The next picture showed a terrifying, mossy cowboy figure standing by an equally scabby-looking blue pack mule. Both figures were coated in fine black fungus, and the skin of the cowboy’s face was peeling away. It made him look leprous, or possibly undead. The caption said his name was Funtime Jack. The mule was Baby. That sounded familiar. Maybe Marshall had been there as a kid? But no, he realized, he was thinking of Paul Bunyan and Babe, his big blue ox. Probably the Funtime owners had done it on purpose. Animal-sidekick plagiarism.

In the den Bree was talking now. Too quietly for him to make out the words, but he knew how hard it must have been to even start this conversation with Trey. Good for her.

Last was a shot of the carousel. It had still been standing when BuzzFeed’s photographer visited, though most of the animals were missing. There was a dragon and a griffin and an Aslan-type lion listing sadly on their poles. A few of those benches for parents to ride remained, too, covered in carved unicorns. Fantasy animals, not a match for the cowboy. Funtime must have picked their things up piecemeal from other failed fairs.

Bree’s voice rose in distress. He heard her say, “I’m so sorry. . . .”

A molten rage filled him, preemptive and immediate. Trey was blaming her! He was across the room at the door before he could blink. She was already clinging to a cliff side. Marshall wanted to rip the phone out of her hands and tell Trey, This is on you. What the hell did you get up to with Spencer?

But the next thing he heard was Bree saying, “Thanks, Mom, but really, this is the best way for you to help. I feel better, I swear, but I think I’m still contagious. I’ll get them tomorrow night.”

She was checking on her girls. Making plans for them to stay at the condo again. Marshall blew a long breath out his nose, like a human balloon overfilled with unnecessary rage, offloading. Well, there were other places he could aim it.

He went back to the desk and sat down to text Trey again. Any of those photos ring a bell? Sorry to press. It’s important.

In the den Bree was saying, “Please don’t worry. It’s just a bug.”

She sounded so young and sad and sweet, working to reassure her anxious mother, much like the Bree he’d known decades ago. His crush on her back then had led him to his wife, and Bree had become his friend. A close one. In fact, he’d almost kissed her once.

It was about a month after Betsy ditched him. Bree came home from Georgia State for the weekend and dropped by his house. Because they were friends, sure, but he thought (rightly) that Betsy had sent Bree to check on him.