Page 16 of Flint’s Strike

Felton laughs so long, a coughing fit takes over. You breathe in enough smoke and chemicals on the job, it takes a toll on you…eventually. “God, no. I’ve got at least another five years. But Evanston’s last day is the eighteenth. I’m coordinating a little shindig for him. Sure would be nice to see you there.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Evanston taught me how to read a roof. How to look at the sag and know—before anyone called it, before the IC even got on the radio—whether you had thirty seconds or three minutes to get your crew out. Saved my life more times than I can count.

“I’ll try to make it.”

Felton goes quiet for a long moment, then takes a deep breath. “Evanston would be real glad to see you, Eliot.” Another pause. “We all would.”

My throat feels like someone filled it with broken glass, but I manage a quiet, “Yes, sir,” before the screen goes dark.

Chapter Five

Parker

AJ and Grace’s place sits far enough back from the road that you can see the lake before you have any idea there’s a house nearby. I pull into the drive with the windows down and just sit for a second, engine off, the shimmering water almost like meditation.

Then Belle hits the screen door at full speed and the moment’s over. The Bernese-Husky mix is almost eighty pounds of enthusiasm with zero concept of personal space, and I’ve loved her since the first day I met her—the day Grace went missing. The dog didn’t understand where her person had gone. I wasn’t even close to a good substitute, but on the rare occasions AJ asked me to dogsit over the past three years, I spoiled her rotten. I sink both hands into Belle’s fur, and she leans into me, tail going like she might be able to fly if she could just wag hard enough.

After a full minute, I finally manage to get her to calm down enough I can grab the bottle of Chardonnay from my cup holder and head into the house. Grace is in the kitchen, and the smell hits me before I’m through the door—brown butter and cinnamon and the yeasty tang of fresh dough.

It reminds me of my mom. Of Saturday mornings when I was little. She always set a step stool next to the counter so I could watch her make kolaches to sell at church. Sometimes, she’d let me spoon out the jam. Even when I used too much, she never complained.

Shit. I miss her. For a second, my eyes burn, but I blink hard and force a smile.

Belle trots ahead of me, then settles on her bed in the corner with her head on her paws.

“You’re early,” Grace says, her voice steady as she rolls out a large rectangle of dough.

“AJ said cinnamon rolls. You’re lucky I didn’t show up at seven a.m.” I set the wine on the counter and take a seat at one of the stools.

“Still…thirty minutes,” Grace says, pausing for a moment the way she does when she’s working through a word or sentence her brain isn’t quite happy with. “Second…uh…batch. First one didn’t survive AJ.”

“Shocking.”

Her laugh lights up her whole face, flecks of silver dancing in her eyes. “Think…he almost made himself sick. Then…tried to run.”

“Oof. That couldn’t have gone well.”

“There was groaning,” she says, then starts cutting the dough into sections.

Grace’s hands move slowly, carefully, like she’s using all her concentration on those straight lines.

“Need any help?”

Her gaze lifts for a brief moment, and her lips purse as she searches for the right words. “Have to do this…myself. Important.”

I nod, then stay quiet until she starts forming the strips into actual rolls. “You started teaching that art therapy class this week, right? How’s it going?”

“Good.” She transfers them into the pan one at a time, left hand moving slower than the right. “I have a woman who’s—” She pauses for three full seconds, then brings both hands inward toward her chest quickly, fingers spread, palms facing her.

Afraid.

After another moment, she shakes her head, and whatever her brain was snagging on passes. “She keeps telling me she can’t draw.”

“Is she right?”

“Everyone can draw.” Grace covers the pan with a cloth. “That’s not what she’s really saying.”

“Oh? What is she saying?”