“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.”
Bobo knew what she meant the minute the words left her mouth. “Feej, I don’t have any idea how that old Colt got out there. I did take it out target shooting, because I’d never fired a gun like that, but I brought it back to the shop. Maybe I didn’t lock it back into the case? Maybe I left it in the truck? But I know you know I didn’t kill Aubrey.”
“I do know that,” Fiji said steadily. She suppressed the awful split second of doubt she’d experienced. “And Olivia knows that, too.”
“Even if Lemuel thought I’d killed her, he’d back me,” said Bobo, not as if he exactly approved of that.
Fiji now had had time to think of a hundred questions about Olivia and Lemuel and their landlord protection program, but she kept them to herself. It was not the time; just as it wasn’t the time for her strongest impulse, leading Bobo to her bedroom so she could distract him from all these worries. It was too soon, he was still struggling with his conflicting feelings about Aubrey . . . that was what she told herself.
But really, she didn’t do it because she feared he would say no.
16
In the days that followed the first and only Annual Picnic, the residents of Midnight resumed trundling along their accustomed paths and pursuits, though they all (except Grady, Rasta, and possibly Mr. Snuggly) felt they were operating under a cloud. Manfred certainly felt that way, and when he looked at the faces of the other townspeople, he could read that in their faces, too.
Bobo opened Midnight Pawn on Thursday morning. It was garbage pickup day, and he wheeled his garbage can to the curb along with Olivia’s, which Lemuel shared. Bobo took the time to gather all the newspapers that had collected in his driveway. Manfred watched through his front window as his landlord resumed his life, and he was glad.
Manfred saw the other denizens of Midnight at Home Cookin, which had a few more customers than usual, thanks to reporters, law enforcement, and the idly curious. Sometimes the residents could not sit at their accustomed table.
Teacher told Manfred he’d made some extra money changing tires that had gotten punctured on the rocks over by the riverbed.
Both Fiji and Chuy made grocery runs to Davy. Fiji got the items on the Rev’s short list and delivered them to his little bare house, and in her own kitchen she cooked between helping store customers, so she could take Bobo chicken and dumplings and some seasoned green beans. Another night, Chuy cooked Tex-Mex with Joe’s assistance, and they invited Manfred and Bobo to come to dinner.
Manfred accepted when Joe called him, for several reasons. Manfred loved meals he didn’t have to cook, he liked Joe and Chuy, and he understood that their main goal was to get Bobo out of his own place and encourage him to eat some hot food.
Manfred and his landlord walked west to the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon together, not talking much along the way, and Bobo showed Manfred the outside flight of stairs that led up to Joe and Chuy’s apartment. The building itself had been constructed long after Midnight Pawn, and as a result the ceilings weren’t as high, so the whole structure was shorter.
“I’m glad they can’t see in my windows,” Bobo said, and he almost laughed.
“Can you see down into theirs?”
“I can see a sliver of their kitchen, but that’s all,” Bobo said, knocking on the weathered wooden door.
“Come in, and welcome!” Joe said, standing aside. “I’ll take those jackets.” Manfred looked around him with some amazement. The apartment wasn’t large, but it looked amazing. The colors were attractive and harmonious, there were “window treatments,” and the furniture had not been picked up at a curb before the garbage men could toss it.
Manfred had to admit to himself that he had had no idea that men could make their surroundings look anything more than utilitarian. He was genuinely impressed, and at the same time he called himself an idiot for not realizing that two people who between them could price antiques and style hair and nails would know something about putting together a good-looking home. He did feel a little strange when the tour included their bedroom, where Rasta was curled in the middle of a paprika and turquoise bedspread.
After five minutes, Manfred forgot that Joe and Chuy were men who had sex with each other. Instead, he was able to revel in the happy discovery that Chuy was a very good cook and that Joe kept a stock of excellent beer in his refrigerator.
Even Bobo became more cheerful as the evening passed. He talked sports with Joe and raising peppers with Chuy. They talked about the Westminster Dog Show, the difficulties of getting into vet school (Chuy hadn’t managed it), and the pleasures and frustrations of buying on eBay. Chuy told them about his cousin Rose’s fling with the Home Shopping Network and how he’d brought Rose’s minister in to pray with her over her addiction.
The way Chuy talked about Rose made Manfred regret his lack of family.
After dinner ended with a wonderful pecan pie, Manfred offered to do the dishes. Joe gratefully accepted his help. “If Chuy does the cooking, it seems only fair I clean up,” he said, “but it’s always nice to have another pair of hands.” Most of the supper dishes went into the dishwasher, but Manfred scrubbed the pots and pans while Joe dried them. Afterward, Chuy showed them some snapshots of his and Joe’s vacation in Amsterdam, one of the many places Manfred had not been.