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“Some things never change,” Reggie says to me with a wink.
“What’s wrong with her car?” I ask as he gets in and starts it, pulling it into the spot next to the Davenport truck.
“Nothing,” Reggie says getting out. “I sneak over periodically and disable one of the cylinders. She shouldn’t be driving at all until she gets a new prescription for her glasses, but there’s no telling Martha Greerson what to do. Dev is slowly working on her, trying to suggest times to make appointments. She doesn’t think she needs it. And she hates doctors.”
“I remember,” I say with a chuckle.
Reggie shrugs. “This gets her off the road for a week at least And Dev and I drive her places when she needs it.” He grins at me. “We’re like the gay uncles she never had.”
I let out a loud laugh at that. Reggie is so easygoing, I find some of the tension inside me uncoiling. “This place looks great. Did you expand?”
“Yup,” Reggie says, his chest puffing out. “Bought the building next door. We can work on twice the amount of cars now at one time. Though Cody’s busy with a different project—hey! Cody!”
I turn and see Cody Briggs, the sheriff’s son, at the far end of the wide-open space. He’s got headphones in and is sanding a piece of wood perched on two sawhorses.
“Cody!” Reggie shouts, his voice echoing off the cement floor. Cody jumps and rips the headphones out. When he sees me, his eyes bug open wide.
“Holy shit,” he says, hurrying over to shake my hand. “Caden! Wow. Heard you were back.”
“What are you working on?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m making a couple of the booths for Magnolia Day,” Cody says. “Dev wants to do something a little different this year, and then Jake asked me if I could help make one for the Screw. It’s his first year hosting the booth as the owner. You heard he bought old man Sanderson out?”
“I did,” I say, wandering over to see what Cody is up to. “Nice work.” I run my thumb over the sanded plank and see some rough sketches laid out on a table. “You know, if you moved the shelves up here, the hinges could go here,” I say pointing. “Easier to move and the shelves would be at a better height.”
“Oh yeah?” Cody says, scratching his head. “Huh. Okay. Didn’t know you were into carpentry.”
I shrug. “I had to build a chicken coop a few months ago.”
“Wait, what?” Cody looks shocked. I guess it does sound objectively insane. I’m still the billionaire’s son around here.
But I liked building that coop. I like the sense of accomplishment that comes from working with my hands.
“Want any help with these?” I ask him. Cody brightens.
“Yeah,” he says enthusiastically.
He hands me some sandpaper and a Phillips head, and we get to work.
“Hey, Cody, you were at the anniversary gala five years ago, right?”
Cody looks up at me with pity in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m really sorry about your mom.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Did you notice anything…weird?”
He frowns. “Weird like what?”
“I don’t know. Anyone acting strangely.”
“It was a long time ago,” he says apologetically. “Mostly I remember the food. And the free drinks.”
I force a chuckle. “Right.”
I need to hone my interrogation skills if I’m to find any relevant answers. It suddenly occurs to me that I missed an opportunity with Mrs. Greerson. She notices everything and has a bear trap memory, even if her eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I’ll have to seek her out another time. When she’s not driving.
Cody and I spend the next hour in the garage, sanding wood, fixing hinges, going over the designs and coming up with ways to make Dev’s booth shine. We decide on little nooks on the walls for various cheeses, and then tiered platforms on the front table where he can showcase the other products from the store as well, the local jams and honeys and pouches of mixed herbs. Reggie turns the radio to an oldies station and we fall into a comfortable pattern, moments of silence and focus interrupted by patches of conversation about nothing—local politics, how the Yankees are doing this year, the weather.
I’m just adding a layer of varnish to one of the finished walls when I hear footsteps.