This man, she knew, was going to lie. She felt it in the way her skin tingled, like she had her very own built-in lie detector. And what was she supposed to do, tell a grown-up who carried a loaded gun everywhere he went that she knew he was full of shit?

“Lots of people come here looking for lots of different things,” he said.

“To talk to dead people?” Olive asked. “Isn’t that what you do here?”

He narrowed his eyes, squinting at her like he was trying to make her smaller and smaller, like if he closed them enough, she might just go away completely.

“Sometimes people come looking for the perfect armoire,” he said. “And sometimes because they have unfinished business with those who have passed.” He started walking, gesturing with his arms, moving in a slow circle. “They have questions they want answered. One final thing they want to say. We offer that opportunity.”

“Is that why my mother came?”

“Your mother,” he said, voice soft at first, then hardening, “she didn’t come here. The only time I ever saw Lori Kissner was when she bagged my groceries over at the market.”

She looked around the room and smiled. “Sorry I bothered you,” she said. “I can see you’re real busy.” She turned to go.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, following her out of the lounge, down the hall and the curved stairs with their broken banister, through the crowded mess of the lobby, and all the way to the front door, making damn sure she was leaving. She didn’t turn back to look, but she heard him behind her, his footsteps heavy, his breathing raspy. He smelled like stale cigarette smoke and spicy-sweet cologne. When they were out on the porch, he pulled a pack of Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket and shook one out. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket, started to look at it, the three mannequins behind him seeming to peer over his shoulder.

“Mr. Barns?” She stopped on the rickety front steps and turned back to him.

“What is it?” He took his eyes off his phone and looked down at her, clearly irritated.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my mom isn’t around anymore. She left me and my dad.”

He nodded. Of course he knew. Everyone knew.

“People in town, they say all kinds of terrible things about my mother. But I just…I just wanted you to know that most of that stuff, I don’t think it’s true.”

He looked at his unlit cigarette, seeming more interested in it than in Olive.