“No,” Manfred said, very surprised. “I never realized . . . well, okay. Interesting. Listen, what do you think of asking this new guy to step into Joe’s place in your plan?”

“You have that much confidence in him after knowing him for ten minutes?”

“Would you quit your bitching? Who else are we going to find?”

To Manfred’s surprise, she laughed. “I wish I could think of someone. You’re chipper all of a sudden.”

“It’s interesting having someone new in town,” he said. “And I think you’re right. From what I get from him, I’m almost certain he’s a telepath, so that’s even more interesting. Kind of unnerving, though.”

“To have someone know what you’re thinking? Damn straight, it’s unnerving. Did I understand you were telling him you knew another telepath? You kept that one close to your chest.”

“You have more secrets than I do.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Manfred laughed again. “I haven’t heard anyone say that in years.”

“My grandmother . . .” But then Olivia clamped down on whatever she’d thought of telling him, somewhat to Manfred’s disappointment.

“Too many people know too much here, anyway,” she muttered. “I have to take over the pawnshop now.” She hurried up the front steps of the pawnshop and the CLOSED sign flipped over to OPEN.

Bobo popped out of Midnight Pawn almost as soon as Olivia went in. “Hey, buddy,” he said easily. “I’m just about to go grab some supper before Home Cookin closes. Sometimes Madonna doesn’t want Dillon around anymore, so she sends him home.”

“Dillon?”

“Dillon Braithwaite. The new kid. The waiter.”

“Only you would know his name,” Manfred said.

“You didn’t ask him who he was?” Bobo seemed surprised and a little reproachful.

“Never occurred to me,” Manfred said with absolute honesty. “I’d never do that in a city, so I never thought of doing it here.”

“Well . . . gosh.” Bobo shook his head and hurried off to get some food. From Dillon the waiter.

As he stopped by his mailbox and retrieved a hefty bundle of envelopes, Manfred wondered if his lack of curiosity about the boy made him a bad person. Did he routinely ignore waitstaff? He shrugged. He couldn’t work up a lot of concern about it.

From the size of the bundle, Manfred did realize he hadn’t opened his mail in a couple of days. He sat at his desk, conveniently handy to a trash basket, to sort through it. He pitched several ads, two offers for credit cards, one letter from a local cemetery offering to give him a tour and sell him a plot at a reasonable cost for his final resting place, and one Hallmark card from his mother, who wanted him to know that she was “Thinking of You.” Though Manfred loved his mother, he couldn’t say that he gave her a lot of thought in return. But he did need to call her. He was overdue in his duty. He glanced at his calendar and saw that he hadn’t talked to her for three weeks.

He dug out his cell phone and placed the call, knowing that if he didn’t do it right at this moment, he’d put it off again. Rain Bernardo picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, Mom,” he said. She responded with almost embarrassing fervor. He thanked her for the card, told her he was working long hours as usual, told her he still liked his house and the town, and came very close to telling her about Rachel. But the enormity of the gap between his life and hers seemed so wide; there would have to be so much fill-in before he could talk across it. In the end, he told her nothing new.

But she had news for him. “I’m getting married,” she said, almost defiantly.

For a second, Manfred was too stunned to say anything. “Wow, that’s great!” he blurted, desperately trying to fill the silence. “Gary, I’m assuming.”

“Yes, of course, Gary.”

“When will it be?”

“We’re just going to slip off some weekend soon,” she said evasively.

“I’ll come,” he said, absolutely certain that he must make the effort. He owed his mother that much. “Just let me know for sure.”

“Well, we haven’t set a date yet,” she said.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Oh, son, you’re so sharp.” She sighed. “The thing is, Gary’s kids aren’t as . . . agreeable to the idea as you are.”

“Why not? You’re one of the nicest women I ever met,” Manfred said honestly.

She laughed, but only a little. “That sounds like you came up to me at a party or something, instead of me being your mom.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He waited.

“Well, the thing is, they . . . oh, they’re just silly, stupid people,” she said, in a burst of anger that was as unexpected as it was refreshing.

“Me,” he said, suddenly understanding. “They don’t like me.”

“They don’t even know you,” she said, and the anger was still there, full force. “They just don’t like the idea of you. A psychic. Isn’t that stupid?”

“It’s an excuse,” Manfred said. He’d had more experience with human beings than some people three times his age. “They just don’t want their dad to get married, to you or anyone else. I can bet that if I were super-wealthy, they wouldn’t have any objections at all to what I do.”