Bobo had plenty to think about when he was alone once more. He reviewed his memory of Price Eggleston’s visit to the shop. In hindsight, Bobo became convinced that the man had wanted a look at him. He was sure that Eggleston had deliberately tried to provoke a discussion about firearms, perhaps to see if Bobo actually liked guns, was adept in their care and maintenance.

Or maybe, to have a legitimate reason to meet Bobo, Eggleston had grabbed the nearest object someone might be likely to take to a pawnshop.

Bobo had to abandon this rearview reassessment when the bell over the door rang. An old, old woman came in. She moved oddly, and something about her made the hairs on Bobo’s arms tingle, and not in a pleasant way. This was surely one of Lemuel’s customers. She sidled through the shelves and the furniture as if she wasn’t able to walk in a straight line, and her stringy long hair, which was as many shades of gray as a cloudy sky, slid around her face.

“Are you the current proprietor of this establishment?” she asked, rolling the words around in her mouth as if she were pleased to be saying them, glad to exhibit a skill she didn’t often exercise.

“I am,” Bobo said. Perhaps Olivia might come up? She knew more about the night customers than Bobo did. But then he recalled he’d seen her getting into her car from his apartment window, right after he’d gotten out of bed, and he realized she’d been leaving for the airport.

Well . . . okay. He could handle one old woman, even if she did give him the creeps. Wasn’t he tired of being rescued all the time? No, he decided as she grew closer and he could see her more clearly. No, I’m not. I’d love it if someone else came in right now. Fiji, Manfred, Chuy, Connor, anybody.

“I’m sure you are wondering who I am and why I’ve come to patronize your store,” she crooned.

“Yes,” he said. That was all he could manage.

“I mean you no harm,” she said unconvincingly. “I understand that you are a friend of Lemuel’s and of Emilio’s.”

Emilio. Bobo was stumped for a second. “The Rev,” he said. “The Reverend Sheehan.”

“Yes, of course.” She was right up in his face by that time, and he could see a lot of detail. The view was not encouraging. The lines in her cheeks were deep enough to look etched, and she smelled like dirt and rain. “I could not wait until tonight to pick up the brooch Lemuel repaired for me.”