His intention had been to ask Robin to join him in the front seat of his car, where he often conducted interviews privately but in plain sight. But as soon as he’d rapped on the tinny aluminum door and Robin opened up, she announced, “My folks are out. You might as well come in.”

Given the trailer park’s worn appearance and this particular trailer’s bedraggled looks, Willy’s expectations of its interior were low. He was not anticipating making himself comfortable within it, nor even accepting any standard offer of coffee.

He stood pleasantly corrected. The place was not new, nor was it ritzy. Nothing could have made it those. But it was clean, fresh smelling, neat, bright, and homey.

He looked around admiringly. “Nice place,” he commented.

“Thanks,” Robin said. “My folks can’t afford to fix up the outside, but they work hard at this. Coffee?”

Willy sat in the built-in alcove by the door, amused by his own prejudice. “It shows. Thanks. I think I will. How’re you holding up?”

“I’m still a little numb. The way Don acted when I was with him, being in danger just didn’t seem like part of it. He made it look like fun.”

He noticed as she was preparing the coffee that her finger no longer sported the ring Kalfus had given her.

“You knew he was stealing from people.”

“I know,” she conceded. “And I know that’s not right. It’s why I didn’t go with him the one time he invited me. I told him it was wrong. But he kept telling me he was careful, that he only stole from rich people who had insurance and that they took advantage of being robbed to trade up. You know, get a better watch or computer or whatever. He made it sound like a service, almost.”

And you swallowed that because it served you, too, Willy thought, who didn’t take the bait.

“Last time we talked, Robin,” he said instead, “you admitted the ring he gave you was probably stolen.” He noticed her closing her hand as if trying to hide what he’d already seen. “That being the case,” he went on, “and boys being boys and liking to brag, I’m betting he told you about his adventures now and then. Am I right?”

“Sometimes,” she answered vaguely.

“In fact, you told me about Corey Browne, who you obviously met, since you thought he was scary.”

She poured him a mug of coffee from the machine and gestured with it, asking, “You want anything in it?”

He extended his hand. “No, that’s good. Thanks.”

She poured herself a mug but stayed at the counter. He indicated the bench opposite him at the breakfast table insert. “Sit, Robin. Make yourself comfortable.”

She did as instructed, although comfortable was not a part of it.

“I’m going to take a flier here,” he said, “and suggest you haven’t been totally straight with me.”

She flared up with a weak show of protest. “I answered your questions.”