“The point of this story is that after the stroke, supremacist groups began to circulate the rumor that Grandfather had a huge secret cache of all kinds of wonderful weapons. And the rumor turned into a legend, which then became accepted as fact. I’ve visited some of the websites, from organizations like Men of Liberty to After the Apocalypse, and it’s just horrible, the way the story gathered bulk and momentum on its way downhill.”

“So why do they—the nutcases—think you know about the location of this fabulous treasure trove of weapons? I suppose this was why Aubrey was here?”

Bobo looked as though he’d swallowed something bitter. “Since it was my dad who blew the whistle on his father, the nutcases cast him as the villain. They figure my grandfather would have been too smart to tell his evil son where the arms were stowed, they say. Instead, since I was with Grandfather the evening everything fell apart, obviously I was the chosen successor. So I must know where the cache of guns is. Only now it’s not just guns, it’s rocket launchers, grenades, mines . . . whatever can kill lots of people at once, that’s what I’m concealing. That’s the story.”

“And why would you be concealing all of these weapons of destruction? Rather than putting them to good use against minorities?”

“That’s a good question. I’m not sure I know why I’m doing that.” Bobo smiled wryly.

“Is this the first time? I mean, with Aubrey . . . is this the first time you’ve been approached?” She didn’t know how else to put it.

“No. There were some guys in the pawnshop a few days ago.”

“So what happened?”

Bobo looked at her, obviously torn.

She came very close to leaning over to put her hand on his, but in the end she said, “I’ll keep it to my grave.”

Bobo said, “Lemuel and Olivia happened.”

Fiji’s mouth opened to ask a question, but then the implication had had time to sink in and explain itself. “Good for them,” she said faintly. Mr. Snuggly butted her leg, and she reached down to scratch his head. The cat’s golden eyes looked up at her. If cats had expressions, Mr. Snuggly’s would be saying, “Buck up! Hang tough!”

She smiled down at the cat. “I’m glad they were there for you,” she said.

He smiled, too, but his was not nearly as certain. “I was ready to take a beating,” he admitted. “But I was mighty relieved I didn’t have to.”

“Olivia recognized the gun.”