“Viagra,” Hazard said.
Somers raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t be juvenile,” Hazard said with a scowl and stomped away.
Sometimes, Somers thought, it was too easy.
The other bedroom had two dressers, another smart speaker, and a set of bunkbeds. Both beds were made. The comforters were navy, identical to the one on the bed in the other room. The sheets on the top bunk were printed with trains. The sheets on the bottom bunk were printed with race cars. The dressers held clothes similar to what Krower had worn, although leaning more toward the athletic and athleisure brands that Walmart or a similar store might carry.
“Teenage boys,” Somers said after inspecting the closet. The hamper was a dead giveaway. “Get used to that smell.”
Hazard buried his nose in his elbow. “Gah.”
“Speaking of which—”
“No.”
“We probably need to buy that poor kid some essentials.”
“Great,” Hazard said. “Now he’s costing me money.”
“Someday I’d like you to write out the equation for how you determine which problems are the ones you need to gripe about most.”
“We’re still paying off the honeymoon, John.”
“Ok,” Somers said with a sigh.
“And I’d like to put money in a 401k so I can retire one day.”
“You know what we should do? We should ask your mom to buy stuff for him. She’d be thrilled to have a grandson.”
Hazard’s expression was pure horror. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I don’t know if you’re reacting to the idea of telling your mom you have a son or asking her to spend money.”
“She’s on a fixed income, John!”
Definitely, Somers thought as he moved back to the bunkbeds. It was definitely too easy.
The realization that these were teenage boys had prompted a new line of thinking for Somers, so he lifted the top mattress and inspected the slats and dusty rails underneath.
“What are you doing?” Hazard asked.
“Teenage boys have secrets.”
“That seems like an unnecessarily categorical assertion.”
Somers turned to face his husband and cocked his head.
Hazard’s face reddened by degrees. “It might be a reasonable theory under which to operate.”
“So kind of you. Start operating.”
As Hazard began removing the drawers, Somers turned his attention back to the bed. He lifted the lower mattress. Nothing there, either. He let it fall back into place. Something about the sound was off, so he raised the mattress again. He still didn’t see anything. He started nudging the slats one by one. He was near the head of the bed when one of them slid and exposed another piece of paper.
“Hello,” Somers said, drawing out what he now realized was a pamphlet. He let the mattress fall again and sat back on his heels. “Ree, want to take a look?”
It was obviously a cheap print job—some of the pamphlet was out of register, and the only colors that had been used were black and a watery blue. On the front were the words THE HYSSOP BRANCH with a blurry blue Jesus and what could only have been generously considered a branch of anything, let alone hyssop. At the bottom were the words VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL. Somers opened the pamphlet. Inside was a listing of dates and activities: Bible verse memorization contests, Biblical crafting, Sacred Science: Dinosaurs and the Risen Lord, (Somers was willing to bet that was the one that made Hazard snort), worship hour, praise hour, rodeo hour, God’s Galaxy hour, Noah’s Ark sleepover.
“Good Christ,” Somers muttered.
“I think that’s the idea,” Hazard said drily.
When Somers flipped over the pamphlet, he felt himself still. In thick pencil, someone had written with angular letters and long tails the words, Jesus loves you, and so do I.
“Well,” Hazard said, “that doesn’t reinforce any number of unfortunate stereotypes.”
Somers examined the pamphlet again. “Isn’t The Hyssop Branch the church that Noah and Rebeca go to?”
Hazard grunted.
“And the one where Wesley was the pastor?”
“Possibly.”
“It seems like you should remember pretty clearly since you kicked his door off its hinges and broke all his furniture.”
“Yes, fine, that’s the same church.” Hazard seemed to struggle before bursting out, “It was one chair! And it’s not my fault the door handle came off.”
Somers went to the front door, shouted at a passing deputy, and waited while the young woman fetched a box of evidence bags. First, he photographed, bagged, and labeled the pamphlet. Then he photographed, bagged, and labeled the warning note from Krower’s dresser.
When he’d finished, he found Hazard standing at the front door.
“Wang in the wind?” Somers asked.
“This comes from all those video games you play with Noah,” Hazard said. “You’re regressing.”
With a grin, Somers nodded at the door. “What’s up?”
“It seems like the neighbor really is unhappy with Krower. I’d bet she’s the one who left that note. Take a look.”
Somers stuck his head out the door and glanced east. A windbreak of pines did a very good job of screening the neighbor’s house; Somers doubted he would have noticed it now if Engels hadn’t told him it was there. But what was impossible to miss were the NO TRESPASSING signs tacked every three feet to the trees.
“Somebody’s serious about the property line,” Somers said. “Worth having a chat, I think.” He shut the front door. “Basement?”
A light switch at the top of the steps turned on a bare incandescent bulb at the bottom. The stairs themselves were partially finished, with carpet padding stapled in place, but without the carpet itself. A second set of switches at the bottom turned on more exposed bulbs. The basement had been framed, and someone had hung and taped and mudded drywall. The only outstanding feature was a single door opposite the stairs. Throughout the room, extra drywall, spare two-by-fours, rolls of carpet padding, and buckets of paint were piled against the walls.
“So,” Somers said as he moved over to the door and tried it. The handle turned easily and didn’t have a lock. “They’re doing some home improvement.”
The other side of the door showed a small room that had been framed, but where no other finishing touches had been done. Cold storage, Somers guessed. Or what some people around here still called a fruit room. He shut the door.
Hazard was still walking the length of the room, shifting sheets of drywall, angling two-by-fours. Then he stopped. “John—”
Above them, a door slammed.
“What the hell?” Somers took the stairs two at a time. The curtains in the kitchen were still drifting on the displaced air. He shouted, “Hello?”
A car roared to life outside. He yanked open the door, but he’d barely gotten down the steps when a car shot into sight from behind the windbreak. It was red, a coupe, probably meant to look sporty, although it was hard to tell at just a glimpse. The driver had to be flooring the gas because the car bounced along the neighbor’s dirt drive and disappeared a moment later behind the screen of weeds and prairie grasses in the overgrown fields. A rooster’s tail of dust followed.