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WE SPENT A little while longer looking around at the burned-out remains of the small house. I knew from the reports that Ralph Stein’s sister had witnessed the explosion while walking nearby with her two grandchildren. The sister had already given several statements, but Special Agent Carol Frederick had managed to schedule us another interview with her for later in the day just to be on the safe side. She’d taken the initiative and set that up on her own, on short notice. I appreciated the effort.

Frederick stood next to me as I poked around the house and said, “Clearly, you think there’s more to this case.”

“What do you think?”

“I looked through the reports and I did a couple of interviews. Everyone said the same thing. Stein and Halverson were perfectly nice neighbors who mostly kept to themselves. A few people noted that they were pretty heavy drinkers. Sounds like a lot of people I know, especially retirees. We’re still waiting on the toxicology report, but my guess is they were pretty loaded at the time of the incident.”

“Are there any bars close by?”

Special Agent Frederick thought about it and said, “There’s a little place called Hollywood Squares less than a mile up the road.”

“Hollywood Squares? Really? Like the old TV game show?”

“Been there a long time. I guess they’re just trying to capitalize on the city’s name. It’s not a spring break kind of place. You can get a burger, but it’s mostly alcohol sales to older, serious drinkers. Most of them live on this side of the Intercoastal.”

Every community had bars like this. And every bar had a bartender who was much more observant than people thought. “Could you stand a hamburger?”

“You think we should talk to the bartender.”

I just smiled. Carol Frederick reminded me of Terri Hernandez. Always thinking and usually a step ahead of me.

Hollywood Squares was exactly as I’d imagined it. A one-story cinder-block building with few windows and a flat roof. There were two cars in the gravel parking lot. An old pickup truck and a Ford Escort with cardboard where the rear passenger window should be. Painted on the front, around a single window and door, was a mural with manatees and dolphins swimming around the words “Hollywood Squares.” A caricature of the famously campy 1960s game show panelist and comedian Paul Lynde poked out from the H in “Hollywood.”

We opened the front door, stepped inside, and I was surprised to find the place not nearly as dark and dingy as I’d expected. There were two TVs, both playing ESPN. Two men sat at the bar. One was eating a hamburger and drinking a beer. The other was just drinking a Budweiser from the can. Neither bothered to turn around to see who had just entered the bar.

The bartender was a woman in her fifties with dyed blond hair and a pretty face. We ordered hamburgers and beers, then Special Agent Frederick took a moment to chat with the bartender and ease her into a few questions. The bartender’s name was Leslie Hodge. She’d been the manager of this place for more than twenty years.

Frederick laid a few photographs of Ralph Stein and Gary Halverson down on the bar.

The bartender cut her eyes at us and said, “I figured you two for cops as soon as you walked in. We get a fair number of cops in here. I was sorry to hear about Ralph and Gary. They were all anyone talked about for a couple of days after the explosion.”

Leslie told us the two retired cops used to come into the bar almost every afternoon. “They usually left about seven, when they’d walk home. More like staggered. They were good customers, tipped well. Everyone liked them.”

It wasn’t anything specific the bartender said, but something about the way she talked about the two men made me suddenly realize: Gary and Ralph hadn’t just been friends—they’d been a couple. I felt like an idiot for not putting the pieces together sooner. I mean, they lived together. I didn’t care one way or the other and didn’t know anyone who would. It was their choice to keep things on the quiet side. I just couldn’t believe I’d overlooked something so obvious.

Leslie said, “Gary introduced backgammon night on Tuesdays. We’re going to call it Gary’s Backgammon Night from now on. Ralph used to work in the kitchen when we were shorthanded. He refused any pay. Sometimes he’d ask us to donate to some environmental fund. Cops must have pretty good retirements. They never seemed to worry about money. Gary and Ralph just liked helping people. We’re gonna miss those guys.”

After lunch, Frederick and I spoke to Ralph Stein’s sister, Rachel. She was still grieving the loss of her brother but told us about how Ralph had been a grandfather figure to her grandchildren. How he had enjoyed their company and had displayed their artwork on his refrigerator. Then she broke down and started to sob uncontrollably.

Later, when Special Agent Frederick was driving me back to the airport, she turned to me unprompted and said, “You may be onto something. Those two don’t seem like candidates for suicide.”

All I could say was “I’ll keep you in the loop.”