Bob kept walking. Once in the kitchen, he went straight to the cupboard where Madeline kept various kinds of liquor. He put his hand around a bottle of Scotch, grabbed a glass, poured himself two fingers’ worth, and knocked it back. He poured more Scotch into the glass and was about to drink it when Gloria reached up and grabbed his arm.

“Careful, goddamn it,” he said. “You’ll spill it.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one with the drinking problem,” she said.

“I need a little something, is all. Is that a crime?”

“Tell me who that was on the phone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. He’d freed his arm from Gloria’s grasp and downed the second drink. Before he could reach for the bottle again, Gloria grabbed it, then upended it in the sink.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Bob said wearily. “You think that’s the only thing to drink around here?”

She left the empty bottle in the sink, stood with her back up against the counter and folded her arms across her breasts. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s just work,” he said to her. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“You’re up in the middle of the night, trying to drink yourself blind, and you tell me it’s nothing to worry about. Jesus, Bob, you think I’m not used to worrying about things?” Her face grew suddenly alarmed. “It’s not about Jeremy, is it? Is he okay? Was it him?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “It wasn’t Jeremy.”

“Was it Weaver? Did he call you?”

“No. He didn’t.”

“Then who was it?”

Bob gripped Gloria by the shoulders. “Believe me, it’s . . . it’s nothing. Just sorting some things out with work.”

“You get work calls at one in the morning?”

He gripped her harder, squeezed. “Let. It. Go.”

Gloria struggled to shake him off. “Get your hands off me, you son of a—”

“What the hell is going on?”

It was Madeline. Also wrapped in a robe, she walked bleary-eyed into the kitchen, blinked several times, then looked fiercely at Gloria and Bob.

“Nothing,” Bob said.

“That’s what he keeps telling me,” Gloria said. “But it’s definitely something.”

“For the love of God, it’s always something with you two,” Madeline said. “Is it Jeremy? Has something happened?”

“No,” Bob said quietly.

“I’ll call him,” Madeline said.

“He doesn’t have a phone,” Gloria said. “Not any more.”

“The detective. Weaver. I’ll call him and see if everything’s okay.”

Bob raised a hand. “Madeline, it’s one in the morning. Let the man—let Jeremy—have some sleep. We can’t go calling them every five seconds to see if they’re okay. You know where they are, you know they’re safe.”

Madeline appeared unconvinced, as did Gloria.