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Six o’clock in the morning. No way Carl could have been at Everton to shoot Mom at six twenty-four.
“Don’t get discouraged,” Noah says and my temper flares.
“How can I not?” I snap. “I’ve only got a few weeks left then it’s case closed.”
“It’s never closed,” Noah says. “It’s just…not active.”
“Not helpful,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Well, like you said, you’ve still got some time. Don’t give up, Cade.”
I hang up and go back to sanding, with renewed fervor. Cody arrives for work half an hour later. I’ve started on the drawers when I hear a door slam outside. A few seconds later, Grace walks into the garage.
“Morning, Grace,” Cody says, looking up from beneath the hood of Mrs. Greerson’s car. Reggie messed with the cylinder again.
“Good morning,” Grace says solemnly. She plods over to me, her expression glum.
“Why the long face?” I ask.
“My facial dimensions haven’t changed,” Grace says.
“Right.” I’ve really enjoyed working with Grace this summer. She’s such a unique kid. And smarter than anyone I’ve ever met. “Why do you look so down?”
“Isla doesn’t want me to work on the booths with you anymore,” Grace says as I hand her a piece of sandpaper.
“Did she tell you that?”
“No. But I can tell.” She pulls out the second drawer of the dresser, sets it on the ground, then plops down next to it and starts to sand, just the way I’ve taught her.
My heart sinks. I should have seen this coming. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “It’s been really fun working with you.”
“Did you guys have a fight or something?”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Yeah. Sort of.”
“About what?”
Cody has been wiping the same spot beneath the hood and I can tell his ears are tuned into this conversation. The last thing I need is for more gossip to be spread.
“Grownup stuff,” I say.
Grace purses her lips. “I’m not stupid. And I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“No, you’re not.” I sigh. “I said some things I shouldn’t have,” I admit. “I said something hurtful. And untrue.”
“Can you take it back?”
“I want to—I said it in the heat of the moment, but that’s no excuse. Isla doesn’t want to talk to me, though.”
“So she’s mad at you for something you said that was mean but it was also a lie and now she won’t talk to you, which is the only way she would know you want to take it back?”
“That about sums it up.”
Grace rubs her nose. “I don’t understand people,” she says.
I don’t either, but I’m not sure it’s in the way Grace means.
“I don’t know why Isla doesn’t see what I see,” Grace says quietly.