Gillian Flynn - Gone Girl:

“She tried to talk with me when I was a little busy yesterday,” Rand said. “She quoted some Amazing Amy stuff at me. Amazing Amy and the Best Friend War , actually. ‘Best friends are the people who know us best.’ ”

“Sounds like Hilary,” I said. “All grown up.”

We met Boney and Gilpin just after seven A.M. at an IHOP out along the highway for a showdown: It was ridiculous that we were doing their job for them. It was insane that we were the ones discovering leads. It was time to call in the FBI if the local cops couldn’t handle it.

A plump, amber-eyed waitress took our orders, poured us coffee, and, clearly recognizing me, lingered within eavesdropping distance until Gilpin scatted her away. She was like a determined housefly, though. Between drink refills and dispensing of utensils and the magically quick arrival of our food, our entire harangue came in limp bursts. This is unacceptable … no more coffee, thanks … it’s unbelievable that … uh, sure, rye is fine …

Before we were done, Boney interrupted. “I understand, guys, it’s natural to want to feel involved. But what you did was dangerous. You have got to let us handle this kind of thing.”

“That’s just it, though, you aren’t handling it,” I said. “You’d never have gotten this information, about the gun, if we didn’t go out there last night. What did Lonnie say when you talked to him?”

“Same thing you said he said,” Gilpin said. “Amy wanted to buy a gun, she was scared.”

“You don’t seem that impressed by this information,” I snapped. “Do you think he was lying?”

“We don’t think he was lying,” Boney said. “There’s no reason for the guy to invite police attention to himself. He seemed very struck by your wife. Very … I don’t know, rattled that this had happened to her. He remembered specific details. Nick, he said she was wearing a green scarf that day. You know, not a winter scarf but a fashion-statement scarf.” She made fluttery moves with her fingers to show she thought fashion to be childish, unworthy of her attention. “Emerald green. Ring a bell?”

I nodded. “She has one she wears with blue jeans a lot.”

“And a pin on her jacket—a gold cursive A?”

“Yes.”

Boney shrugged: Well, that settles it .

“You don’t think he might have been so struck by her that he … kidnapped her?” I asked.

“He has an alibi. Rock-solid,” Boney said, giving me a pointed look. “To tell the truth, we’ve begun to look for … a different kind of motive.”

“Something more … personal,” Gilpin added. He looked dubiously at his pancakes, topped with strawberries and puffs of whipped cream. He began scraping them to the side of his plate.

“More personal,” I said. “So does that mean you’re finally going to talk to Desi Collings, or Hilary Handy? Or do I need to?” I had, in fact, promised Marybeth I’d go today.

“Sure, we will,” Boney said. She had the placating tone of a girl promising her pesky mom to eat better. “We doubt it’s a lead—but we’ll talk to them.”

“Well, great, thanks for doing your job, kind of,” I said. “And what about Noelle Hawthorne? If you want someone close to home, she’s right in our complex, and she seems a little obsessed with Amy.”

“I know, she’s called us, and she’s on our list.” Gilpin nodded. “Today.”

“Good. What else are you doing?”

“Nick, we’d actually like you to make some time for us, let us pick your brain a bit more,” Boney said. “Spouses often know more than they realize. We’d like you to think a bit more about the argument—that barnburner your neighbor Mrs., uh, Teverer overheard you and Amy having the night before she went missing.”

Rand’s head jerked toward me.

Jan Teverer, the Christian casserole lady who wouldn’t meet my eye anymore.

“I mean, could it have been because—I know this is hard to hear, Mr. Elliott—because Amy was under the influence of something?” Boney asked. Innocent eyes. “I mean, maybe she has had contact with less savory elements in town. There are plenty of other drug dealers. Maybe she got in over her head, and that’s why she wanted a gun. There’s got to be a reason she wants a gun for protection and doesn’t tell her husband. And Nick, we’d like you to think harder about where you were between that time—the time of the argument, about eleven P.M., the last anyone heard Amy’s voice—”

“Besides me.”

“Besides you—and noon, when you arrived at your bar. If you were out and about in this town, driving to the beach, hanging around the dock area, someone must have seen you. Even if it was someone just, you know, walking his dog. If you can help us, I think that would be really …”

“Helpful,” Gilpin finished. He speared a strawberry.

They both watched me attentively, congenially. “It’d be super-helpful, Nick,” Gilpin repeated more pleasantly. First time I’d heard about the argument—that they knew about it—and they chose to tell me in front of Rand—and they chose to pretend it wasn’t a gotcha.

“Sure thing,” I said.

“You mind telling us what it was about?” Boney asked. “The argument?”

“What did Mrs. Teverer tell you it was about?”

“I hate to take her word when I got you right here.” She poured some cream into her coffee.

“It was such a nothing argument,” I began. “That’s why I never mentioned it. Just both of us scrapping at each other, the way couples do sometimes.”

Rand looked at me as if he had no clue what I was talking about: Scrapping? What is this scrapping of which you speak?

“It was just—about dinner,” I lied. “About what we’d do for dinner for our anniversary. You know, Amy is a traditionalist about these things—”

“The lobster!” Rand interrupted. He turned to the cops. “Amy cooks lobster every year for Nick.”

“Right. But there’s nowhere to get lobster in this town, not alive, from the tank, so she was frustrated. I had the Houston’s reservation—”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a Houston’s reservation.” Rand frowned.

“Well, yes, sorry, I’m getting confused. I just had the idea of the Houston’s reservation. But I really should have just arranged to have some lobster flown in.”

The cops, each of them, raised an accidental eyebrow. How very fancy .

“It’s not that expensive to do. Anyway, we were at this rotten loggerheads, and it was one of those arguments that got bigger than it should have.” I took a bite of my pancakes. I could feel the heat rushing from under my collar. “We were laughing about it within the hour.”

“Hunh” was all Boney said.

“And where are you on the treasure hunt?” Gilpin asked.

I stood up, put down some money, ready to go. I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be playing defense here. “Nowhere, not right yet—it’s hard to think clearly with so much going on.”

“Okay,” Gilpin said. “It’s less likely the treasure hunt is an angle, now that we know she was already feeling threatened months ago. But keep me in the loop anyway, okay?”

We all shuffled out into the heat. As Rand and I got into our car, Boney called out, “Hey, is Amy still a two, Nick?”

I frowned at her.

“A size two?” she repeated.

“Yes, she is, I think,” I said. “Yes. She is.”

Boney made a face that said Hmmmm , and got in her car.

“What do you think that was about?” Rand asked.

“Those two, who knows?”

We remained silent for most of the way to the hotel, Rand staring out the window at the rows of fast-food restaurants blinking by, me thinking about my lie—my lies. We had to circle to find a space at the Days Inn; the payroll convention was apparently a hot ticket.