he’d accepted the low price Bobo had offered. The more Bobo thought of the conversation, the more clearly he could recall Eggleston. The man had been tall and tan, his face broad across the cheeks and narrow at the chin. Cowboy boots, jeans, western shirt. He’d been wearing a ball cap, not a western hat.

Bobo felt as though he should tell someone about Eggleston’s visit, but he couldn’t think why, when he got right down to it. Since he was alone in the shop, he sat at the computer and Googled “Price Eggleston.”

After five minutes of reading, Bobo was pretty happy that the man’s “hunting lodge” had burned down. He was only theoretically sorry that Eggleston hadn’t burned along with it.

A couple came in to see if there were any old wedding rings that might work for them, and for half an hour Bobo was busy taking out the cases of rings (some of them had been sitting in the worn velvet slots for longer than he’d been alive) and showing them to the middle-aged couple, who seemed charmed by the assortment. They actually bought silver bands, and he entered the sale carefully. He was glad to see them smile at each other as they left the pawnshop.