We were only a few blocks from Jen’s house when I realized I needed to clarify that I meant the duplex on Roycroft. My home. We parked across the street and I dug the iPad out of my bag and opened the app that would let me check the surveillance footage from Patrick’s cameras. “Do you still need to do that?” Lauren asked. I thought for a second and realized that I didn’t. Looking at her, I said, “Can’t hurt.” She waited patiently for several minutes while I scrolled through recordings. Some of the cats were starting to look familiar, as was the mail carrier. The possum was still frequenting the backyard, too. “Looks like the coast is clear,” I said. She followed me inside. It was the first time she’d been there. “So that’s the famous banjo,” she said, looking at the Saratoga Star in its stand by the sofa. “How do you know about that?” “Everybody knows.” That was news to me. I imagined uniforms at crime scenes making banjo jokes behind my back and was surprised I hadn’t got any crap about it.
