Fiji wasn’t surprised at Lemuel’s being on topic. He’d always had amazing hearing and the equally interesting ability to listen to two conversations at one time. She respected Lemuel, and she wasn’t afraid of him . . . much. Once, when Olivia’s return from one of her mysterious trips had been delayed, Fiji had offered Lemuel some blood. She’d been glad when he’d taken some energy instead, standing silently in her kitchen holding her hand for five minutes that felt like an eternity. Afterward, he’d thanked her briskly and then left with as much haste as if they’d done something much more intimate and embarrassing.

Olivia had come over to thank her, perhaps a bit cautiously, a bit warily, when she’d returned. But after a sharp look at Fiji’s face, she’d given her a hug, and they’d been almost-friends ever since.

Now Olivia said, “Not only was the gun from here, Bobo took it out to shoot targets a couple of times.”

Fiji’s heart sank at this piece of information. Surely the sheriff would consider that damning evidence. “I can think of twenty explanations for the gun being out there,” she said, though that wasn’t literally true. Two or three, maybe, and none of those particularly convincing.

“Sure, so can I. I’m leaving on a short trip tomorrow, but I’ll be back soon, and we’ll talk about how to get this done.” Olivia nodded to them both. “I’ll be thinking on the plane.”

“Where you going this time?” Fiji asked. She didn’t know if she’d like to travel as much as Olivia did, but it would be nice to find out someday.

“San Francisco,” Olivia said, and from the corner of her eye, Fiji saw Lemuel’s head jerk. Obviously, this was new information to him. He began to speak but snapped his pale lips shut on his comment.

Olivia looked at him directly. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry. Quick in and out.”

What the hell is this about? Fiji asked herself.

“All right.” There was no expression on Lemuel’s face whatsoever.

“I’ll be fine,” Olivia repeated.

Lemuel nodded reluctantly, and silence fell. The three sat in an uneasy companionship (Fiji trying to think of a graceful way to leave without being obvious) until a ragged woman came in to pawn a very old gold wedding ring.

The ragged woman reeked. There was no other word for it. Fiji had never smelled anything like the odor that surrounded the woman like a cloud. She held her breath as long as she could, which wasn’t long enough.

Quickly and wordlessly, Lemuel gave the woman forty dollars and took the ring. The ragged woman, whose sticklike figure and huge dark eyes made her look like something out of a cartoon, hurried out into the night, her movements both furtive and jerky.