Chapter 10
“You have to jump up here if you want the milk, Mabel. We go through this every day.”
Finch leaned sideways, peeking around the wall he’d erected, to check who was at the drive-through window.
Klaus was leaning out, staring down at a cat.
It was small, and, he guessed by the look of it, Siamese, but he was no feline expert.
He set down his level and rubbed at the small of his back, where a dull ache had taken up permanent residence from all the bending.
Finch only did a few hours because of his eyes and head, leaving before either of them flared up, but he was definitely feeling better. Did he like working outside in the cold? Not so much—but he liked working, and for now, that was enough.
He could do without the Christmas carols on repeat and the constant drive-through festive goodwill from Klaus’s customers, but he’d found himself humming along to a song earlier, so maybe he was getting used to them.
“I’ll pour it, and you come in and drink it, Mabel, before the next customer arrives, and you can hitch a ride back with them,” Klaus added, negotiating with the cat, who was looking up at him like she understood every word.
Curious, Finch moved closer to study the animal. She stared up at him with the unimpressed expression cats reserved for people who hadn’t yet earned their respect.
“Problem?”
“That’s Nina’s cat, Mabel. She walks here for a saucer of milk and some cat biscuits every day, and then gets a ride home,” Klaus explained, like this was the most unremarkable thing in the world. He wore a scarf wrapped three times around his neck today, but still no hat.
“You’re not serious?” Finch bent and stroked the silky white head of the feline. She leaned into his hand.
“She’s very intelligent. When Nina found out she turned up here each day, she asked the neighbors to check their doorbell cameras—those that had them—and Mabel walks along the path until she reaches the driveway and then crosses.
Looks both ways first. Smarter than half the men who drink my coffee. ”
Finch studied the cat. She meowed, unbothered by the review of her intelligence, and then leaped in through the open window with the confidence of an animal who had never once doubted she belonged exactly where she was.
Shaking his head, Finch picked up his hammer and went back to work.
The rhythm was becoming familiar enough now that his mind could wander while his hands stayed busy.
He’d gotten three boards nailed down before he heard the crunch of tires on gravel as another car pulled up to the window.
“Hey, Finch!”
Looking around the wall again, he saw Tripp Lyntacky, the town mayor, with Bradford, the lab tech come general handyman, pulling up in Bradford’s sedan.
“How’s it going?”
Sighing, he set down his tools as they both got out of the car. Finch then straightened to face the man who was solely responsible for the entire town dancing the Grapevine Twist in his aunt’s memory and managed a tight smile. “Good, Tripp. How about you?”
He had long, straggly gray hair that today was pulled up into a high ponytail with a red ribbon wound around it.
On the sides were hair clips shaped like candy canes, a look Finch had never seen on the man before and had to say he wished he hadn’t.
Tripp wore a beige jacket that came to his knees and jeans tucked into black cowboy boots that looked freshly polished.
On his lapels were at least ten Christmas badges, one with flashing lights.
“Ah, nice boots,” was all Finch could come up with.
“I need someone to fix my door, Finch. The hinge is broken. You can do that after this job for Klaus.” Tripp said it as though the decision had already been made, Finch simply being the last person in town to be informed of it.
He didn’t sigh out loud this time, though it took effort. “I don’t need work, Tripp.”
“Of course you do.” The man patted his shoulder. “You’re already looking better. More color in your cheeks. I’ll expect you soon.”
“The color in my cheeks is because it’s cold.”
But Tripp didn’t acknowledge his words. He had already turned and was walking toward the window, where he leaned in to talk to Klaus while the coffee man made up their orders.
“I’ve always found the best way is to agree and then do what you want,” Bradford said, coming to stand next to Finch.
“What’s with the hair, though, bud?”
Bradford laughed softly under his breath.
He was tall, lanky, and, as far as Finch knew, without a partner, but then, unlike everyone else in this town, the man was pretty private.
He volunteered little about himself, which Finch respected.
He was one of those really smart people you asked questions of, and no matter what it was, he had the answer.
Finch was no dummy himself, but this guy was next level.
“Not sure, but best I can tell is that he went to the elementary school today, and some kid there did it for him.”
“I hope that’s the reason, otherwise our mayor is losing it,” Finch added, watching Tripp gesture animatedly at Klaus through the window, his ribbon fluttering in the breeze.
“Okay, Bradford, let’s go,” Tripp called, already heading back to the car with two coffees balanced in a cardboard tray. “In you get, Mabel.”
Finch watched the mayor open his door, and the cat leaped in without hesitation.
“This town. There are no words,” Finch muttered, going back to work. He drove a nail home with more force than strictly necessary.
He wondered how Nina was doing. He’d been thinking about her a lot since her mother passed away—more than he probably should.
More than made sense for a man who once barely spoke to her beyond the occasional nod when they ran into each other.
His own mother drove him crazy, checking in on him constantly whether he wanted her to or not, but he was grateful every single day to have her in his life, irritating visits and weird ways included.
How was Nina coping with hers gone for good?
“I have coffee for you,” Klaus said two hours later, appearing around the wall, two paper cups in hand.
Since he’d started working here, Finch had come to the realization that Klaus just liked people and talking. He was rarely silent for more than ten minutes at a stretch.
“That’s my third, Klaus. I’ll never sleep again. And aren’t you closed for the day?”
“Are you having trouble sleeping, Finch?” Klaus asked, ignoring the second question entirely, the way he ignored most things he didn’t feel like answering.
“Sometimes,” he answered truthfully. Ever since Lynx had returned to Lyntacky, Finch had been trying harder to open up about what was going on inside him.
It was uncomfortable, like wearing a shirt a size too small, but he was determined to be more open.
The truth was, some nights it was easier to sleep than others, while on other nights, he lay staring at the ceiling fan, unmoving, waiting for his heart to stop pounding from a dream he couldn’t fully remember.
“Klosterfrau Melissengeist is what you need,” Klaus said with the gravity of a man prescribing medicine he fully believed in.
“You’re going to have to give me more than that, Klaus. I mean, the words sound impressive, but it could be snake oil for all I know.” Finch used his pinch bar to pull out a bent nail, working it free with a screech of metal that set his teeth on edge.
He was good at building, he’d realized two days in, but he still made mistakes. Measured twice and still cut wrong sometimes.
“It’s a traditional German herbal remedy, Finch. Made from an alcoholic distillate of lemon balm and other medicinal plants. It’s very popular in my country, found in most homes. It will help you sleep. I’ll give you some.”
Finch fought the urge to say no, the reflex so automatic now, it barely registered anymore.
Birdie had told him that people in this town just wanted to help him, so don’t shut them out, don’t constantly say no when they offer him things.
Easier said than done for a man who mostly just wanted to be left alone.
“I’ll get you some tomorrow. But now, you head off home and get cleaned up, and we’ll see you there,” Klaus said, already turning to head back to the window.
“There?”
“Shirley’s party is today. Nancy and Hank are hosting it at Circle Left, and Nina needs our support.”
“Party?”
“Her cremation was private, but this is for the town to gather in her memory,” Klaus added.
“Right.” He hadn’t remembered it was today, but then Finch wasn’t even sure he’d been told.
“Everyone who knows Nina will want to be there for her and to pay their respects to Shirley,” Klaus said in a tone that made it clear avoidance wasn’t really on the table.
“Right,” Finch said again, because what else was there to say?
People already thought he was grumpy and unsociable. Would it really matter if he didn’t go?
Driving out of Lyntacky and not looking back sounded good about now, the way it always did when things got close to feeling like too much. But he knew that if he were anywhere else, he’d be alone, and that wasn’t what he needed right now—even if it was, undeniably, what he wanted.
“See you later,” Finch said to Klaus, then headed to his car.
Soon he was driving down the street. He scanned his surroundings, something he’d always done in the military, and that hadn’t changed on leaving it. You never knew who was about, or what kid might appear in front of you, chasing a ball.
Reaching Nina’s place, Finch slowed, then stopped right there in the street. Did he just see someone running down the side of Nina’s house and disappearing around the back? And why was that his business? She had friends and neighbors who were checking on her, surely?
But why would they be running?
He sat there for a moment with the engine idling, scanning the front windows for any sign of movement.
Nothing. Finch told himself it was unlikely Nina was home, seeing as her mother’s remembrance party was today.
She’d be at Circle Left, getting things ready for a roomful of well-meaning friends and neighbors.
Or maybe she was home, had come back to change and grab something she’d forgotten?
But if that were the case, why would Nina walk that way around the side of the house and not go through the front door?
Had she forgotten her key? If it was her, where was her car?
Finch pulled into her driveway, then parked and sat with his hand on the door handle a second longer than necessary, that old, familiar tightening starting low in his gut, the kind he recognized from another life entirely.
He told himself it was nothing and that there was a simple explanation. There always was in a town like this.
Finch got out and walked around the house, keeping his footsteps quiet on the path.
You’re being paranoid.
If Nina was here, he’d say he was just checking on Mabel. A flimsy excuse, but it was all he had on short notice. If no one was here, and he was seeing things, he’d leave, and she’d never know he’d come at all.
Walking around the house, Finch heard a loud yowl, and his pulse climbed.
Moving closer to the siding, he reached the end of the wall but could hear no sounds or voices.
Stepping out from the protection of the house into the open backyard, he heard a thud and then nothing, so he dismissed it as someone in a house nearby.
Studying the yard next, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Just a clothesline swaying gently and the long shadow of the house stretching toward the back fence.
“Just great, like I didn’t have enough to deal with. Now my mind is going,” Finch muttered, though his heartbeat hadn’t yet caught up with the fact that there was no threat. It was still thumping hard in his chest.
Squatting down, he scratched the cat’s head, as she’d appeared from somewhere near the porch steps. “You doing okay there, Mabel?”
The cat purred, low and steady, so he guessed that was an affirmative, though it did little to settle the unease he was still feeling.
After checking the back door was locked, Finch studied the ground in front of it, crouching to get a better look at the soft dirt bordering the path.
There, pressed clear into the soil, was a single small footprint.
Too small to be his own, so it had to be Nina’s.
He walked back to his car, berating his overactive imagination, and climbed in. With a final look at the little white house, he drove home.