After some reluctance her housekeeper revealed that she’d gone to “the gun place.” Further inquiries, aided by Tess’s display of her FBI creds, yielded the information that the gun place was an indoor shooting range on Beverly Boulevard. It was five fifteen and fully dark when Tess parked outside the gun club, under a sign that read FAMILY-ORIENTED SHOOTING. She was greeted at the entrance by an employee who wanted to see her membership ID. Again the FBI badge did the trick. “Ms. Grant is shooting,” she was told. “Stall six. If you’re going out there, you’ll need ear and eye protection. Club rules.” Tess donned shooting goggles and ear pads. She headed down the hallway, past the men’s room and ladies’ room, each said to be equipped with a baby-changing station. Family-oriented shooting, indeed. There were sixteen lanes on the firing range. Even wearing the ear protectors, Tess could hear the pops of pistols and small-bore rifles. The sound always reminded her of microwave popcorn.
