“That book,” Hazard said, pointing again.

“Ok, the novel thing again. They’re just stories, Ree. People aren’t intrinsically bad for liking stories, even if they’re made up.”

“I don’t think people are bad for liking fiction.”

“Here it comes.”

“I think people who read novels are fantasists in desperate need of emotional dope to anesthetize them against the reality of their meaningless existence.”

“I read novels.”

“I know, but we’re working on that.”

“No, we’re not. I like novels. I will always read novels. You cannot make me stop reading novels.”

“That’s very cute.”

“Before I smash my head through the window, will you please explain why My Secret Bestie is proof of anything except maybe the fact that I should start borrowing more books from Darnell.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Somers shrugged.

“John, that looks like a romance novel.”

“The guys on the cover are hot. I bet they do all sorts of dirty things to each other.”

After a moment, Hazard pointed again and said, “That book shows a prurient interest in the lives of gay men.”

“Technically, I have a prurient interest in the lives of gay men. Also, Darnell is gay.”

“I—”

“Ree, I’m going to stop you. I want you to hear how you sound. I understand the points you made when you called me: Darnell is new to the area, he’s an active part of our social lives, he has some degree of tech savvy, and he may have insider information about the Keeper case through Dulac.”

“And he’s a big, fucking liar.”

“And he lied.”

“About some important stuff, John.”

“Ok. I’m not trying to argue with you here. But those are all circumstantial.” Somers ran fingers through his hair and dropped his head against the seat. When he sat up straight again, he said, “I think you should wait in the car.”

“No fucking way.”

“We drive up, and you’re already hysterical about a goddamn book, Ree. I can’t figure out what’s really going on with Darnell if you’re going to think everything we see is proof that he’s a psychopath and a serial killer.”

The engine ticked as it cooled. A few yards ahead of them, a sparrow swooped to peck at something in the gravel. Then it took off again. Hazard focused on it; in his mind, he could trace the vee of its landing and departure.

“I’m sorry,” Somers said. “It really has been a bad day.”

“No, you’re right. I . . . I guess I needed to hear that. It’s just, I saw the book, and my brain started racing.” Hazard wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to trace the vee, like two broad strokes in red paint, that the sparrow had followed. “I’m just keyed up.”

“Do you think you should wait in the car?”

“No. I can do this.”

Somers sighed, but he didn’t argue the point. Together, they got out of the car, and as they approached the trailer, Darnell emerged with a cardboard box in his arms.