“The one you came here to look into,” said Ben. “You told me about that.”

“I didn’t tell you everything,” Hudson said. “I think it’s an unknown Steinbeck novel,” he said. “Well, part of one. It’s only about half finished.” He looked over the head of Ricketts’s bust, afraid to see Ben’s reaction to his next revelation. “It’s about a man who falls in love with his best friend,” he said. “I think it might be about Steinbeck’s feelings for Ricketts.”

He waited for Ben to say something. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if Ben laughed at him. It was the first time he had ever spoken his theory about the manuscript out loud to anyone. Except for Paul, he reminded himself. That made him even more afraid.

“After Ricketts died,” Ben said, breaking the silence, “Steinbeck took most of his personal papers. He burned a number of the journals. When someone asked him why he’d done it, he said that Ed’s journals contained enough material to blackmail half of Monterey.”

Hudson looked at him. Ben was staring at the bust with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve always wondered what was in those journals,” he said, turning to look at Hudson.

“I never knew that,” Hudson said.

“Steinbeck gave most of Ricketts’s papers to Hopkins,” said Ben. “The scientific ones, anyway. The fellow who cataloged them told me that story.”

“Who knows what was in those,” Hudson remarked, suddenly feeling a deep sense of loss as he thought of Steinbeck dropping the journals, piece by piece, into a fire. He had a sharp vision of Steinbeck’s face, stoic in the face of the loss of his best friend and companion, illuminated by the glow of the flames as the smoke stung his eyes. What secrets had he sent heavenward? What had he read on those pages that made him want to destroy them forever?

“Can you prove the manuscript is Steinbeck’s?” Ben asked Hudson.

Hudson sighed. “No,” he said. “Even if I could, that wouldn’t prove he and Ricketts were ever lovers.”

“Does it matter if they were?” said Ben.

It does to me, Hudson thought silently. “Not really,” he answered Ben. “The manuscript being authentic would be a major find on its own. But since Steinbeck wrote so much from his own life, it would add something to the story.”

“You mean it would be a scandal,” said Ben.

“That too,” Hudson agreed. “Although I don’t know why. Lots of writers had affairs, with men and women both.”