Of course, Matt in his early adulthood had found much more trouble all on his own, but no need to get into that any further. He had turned into a strict parent who grounded his kids. He might be right, she sure couldn’t judge, but it still struck her as a harmless prank.

She laughed. “I was sixteen and so superior. I thought you deserved a kick in the rear end.”

“Mean older sister.”

“Matt, it’s not like they beat up a senior citizen,” Nina said.

“ Troy ’s grounded,” Matt told her. “They had one of these things slung over the line right outside. I made them get it down. It took a long time, because it isn’t easy. Nina, quit laughing. Add some heavy snow during the winter and that line could come down. And it interferes with utility lines. They could get a ticket or something. Plus, they climb fences and go into people’s yards without permission. Of course, most people don’t care, but some of them are pretty protective of their space. They came here for some peace and privacy. They don’t need a couple of wild kids rioting through their yards.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Nina said.

“Make Bob understand he can’t do things like that,” Matt said, “not when he’s staying with us, anyway.”

“I will.”

“He’s out of control.”

“I said I will!” But Matt didn’t seem to believe her. Now she was upset, too. Bob wasn’t a troublemaker. He was a high-spirited kid, and…

“Sometimes I think…” Matt started, then stopped.

“You think what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, Matt. Spill it. What’s on your mind?”

He scratched the back of his neck. He needed a haircut. His blond hair almost touched his shoulders. He looked fitter than a man in his early thirties, tall and muscular, but his face was as careworn as that of a man in his fifties. “I think he misses Paul. He’s staying busy because he’s dealing with a loss, too. Did that ever occur to you?”

“They never got along that well.”

“I suspect they were closer than you imagined. And Paul-well, he’s tougher than you.”

“You mean because Paul’s a guy? You think I can’t manage my son on my own?”

“Nina, no,” Matt said, shocked. “I never said that! It’s just easier with two people playing off each other, bad cop, good cop. Gives them perspective.”

“Hey, Mom.” Unfortunately, Bob chose this moment to appear at the kitchen door, accompanied by Hitchcock, who rushed toward Nina.

“Hey, kiddo.” She held Hitchcock off. “Good boy. How’s my big boy? Down! Down!”

“I’ll get my stuff. Meet you at the truck,” Bob said.

“Thank your uncle for letting you stay over last night.”

“Thanks, Uncle Matt,” Bob said. “I love coming here.”

Matt’s expression softened. He said, “So long, buddy.”

The three Reillys, human and canine, drove home. Nina felt disgraced. “I heard about the bolos.”

“Aw, we were just havin’ fun.”

“You’re out of control.” This echo of Matt forced itself unbidden out of her mouth.

“I couldn’t do my hazardous-waste work with Taylor ’cause I wasn’t at home. There’s nothing to do around here! Troy and I were just goofing around.”

“Well, you upset Uncle Matt. You showed bad judgment. Tomorrow we’ll drive around and you’ll knock down all those bolos.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

On Saturday morning after breakfast, they cruised around the area of Bob and Troy ’s bolo-tossing. The boys had restrained their mischief-making to streets near Pioneer Trail. Bolos swung from telephone wires all up and down the neighborhood. Nina parked at each one and Bob got out, found a rock, and started throwing. Some of the bolos wound themselves tighter. Only one cooperated by falling to the ground.

“Can we give it up, Mom?”

“What the-what’s going on?” They had come to an unusual-looking bolo, strung conspicuously on a line on Jicarilla, only blocks from their house. “Those aren’t rocks. Hey! My shoes!”

“Remember how you complained they were old and you needed a new pair of running shoes that would inspire you to run once in a while?”

“I never said throw them up for the neighbors to hate!”

“They made a perfect bolo. Sorry, Mom.”

“My dirty old shoes! You get out there and knock them down.”

But all Bob’s throwing efforts only resulted in an extra loop of electrical tape wrapping around the line. It appeared that Nina’s wretched sneakers would dangle forever above the street, symbols of anarchy and of the essential weirdness of the world.

Nina could not stand it. “Bob, you are grounded until you get those sneakers down. And you are not allowed to climb on the telephone poles or do anything dangerous to get them down.”

“But Taylor and me have to go collect waste this afternoon!”

“How much money have you made with your work?”

“Why do you ask?”

“How much?”

“Sixty-two dollars.”

“That should cover the cost of a good tall ladder. I’ll help you finish this project. We’ll get your money and go to the hardware store.”

“I worked hard for that money! I have plans for it!”

“That’s life in the city,” Nina said heartlessly.

“Wait. Give us a chance first.” Bob held his hands up. “ Taylor ’s coming over. He’ll help me.”

“You can’t leave the house except to buy a ladder and get my shoes down.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mom.”

“Yes, you will.” They drove back home in silence. Bob went to his room and got on the phone.

A short time later Taylor Nordholm, Bob’s homie, showed up. Taylor hadn’t had his growth spurt yet and was physically awkward, except in his weight-lifting arms, but he had an insouciant maturity in his manners. He went to find her and greet her.

“It’s good to have you and Bob back in town,” he said. “How are you, Mrs. Reilly?” He carried a brown paper bag.

“Fine,” Nina said, plumping the pillows on the bed she had just made.

“Well, see you later.”

“Don’t do anything unsafe.” The boys left and she completed a disaster-prevention pickup of the cabin. When she had folded the laundry, she collapsed on the couch, letting Hitchcock crawl beside her, letting the worry flow back in.

The man who had tried to hurt them was probably the shooter. She had talked to Cheney the minute she got back from Massachusetts, but the police hadn’t found him yet.

She had to assume Sarah’s killer knew her home address. She had apparently done what she never wanted to do: drawn attention to herself, and by extension, to her family.

She got up and walked to the entry closet, opened the door, and checked the lights on the keypad inside to see that all the doors and windows were properly secured, and the alarm was ready to be armed for the night. In the bedroom, she lifted the mattress. Yes, there it was, the knife in a leather sheath-crazy, but it made her feel better. Then she took down from its hook on the wall the shillelagh her dad had given her once upon a time. A heavy cudgel made of some extremely hard wood, it had a big knob on one end and a hole drilled through the other end for a leather cord. A leprechaun smoking a pipe had been carved into the base.

She swung it, first a little, then as if bringing it down on someone’s head. Her blood rose, not in fear, but in anger. Uncivilized, these feelings. After tucking it into the cabinet by the front door, she checked the lock on the door itself. Secure. Midday sun poured down on the porch. She stepped outside to sit on the steps.

Bob and Taylor strolled around the corner into view, carrying her sneakers, Hitchcock rambling behind.

Smiling, Nina said, “How’d you do it?” She accepted the sneakers, which bore traces of electrical tape.

Bob said, “ Taylor brought over his dad’s shaver. It operates on batteries. We attached it with tape to a long stick we found in the meadow. Then I turned it on and held it up and shaved right through the tape, and the shoes fell down.”