Michael returned home exactly when he had said he would—at lunchtime. Shane had been sitting in the lounge room, reading a magazine, waiting to unlock the door and let him in.
He was carrying his gym bag and what appeared to be a note. “How are you?”
Shane didn’t answer the question. At least directly. “Tyler came over.”
Michael dropped his gym bag on the floor. “What happened?”
“I didn’t open the door. He called out to see if you were in.”
“How did he sound?”
“Normal.”
Michael nodded and opened the note. “Speak of the devil,” he said as he read. “He wants me to go over to your house tonight for dinner. Told me you’re a pretty good cook. Obviously hasn’t realised you’ve gone.”
Shane remained silent.
“Well, I’ll go and have a shower. Then I’ve got some work to catch up on. Supposed
