“Can I come in?” Quinn asked.
Bo held the screen door open with one hand, gripped a can of Mountain Dew in the other. “It’s nice to see you too.”
Quinn ducked under his outstretched arm, entered the living room, checked out the sparse surroundings. In terms of furniture, Bo was a minimalist. One distressed leather set of couches in a manly shade of rusty brown and a single end table containing a simple, black lamp. No flat-screen TV. No state-of-the-art stereo. Not in this room, at least. What the room did have was books. Shelves brimming with them. Hemingway, Doyle, Fleming. Most of the greats were there, all lined side by side according to the last name of the author.
In high school, she thought Bo was just a highly organized person. Now she knew better. He had organizational OCD. A need for perfect symmetry.
Quinn ran a finger across a few of the book jackets, wondered what he’d do if she pulled one out then put it back in a different section. She decided it wasn’t polite and resisted the temptation. “No television?”
“You seem surprised.”
“Not really. I never remember us watching TV when we dated.”
“We didn’t. We found far more productive ways to spend our time.”
He grinned, his eyes glazing over, not really focused on any one thing. He’d gone inside, become sucked into a distant memory. She could see it. It was easy to tell. And it made her curious as to which one.
She wanted to say, “Where are you right now? What are you thinking?” But she couldn’t. Helping find Evie’s killer would require sacrifice, a clear head. She couldn’t allow a mess of emotions to get in the way.
“My dad said you’re a sergeant or something. You’re working Evie’s case, right?”
“I work in the detective division. You ever think of calling first?”
“Do you?” she asked.
“I don’t have your number.”
“I don’t have yours either. Why don’t you give it to me? I’ll leave, drive down the road, call you, ask if it’s a good time, and if it is, I’ll drive back, and we can do this entire meet-and-greet thing one more time.”
He shook his head. “Still a smart ass.”
“And you’re still not good with surprises.”
“I like to know when someone’s coming. Nothing wrong with asking for a heads up.”
“I didn’t say there was. Anyway, you’ve stopped by to see me every day since I’ve been back. I don’t recall you calling ahead. Not once.”
“You can’t compare me to you. You’re different. You don’t care about those kinds of things.”
It was a poor excuse.
Quinn reached into the pocket of her sweater, pulled out a pint jar, set it down on the end table. She looked at Bo, stuck a hand out. It felt a lot more awkward than she’d imagined on the way over, but it was too late to take the hand back now. She’d already committed, and there it was, dangling in front of him. Alone. Unshaken.
Bo stared at the jar, then at the outstretched hand, his face a combination of uneasiness and confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Shaking.”
“On what?”
“Our friendship,” she said.
“Our friendship? That’s what we are now? Friends?”
“I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this what you want?”
The longer her hand went unaccepted, the weirder the moment became. She pulled back, and he instinctively reached out and grabbed it, not shaking the hand, but not letting it go either. Instead he flattened it, enveloping the hand between both of his own. “What are you doing, Quinn?”
“What do you mean?”
“You come over here, give me a jar of strawberry jam, offer to be friends. This isn’t like you.”
“My mom made the jam. You used to like it. It was your favorite.”
“Still is, that’s not the point. You want something. And don’t bother denying it.”
Her discomfort accelerated. Being forthright was much harder than she anticipated.
“All right, fine. I want to know more about what happened to Evie—the things you know that you haven’t shared with the people in this town.”
He released her hand. “Nice try, but I can’t talk to you about it.”
“Oh, come on, Bo.”
“I know it’s frustrating. You have to be patient, trust in the system. We know what we’re doing. I don’t want you any more involved than you have to be.”
“Too late, I already am. I stopped by her house before I came here.”
“You shouldn’t have gone there.”
“Why?” she asked. “What does it matter?”
“You saw the police tape on the door, right?”
Quinn nodded.
“Did you tamper with it?”
“Did I tamper with it? Are you interrogating me now?”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes. Well, no. Not really.”
“Which is it—yes or no?”
“Whoever stuck the tape to the door did a terrible job. The way it was wrapped around the knob was sloppy. I had to move it in order to get inside.”
Bo set the soda can down. “You should have left it alone.”
“You don’t have to worry. I stuck it back up when I left.”
“Did it occur to you we left the tape up for a reason?”
“What reason? Several of Evie’s personal belongings were missing. Haven’t you gathered all the evidence you need?”
“You don’t understand. We leave the tape up in order to tell if anyone has been there since we left. Sometimes a killer returns to the scene of the crime.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Several reasons. It allows them to relive the experience. Or because their own paranoia convinces them they left something behind—hair, prints, anything. So they go there to double check.”
It was something she’d never considered. “I’m, sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How did you get in?”
Quinn dug into her front pocket, fished out a silver piece of metal, dangled it in front of him.
“You have a key to her house?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Why did you go over there?”
She sat down on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other. He sat in a chair next to her. “I’m looking for answers, just like you. Don’t ask me to leave it alone, Bo. I can’t. I need to know she didn’t die for nothing. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I do ... I mean, I want to. It’s just ... I can’t give you the answers you came here for, Quinn. Maybe one day, just not today.”
She stood. “Then we’re done. There’s nothing more to say.”
“Don’t leave. You just got here. I thought you wanted to be friends.”
She reached the door, turned the knob, looked back. “I must have misunderstood the meaning of friendship. My mistake.”