She invited him inside. The living room had a worn green sofa, an upright piano of light cherry wood, and posters of HorsePower concerts. One was from their first show at the Hollywood Bowl more than two decades ago. The poster was signed by both Lex Ryder and Gabriel Wire. The inscription—in Gabriel’s handwriting—read, “To Horace and Evelyn, You Both Rock.”

“Wow,” Myron said.

“I’ve been offered ten thousand dollars for it. I could use the money but . . .” She stopped. “I Googled you. I don’t follow basketball, so I didn’t know your name.”

“That was a long time ago anyway.”

“But you now manage Lex Ryder?”

“I’m an agent. It’s slightly different. But, yes, I work with him.”

She mulled that over. “Follow me.” She led him to the steps heading down to the basement. “My husband, Horace. He was the real fan.”

The small finished basement had a ceiling so low Myron could not stand upright. There was a gray futon and an old television on a fiberglass black stand. The rest of the basement was, well, HorsePower. A fold-out table, the kind you might put out when your dining room table couldn’t handle all your family, was covered with all things HorsePower—photographs, album covers, files of sheet music, concert advertisements, guitar picks, drumsticks, shirts, dolls. Myron recognized a black shirt with snap buttons.

“Gabriel actually wore that during a concert in Houston,” she said.

There were two fold-out chairs. Myron saw several photographs of “Wire sightings” from the tabloids.

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess. After the whole Alista Snow tragedy, well, Horace was heartbroken. He used to study the paparazzi sightings of Gabriel. See, Horace was an engineer. He was so good with math and puzzles.” She gestured toward the tabloids. “They’re all fake.”

“What do you mean?”

“Horace always found a way to prove the images weren’t really Gabriel. Like this one. Gabriel Wire had a scar on the back of his right hand. Horace got the original negative and blew it up. There was no scar. On this one he ran a mathematical equation—don’t ask me to explain how—and figured that this man was wearing a size ten shoe. Gabriel Wire has a size twelve.”

Myron nodded, said nothing.

“It must seem weird. This obsession.”

“No, not really.”

“Other men follow a sports team or go to the racetrack or collect stamps. Horace loved HorsePower.”

“How about you?”

Evelyn smiled. “I was a fan, I guess. But not like Horace. It was something we did together. We camped out for concerts. We would turn the lights low and listen and try to come up with the real meaning behind the lyrics. It might not sound like much, but I’d give anything for one more night like that.”

A shadow crossed her face. Myron wondered whether he should go there and then decided, yes, maybe he should.