“Oh. Don’t you carry a gun?”

“Sometimes.”

“My mom got one.”

“Terrific.”

“She got it during the trial. Actually, Bob bought it for her. Because we were getting so many death threats.”

“Did your mom take any lessons in how to use it?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Bob told her all you have to do is point it and shoot it.”

“Where’s that gun now?”

“When we got here, Mom was keeping it in her purse, but that freaked out my grandmother. She made her put it away. It’s in the kitchen drawer right next to the knives and forks. I took it out the other night and was looking at it when they were all in the living room.”

“Is it loaded?”

Jeremy nodded. “It wouldn’t be much good if someone broke in and it didn’t have any bullets in it.”

If the car hadn’t been moving, I’d have closed my eyes while I sighed. It was just as well I was getting the kid out of that house for a while.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“Downtown.”

“This town’s kind of the pits, isn’t it?”

“It’s seen better days. Some people say it’s on the comeback. We’ve got a new mayor. Actually, he was the mayor a long time ago, and now he’s back in office. Maybe he’ll make a difference.”

“I heard my grandmother talking about him. She said he’s got shit for brains. She said he used to hire underage hookers. Is that true?”

I nodded. These days, it didn’t seem to matter what someone said or did. They’d still get elected.

We drove on in silence for another couple of miles. I glanced in my rear-view every few seconds. A black van had been riding along in my wake for the last few blocks.

“I’m just up here,” I said. I pulled over to the curb in front of Naman’s Books and the van continued on up the street.

“You live in a bookstore?” Jeremy asked.

“I live over it.”

I’d had to move out for a few months, but now I was back. Naman’s place had been firebombed by some racist nutcases last year when unfounded fears of a possible terrorist invasion had gripped Promise Falls. I wasn’t sure Naman could make a go of it again, but he was back in business, and I had my old apartment back.

“We can leave your stuff in the car,” I said, opening the door. Once Jeremy was out, I locked the Honda and led him to a door that fronted onto the sidewalk. There was a small sign on it that read: Cal Weaver: Private Investigations.

“Wow, just like in the movies,” Jeremy said.

I unlocked the door, revealing a set of stairs going up. I extended an arm. “You first.”