Chapter 24
Tyler
The shop felt different on Monday morning.
Tyler noticed it the moment he walked through the bay door at seven thirty. Robert was already there, standing at the workbench with a parts catalog open in front of him. He glanced up when Tyler entered, nodded once, then went back to the catalog.
No greeting. No small talk about the weekend. Just that single nod.
Tyler took his lunch bag to the break room and grabbed his work gloves. Two cars were scheduled for the morning—an oil change and a transmission diagnostic. Simple work, the kind that let his hands stay busy while his mind churned.
He started on the oil change first. It was a Honda Civic, maybe ten years old, with a dent in the rear bumper and a cracked taillight. The owner had left a note about a squeaking noise when braking. Tyler made a mental note to check the pads.
Robert moved to where Tyler was working and stood there watching for a minute without saying anything.
“Everything okay?” Tyler asked, not looking up.
“Fine.” Robert’s tone was flat. “Got a call from the sheriff’s department yesterday afternoon. They wanted to verify your alibi for Saturday morning.”
Tyler’s hands stilled. “What’d you tell them?”
“The truth. That you were here when I got here, and you were still here when I left for the day. They asked if I was certain about the time, if maybe you could’ve come in later.”
“But I didn’t.”
“You were here when I arrived, that much is true.” Robert shifted his weight. “Thing is, Tyler, this is becoming repetitive. First Sheila, now Monique. People are starting to talk.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I believe you.” But Robert’s voice held something Tyler hadn’t heard before. Doubt, maybe. Or worry. “Sue’s concerned about the business. About what this might do to our reputation.”
Tyler straightened, wiping his hands on a shop rag. “You want me to quit.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Robert met his eyes. “I’m saying we need to be careful. This town is small. Word gets around. If people think we’re employing someone who— ”
“Who what? Killed two women?” Tyler’s jaw tightened. “Three, maybe, if you count my wife. And of course, my little boy. But I didn’t do it, Robert. None of it.”
“I know. But perception matters.” Robert rubbed the back of his neck. “Just keep your head down, okay? Do your work, go home, don’t give anyone reason to talk.”
He walked away before Tyler could respond.
Tyler finished the oil change in silence. His mind kept circling back to Robert’s words. Perception matters. The business. Sue’s concerned.
He’d been so focused on proving his innocence that he hadn’t considered what this was doing to Robert and Sue. They’d stood by him when Adam started his harassment, but there was a limit to anyone’s loyalty, especially when money was involved.
Sue came in around nine with coffee and a box of scones from somewhere that wasn’t Brooke’s shop. Tyler noticed but didn’t comment.
“Morning,” she said, setting the box on the workbench.
“Morning.”
She poured coffee into two mugs and handed one to Tyler. They stood there for a moment, neither speaking.
“I’m sorry about Monique,” Sue said finally. “I knew her. Not well, but I’d see her at the craft store sometimes. She worked there.”
“I heard.”
“Right across the street from here.” Sue’s tone was careful. Measured. “Must have seen her around, I’d think.”
Tyler took a sip of coffee. It was too hot and burned his tongue. “Maybe. I didn’t really know her.”
“But you went to school together.”
“I graduated eighteen years ago.”
“I heard you dated.”
He paused with the mug halfway toward his lips. “Dated? Monique and me? We never dated.”
“In high school? When I was picking up treats, the woman in line said— ”
“I never dated Monique.”
Sue nodded slowly. The expression on her face made it clear that she believed the woman in line over Tyler. “Robert told you about the sheriff calling?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re not trying to make this harder on you, Tyler. We just need to protect ourselves.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Sue’s expression was worried. “Because I’m not sure you do. This town is talking. About you, about the murders, about Brooke.”
“What about her?” Tyler asked quietly.
“People saw the patrol cars at Gina’s house on Sunday. They know you were there. They know Brooke was there.” Sue set down her mug. “And I heard about her being attacked on Saturday. I’m glad it wasn’t too serious.”
“It was serious enough.”
She dipped her chin. “I drove by her coffee shop on the way to work. The place is packed. Everyone wants to see her, wanting to know what’s going on between you two.”
Tyler’s chest tightened. He’d been avoiding his phone, avoiding Brooke’s texts.
He was trying to give her space, to give himself space while he sorted out whether he should keep seeing her.
He hadn’t considered that staying away might not be enough, that just being associated with him was causing problems.
“I should go,” Tyler said. He wanted to stay and fight, to prove his innocence and be with Brooke. But now that just seemed stupid. It would hurt people he cared about. It would hurt Brooke.
“Go where?”
“Leave town. Go somewhere else where I’m not bringing trouble to people who don’t deserve it.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Sue touched his arm. “I’m saying be smart. Figure out who’s doing this and clear your name. But until then, maybe keep some distance from people who could get hurt by association.”
The phone rang, and she gave him a smile. “We’ll figure this out.”
“Sure,” he muttered.
She reached for the phone on the shop wall, an old-fashioned kind that rang with an obnoxious bell and had a cord. He could hear her but not make out the words. After a moment, she called, “Tyler, it’s for you.”
His first thought was Brooke. He’d ignored her texts and calls, and now she was trying his work line. As he neared Sue, he mouthed, “Who is it?”
She shrugged. “Not sure. A guy.”
Adam Boverman. It had to be him.
He reluctantly took the receiver. “This is Tyler. Can I help you?”
“Tyler Gillis?”
“Yes?” Not Adam. Tyler didn’t recognize the voice, but from the way the man stumbled over his name, it sounded like the guy must have had Bloody Marys for breakfast. Or, more likely, Old Milwaukee.
“Sheila wasn’ . . . enough for ya? Had ta . . . go an’ . . . have Monique too?”
“Who is this?”
“Ya know who dish is.”
“Sorry, pal. I don’t.”
“Rusty. Rusty Jones. Sheila’s husband.”
Slur and all, that came through clear as a bell. “I’m, uh, sorry for your loss— ”
“Shave it. I’m gonna make sure you pay.”
The line went silent. Tyler shook his head as he hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Sue said, startling him.
“Uh . . . Sheila’s husband.”
Sue’s mouth formed an O as she shook her head. “Wow. Sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s fine. I know you didn’t.”
Tyler returned to work, trying to pretend like the call hadn’t bothered him, but it had. This entire thing bothered him.
Rusty calling me at work, threatening me like that . . . why? Unless Rusty is the killer and is the one framing me.
Tyler’s hands stopped all motion as he considered the possibility. Robert said Rusty drove an old Trans Am and had been to the shop before. Tyler remembered the car, but not the man who drove it. Typical, really.
It hadn’t been that long since they worked on it. July, maybe, right after Irma Days? Maybe three weeks before Sheila’s death? Does that mean something?
He slipped into the steady rhythm of diagnosing and repairing, hands occupied and thoughts kept at bay.
Sort of. Brooke kept popping into his mind. Her hair. Her smile. The way her lips felt against his. How she made him feel alive after so many years of merely existing.
Her texts from yesterday were still unread on his phone. He’d seen the notifications—six messages and two missed calls. Each one was a reminder that he was hurting her by staying silent. But what was the alternative? Drag her deeper into his mess?
Brooke’s reputation was at risk. People were watching her and questioning her judgment because she’d been seeing him.
He knew she’d been put through the wringer before with Kelsey. And, exactly like then, Brooke had done nothing wrong. Nothing except choosing to trust the wrong person.
Better to stay away and protect her by not being part of her life.
The decision should’ve felt right. Selfless. The mature thing to do.
Instead, it felt like failure. Like he was running again, the way he’d run when he couldn’t face another day in Irma surrounded by the memories of Jen and Garrett. He couldn’t take it then, and wasn’t sure he could take it now.
Four o’clock came. Andre and Robert were working on something. He told them he was heading out. Andre lifted his head and said, “See you later,” but Robert only grunted. Tyler cleaned his workspace, put away his tools, and grabbed his lunch bag from the break room.
He drove home on autopilot. Turn left out of the parking lot, straight for three blocks, right on Cedar, second house on the left.
He had a small rental with peeling paint and a lawn that needed mowing.
He intended to mow yesterday, but taking care of Brooke while she was injured was more important.
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Tyler dropped his lunch bag on the counter and stood in the kitchen, not sure what to do next.
Usually, he’d lift weights. The garage had a bench and a decent set of free weights he’d bought secondhand when he first moved back. Forty-five minutes of lifting usually cleared his head, burned off whatever stress the day had piled on.
But today, the idea of being trapped in the garage, alone with his thoughts, felt unbearable.
Brooke always said running helped clear her mind.
She talked about it sometimes after Wednesday night runs—how the rhythm of her feet hitting the ground, the steady breathing, and the movement itself made everything else fade away.
Tyler ran in high school, but it was never like that for him.
It was just sports, a way to stay active and enjoy time with his friends.
Even running with her a few times since they met hadn’t brought on the passion she had. He preferred lifting, the immediate feedback of weight against muscle and the clear proof of progress.
But running sounded good today. Maybe he’d feel closer to her when he couldn’t actually be close to her.
He changed into athletic shorts and a T-shirt, laced up his shoes, grabbed his keys, and headed out.
The lake was ten minutes away, a popular spot with a paved path that looped around the water. Three miles total, mostly flat. Brooke had mentioned it once as a good place for easy runs.
He pulled into the parking lot as the sun started dropping toward the horizon. A few other cars were scattered across the spaces—evening walkers, probably, or other runners taking advantage of the cooler temperature.
Tyler killed the engine and reached for the door handle.
That’s when he saw her.
Brooke stood beside her SUV three spaces down, her back to him. She wore leggings and a tank top with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Even from here, he could see the bandage on her head. It was a smaller size than yesterday, but it was still there.
Tyler’s heart kicked hard against his ribs.