well-honed lie detector.
Ellie inhaled a deep breath and then let it spill. “Tonight when I was painting in the shop, I left the alley door propped open.” A ticking started in her head. “Someone snuck in—”
“Snuck in!” Her mother’s hand flew to her chest. “Did something happen to you? Are you hurt?” She rushed to Ellie’s side and cupped her daughter’s cheeks with her cool hands.
Suddenly feeling very conspicuous, Ellie pushed back in her chair and smiled awkwardly up at her mother. “I’m fine. Just a little paint in my hair and on my T-shirt.” She swallowed around her fear. “You know how those teens have been doing graffiti on the stone walls at the park? Kids were probably looking to steal my paint and I surprised them.”
She hoped God would forgive her this little white lie to spare her mother a sleepless night.
Nancy’s worried eyes moved to Johnny. “Is that what happened?”
His gaze flicked to Ellie, then back to her mother.
“Officer Bailey is looking into it. I’ll follow up with him if it’d make you feel better.”
“Oh...I...I’m sure our local police are more than capable.” Ellie’s mother must have remembered she didn’t want to ask the likes of Johnny for help.
Or perhaps her mother feared her daughter would get swept off her feet again. Make another stupid mistake. And with the man who had ruined her brother’s life.
But what her mother had yet to realize: Ellie refused to get involved with anyone. She was done looking for approval through a man’s eyes.
* * *
The next morning Johnny wandered down the back stairway into his grandfather’s kitchen. Through the exterior French doors, he was surprised to see the eighty-year-old man raking leaves in the backyard, his golden retriever keeping him company. His grandfather was ten years older than when Johnny had moved in with him for his undercover narcotics position at the high school, and his face was thinner, but he still kept active. This old house was a lot to maintain.
However, a neighbor had caught Johnny in the driveway yesterday and expressed some concerns about his grandfather’s physical ability. Johnny hadn’t been around long enough to determine if this was a valid concern or simply the grumblings of a neighbor who didn’t like that his grandfather’s once stately Victorian had fallen into disrepair.
Johnny opened the doors to the outside and the crisp morning air hit him. He stepped down onto the stone patio. Dandelions pushed through the cracks between the pavers. Maybe he’d fix a few things while he was here. Every improvement would help his grandfather sell the place sooner—if only he could convince him now was the perfect time to sell.
To date Johnny hadn’t been able to convince his grandfather of anything.
“You’re up early,” Johnny called to his grandfather.
His grandfather, or “Buddy” as most people called him, stopped raking and rested his elbow on the handle. “The older I get, the less I sleep.”
Johnny imagined his grandfather had a lot of regrets that kept him awake at night.
“Any break in the case?”
Johnny bent and yanked a dandelion out by the roots. “Not yet.” He had told his grandfather he was in town working on a case, but he hadn’t given him many details. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his grandfather; he just didn’t want to put the elderly gentleman in the position of accidentally compromising an active investigation.
“Your investigation... Does it have anything to do with that intruder over at the new gift shop?”
Johnny angled his head and studied his grandfather. “How did you know about that?”
Duke, the golden retriever, ran over to Johnny and was rewarded with a pat on the head. Johnny pulled a dry leaf from the patch of gray in the dog’s fur.
“Heard about it when I ran up to the convenience store for the morning paper.”
“Nothing goes unnoticed in a small town.”
“You should know that by now.” Buddy arched his gray brow. “Whatever you’re working on, be careful. People have long memories and still blame you for ruining those boys’ lives.”
“You mean the boys I arrested for dealing drugs at the high school?” Johnny bit back the sarcasm.
“One of them wasn’t convicted.”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t guilty.”
“That’s not how people think. You know that. People don’t forget.” His grandfather jabbed at a pile of leaves with the rake. “Sometimes I think more people were upset you ruined the chances of the baseball team going to the state championship than about the arrests themselves.”
Johnny shook his head. “There’s more at stake now. A young boy died of a drug overdose. I need to get these drugs off the street. They are nasty stuff. Deadlier than most.”
His grandfather walked toward him and stumbled on a root. Johnny lunged forward to catch him, but the older man righted himself with the support of the rake before Johnny reached him. “Stupid roots.” Buddy shook his head. “I know how important this investigation is. Even though there’s plenty of crime in Buffalo, you keep ending up back here in Williamstown.”
“The chief of police requested the FBI’s help.”
“Maybe after you reached out to them after seeing news of the boy’s death on TV?” The sudden surge of deaths due to drugs throughout the area had made the death of a Williamstown honor student news, even forty minutes away in Buffalo.
Johnny didn’t say anything.
His grandfather balanced the rake against a small patio table and lowered himself slowly onto a wrought-iron chair that could have used a fresh coat of paint. He rubbed Duke’s head playfully and made a few affectionate noises. After a minute he said, “Your being here has nothing to do with Mary Claire getting hooked on drugs when she was a student at Williamstown?”
Buddy’s hands shook as he spoke of his only daughter. Johnny’s mother.
Johnny swallowed around a lump in his throat, not trusting his voice.
“You never did get over losing your mother.”
How did one get over losing a mother due to a drug overdose when he was twelve, which had then landed him in foster care? No, that pretty much stuck in a kid’s mind. Forever.
Johnny was lucky—if he could call it that—that he had just come off a pretty rough case and his direct supervisor at the FBI had thought he needed some downtime. They had agreed on a compromise: Johnny could take a pseudo leave of absence and help his grandfather get the old Victorian house ready for sale, all while serving in an official FBI capacity to help the Williamstown police department get the drugs off the street.
The wind whispered through the trees, sending more leaves floating to the ground. “You’ve got a big job out here,” Johnny said, referring to the
