Teddy does a half skip down the sidewalk like he’s been waiting for this moment all morning; a few coeds stretched in front of an oak tree laugh.

“Who first?”

I think for a moment and then decide to save the best for last.

“Tripp,” I say.

“Easy. I’d guess family’s upper-middle-class. Not rich-rich, not like our boy Jay or Michael. But rich enough that he’s never had to worry about money. Still, he’s a hard-working kid. A–B student. Gets a little boost because teachers like him. He’s not oblivious. He’s learned the value of his good looks and easy smile. I imagine a grandmother once told him that old ‘you catch more flies with honey’ adage and he took it to heart. He looks you in the eye, inclines his head when you’re speaking, wants to be liked but isn’t sycophantic.”

“Word of the day,” I break in, “‘sycophantic.’” I take a sip of coffee. Teddy’s stated more or less what I’ve been thinking, but as he was talking I realized that Tripp’s desire to be liked might come in handy and I slide that little trick into my pocket for later.

“So not our guy?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hiding something. Did you notice his face when Michael gave us the laptop?”

I screw up my nose, thinking back. “Nothing stands out.”

“Exactly.” Teddy nods. “He’d been all smiles. Let me tell you about our trophies. Looks of concern. How can I help? Volunteers the roommate’s name. And then Michael shows up with the laptop and his face goes blank.”

“All right,” I say, tapping the lid of my coffee cup thoughtfully with my fingernail. “Michael, then.”

Teddy blows out a long breath. We skirt a fountain splattered with bloodred leaves. I badly want him to echo what I’m thinking, something along the lines of “pretentious, dickwad asshole,” but Teddy’s a bit of a Boy Scout when it comes to swearing—he only slips when he’s truly angry—so I’ll settle for stuck-up, douchebag, jerk.