Then she began meeting him on some of the same volunteer committees she was serving on, especially the Cub Scouts and the School Improvement Council. She had come to respect his willingness to work, and his practical approach. He was the sort of man you could count on; sometimes she wished she’d had a big brother like Barney.

She eyed the well-thumbed copy of Modern Mercenary that he placed on the table in front of him and gave him the little box containing the Pinewood Derby car kit.

“Eddie won last year, didn’t he?” she asked. “He made a fast little car.”

“It broke, though, on the last heat. This year he wants to put on a rubber bumper. That kid’s always thinking,” Barney said proudly.

“You know, I’ve never seen one of these magazines before,” she said, sliding a cup of coffee in front of him and picking up the magazine.

“Now, Lucy. I’m not sure you should get involved in this.”

“What do you mean, ‘get involved’? I found Sam Miller’s body. I worked for him. I live in this town. I am involved, and I’m not just going to shut my eyes and pretend I’m not. I can’t let people get killed practically in my backyard. I have a family to raise.”

“That’s what I mean. Your kids need you. This could be dangerous.”

“Don’t you think it’s dangerous living in a place where people get murdered in their own cars? I won’t stand for it,” said Lucy, shaking her head. “Besides, Christmas is two days off and I’m going to be cooped up with my mother and Bill’s folks, and I’ll go crazy if I don’t have something else to think about. Where are the ads?”

“In the back,” Barney said, capitulating.

Lucy leafed through the magazine quickly, noting the ads for weapons and camouflage suits and the action-packed adventure stories complete with lurid illustrations. There was even a comic strip, Mercenary Max. The classified ads were just after the comic.

“You know, this kind of reminds me of Boy’s Life, ” Lucy commented absently.

“Naw. Boy’s Life is for kids. This is for men.”

“Oh.” Lucy smiled to herself. “Here we are, ‘Courageous Captain at your service.’ He sounds more like a stud for hire than a hit man.”

“He probably is. I got a few calls for that kind of service myself,” admitted Barney, blushing.

“You did?” Lucy’s voice rose.

“I turned ’em down, of course.”

“Hmmm,” Lucy said thoughtfully. So much for Sue’s theories. “None of these ads have phone numbers. They’re all boxes.”