Cal smiles and stands. “You know me, my friend. I’ll get it.” He turns to Scott, who sits next to Elise like an elder statesman. “You want a beer?”

“That would be great,” Scott replies.

There’s an easy rapport among the eight of us, and I smile as I carry a tray of mushroom and Gruyère crostini and place it on the coffee table. I refill my glass and try to enjoy the wine and the focus on Jay. I admire his total comfort with people. I guess that’s why he’s such a good psychologist. People trust him, know that they can. His easy smile and kind green eyes don’t hurt either.

We’ve had a few drinks, eaten through half the food. The conversation has moved past the “What’s new?” phase when Laken leans back in her chair, her long legs extending to the edge of the coffee table.

“So, Jay, how’s the book coming?”

He takes a deep breath. “It’s coming, slowly.” His gaze shifts to the fireplace, where the flames snap and flare.

Jay’s writing a book based on one of his grad-school papers. He doesn’t talk about it, or his work, much really. That’s all part of his boring, stuffy side, he says.

“Isn’t it about some pretty creepy stuff? Abnormal psychology and gruesome crimes?” Laken asks.

Jay grimaces. “Some of it’s pretty intense.”

Elise straightens in her chair, eyes on Laken. “Abnormal psychology encompasses a wide range of behaviors, not all of them violent or particularly disturbing.” A momentary tension crackles in the room. Barely there, but I feel it as I look from face to face. Kim leans forward and fills the silence.

“I had an aunt,” she says, swallowing a sip of her drink, “who kept the fur she brushed out of all her dogs in a bag in the hall closet. My brother and I found it when we were kids. Scared the shit out of us. It had been there for like thirty years. Six dogs worth.”

That makes Jay laugh. Kim is good at that. “The mind is a curious thing,” he says and stands, picks up the nearly empty tray. “We need more food!” Something in Jay’s voice has me on alert again. Something’s been on his mind all week, but whenever I asked him about it, he brushed me off with a smile and said he was fine. I follow him into the kitchen, wander to the door, and look out across the backyard.

“The light’s on in your office,” I say, gazing at the old structure. The detached garage sits in the snow at the end of the driveway. No cars inside, just Jay’s desk, a space heater, and other things he needs to furnish his home office.

“Must’ve left it on when I was working earlier.” He uncorks another bottle of red. “I’ll get it later. I might do a little more work after everyone leaves,” he says, eyes on the wine as he refills his glass.