Since the day was once again gloomy and overcast, I switched on a lamp in the living room. I’d only passed through on my way to the bedroom the last time I’d been here, so I wasn’t familiar with the layout. The little room was comfortable and . . . cozy, with an overstuffed love seat and matching recliner. There was the usual coffee table in front of the love seat, and an occasional table cluttered with a lamp, some magazines, and a book, plus various remotes by the recliner. Within arm’s reach was a particle-board bookcase crammed with books, mostly romantic suspense-type paperbacks by Jayne Anne Krentz, Sandra Brown, Nora Roberts, and the like. There were a few adventure/mystery paperbacks—Lee Child and Thomas Cook—which more likely belonged to Hollis.

I did a quick tour of the house to make sure I was looking in the right place. The bedroom didn’t have any bookshelves, and the second bedroom (used as a computer room/storeroom now) held only computer manuals and video game guides. The kitchen had a couple of cookbooks, and the bathroom a wicker basket of magazines. Back in the living room, I squatted by the jammed shelves.

Hollis had told me his wife had gotten out one of her old school textbooks. I was willing to bet he hadn’t packed them away yet, and I was right. Sally Hopkins Boxleitner had kept a book of British poetry, a copy each of Julius Caesar and The Merchant of Venice, and an American history textbook. There was a basic biology textbook, too, much battered and torn.

According to Hollis, the book had had a red cover. Both the history text and the biology text were predominately red, at least on their spines.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I guess part of me had absorbed the small sounds of Hollis arriving home, because I didn’t jump. He sounded pretty mad.

“I’m looking for whatever Sally was thinking about that night,” I said. “I found your spare key in less than two minutes. Here. Here’s the history book. Is this the one she had?”

“Why didn’t you just wait for me to get home?” Maybe he sounded a tad bit less angry.

“I thought you were avoiding me, and I figured you wouldn’t let me in.”

“So you decided right away to just break in my house? You know that’s illegal?”

“So’s putting a man in jail on trumped-up evidence. Is this the book she had?”

“It might be,” he said, distracted. “Is there another red one?”

“Yes, the biology book, here.”

“That might be it, too.”

“Okay. You look at the history, I’ll look at the biology.”