“Can you just explain it to me?” she said, her voice weary. “You see, I had to go to a public university. Where I grew up in Nebraska. I paid my way through by working in a fast-food restaurant. Worked my way up to assistant manager in two years. We had sororities and fraternities, but nothing called ‘Sigil and Shield.’ Can you enlighten me on what that is? It sounds like a Dungeons and Dragons–type game, but I’m guessing it was more than that.”

The two officers looked even more curious, watching from behind Rountree.

“It’s a social club. At Ferncroft. We didn’t have fraternities and sororities, but we had social clubs. A group you had to be invited to join. We did charity in the community. Social things.”

“And you partied too?”

I swallowed. My back grew wetter from the sweat. My throat drier. “Of course. We were in college.”

“And you and Mr. Norton were in this group together?” Rountree asked.

“That’s right. With a lot of other people. We weren’t officers or anything.”

“But he wasn’t sentimental about it? Not the kind of guy to go traipsing down memory lane? Not the type to reminisce about the good old days in Sigil and Shield?”

“We talk about the past. Sometimes. Why are you asking me this? I’m sorry I don’t see what it has to do with—”

“You’ve been in this house before today, right?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“So you’ve been all through it? Upstairs and down?”

“I have.”

“You know Mr. Norton has an office upstairs? He has a desk, a computer, reference books for his job, all that kind of stuff. I’ll give him credit. He keeps it pretty neat and tidy. Nothing out of place. Everything orderly. Is that him or his fiancée who insists on that kind of order?”

“Blake always kept his desk pretty clean. We roomed together for three years in college. He could go weeks without doing laundry or getting a haircut, but he kept his desk clean.”

“Interesting.”

“Are you going to let me in on the secret?” I asked.

Rountree looked back at the other officers, who stared at her like kindergartners waiting to see if their teacher was going to let them out for recess. She turned back to me and nodded.

“I went all through the house. They were right. There was nothing ransacked, nothing damaged outside of that bourbon bottle. Rowan’s Creek. Good stuff too. A shame to waste it. But I did notice in the office that Mr. Norton had his college yearbooks out. What is it called? The Bower?”

“That’s it.”