"I can't believe you'd call my shitty dice, old bullet casings, or dozen rodeo belts junk," Kira says, voice dipping and rising with exaggerated offense. In a tighter space, he might think about getting rid of the things that simply haunt him out of sentimentality, but he has a house with a house's storage: why throw anything away? Where would he even throw it?

The lake. Definitely the big lake.

"I don't relish the idea of finding bodies anywhere," he adds, eyes driving sideways over the board to find Mark's. "Especially the fountain. I know it drained last summer; you wouldn't know how to rig some kind of pump for that, would you? Or we could do our best with buckets."