Hudson shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“I’m sorry we can’t leave the car,” said Janice. “Renata doesn’t want to fly with Boswell, so we’re driving. To Ohio,” she added, as if she’d just realized where they were going. She closed her eyes and sighed. “And both of them get carsick.”

Hudson stifled a laugh.

“I’d better leave before I think better of it,” said Janice, walking back into the living room. She picked up Boswell and walked outside. Hudson followed, standing on the porch. Renata, closing the trunk, waved and got in. Janice gave one last look at the house.

“It will be fine,” Hudson reassured her.

After they left he waited twenty minutes in case they came back for something they forgot, then brought his bags inside. Taking them upstairs, he considered staying in the master bedroom, as Janice had told him he could, then opted for the smaller guest bedroom. He unpacked quickly, not having brought all that many clothes, then returned to the downstairs.

The house had a sunporch, a small screened-in room off the kitchen. It contained a comfortably sagging couch, which from the amount of dog hair on it looked as if it doubled as Boswell’s bed. Sitting on it, Hudson opened his briefcase and removed the manuscript and several books, which he set on the table in front of him. In addition to a biography of John Steinbeck, he’d also brought his well-read and battered copies of Cannery Row and its sequel, Sweet Thursday. These he stacked on top of each other, so that the books formed a little tower beside the manuscript.

He looked around the room. He still couldn’t quite believe that he’d lucked into the house-sitting opportunity. Renata and Janice were friends of Marty’s, their relationship stretching back to when all three were undergrads. The phone call from Renata bemoaning their lack of trustworthy sitters had come in the midst of Hudson’s deep depression over not having the finances to fund a trip to California. Marty had solved both of their problems within seconds.

And now here he was. He still couldn’t quite believe it, and part of him kept expecting something to bring it all crashing down. He’d found out about the opportunity only three weeks ago, and he’d spent the intervening time worrying that Renata and Janice would break up, or that the dead grandmother would miraculously be resurrected, or even that Ohio would for some reason secede from the United States and refuse entry to outsiders. But none of these things had happened (although he supposed they still could), and he had the house to himself.

With nothing now impeding his progress, he was surprisingly unsure of how to proceed. He had ideas, of course, leads and starting points and possible connections. But suddenly he found himself reluctant to take advantage of any of them. What if I’m wrong? he thought, voicing the question that had lurked from the beginning beneath the surface of his theory.