Trevor rolls his eyes and heads down the hallway, into the bathroom. The door closes. Still sitting in the armchair, I rub my eyes. The worst thing about all of this is that I didn’t have to do any of this. If I had just stayed home with my imagination, Kent wouldn’t be a plagiarist, and he’d still be living in some anonymous lighthouse. I hear the toilet flush and the door open, but Trevor doesn’t come back down the hallway. I look over as another light comes on.

“Eric, come here,” Trevor says in hushed, but intense voice. I get up and head down the hallway. Eric is in a small breakfast nook across from the bathroom. He’s standing in front of a shelf, examining the statue of an animal. He hears me and steps aside to give me a better view. It’s a zebra. A porcelain zebra.

“What the hell?” I say.

“It’s the zebra from Kent’s first book, isn’t it?”

“It sure looks like it.”

“So what, did Kent steal it from this guy also? Or do they just know each other?”

“Either way, Phiziny knows more than he’s told us.” On the left wall is a shelf with some framed photographs. One is at a college graduation, a man and a woman in caps and gowns, with sashes signifying they have received their masters degrees.

“This looks like mom,” I say, pointing out the picture to Trevor.

“Yeah, it kinda does,” he says. “Is that guy Phiziny, thirty years ago?”

“I would guess so, but he looks familiar.” I look down at my bag. “No,” I say aloud, then pull my copy of Underestimated out, looking from the back cover to the photo.

“I thought I asked you not to wander around,” Phiziny says suddenly from behind us.

“This is you getting your masters from UMaine, right?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “1974.”

“And it’s funny, because in this picture, you bear a striking resemblance to this picture of Elias Kent.” I show him the back cover of the book in my hand. “What are you, his father? Uncle? Jealous older brother?”

“No,” Trevor says before Phiziny can answer. “Don’t you get it? John Phiziny is a terrible name for a writer.”