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He looks at me like I’m out of my mind and shakes his head. “Erm… no thank you.”

These Brits are so polite, even when they think you’re bonkers.

I shrug and open the packet, popping the praline in my mouth and munching away happily. Priester’s Pralines have always been one of my favorite treats. I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m running low on the box I brought with me. I’ve met so many kind and wonderful folks here that I’ve had the opportunity to thank.

I’ve also made Callum a convert, and I’m already thinking about ways I can mail him a little care package full of things that are special to me, give him a little taste of down-home Alabama while we’re apart.

Although I’m trying not to think too much about having to go home. The time together we’ve gained with my return plane ticket change is not a permanent solution, unfortunately.

Callum’s flashlight lights our way as we move down the dark hallway. Nigel relaxes a little bit when he sees the bright lights in the main spin classroom.

We had moved the stationary bikes over to the back wall to free up a bit more space and set up three folding chairs for us to use while we converse. Nigel selects a chair and sits down, wiping his palms against his pant legs and twitches a bit while looking around.

“I haven’t been down this street in a long time.”

“I’m sure the landscape of the area has changed an awful lot since you were here as a boy, but this building we’re in was actually erected on the site where the former nightclub used to be,” Callum says.

Nigel stills.

“This is where the Midnight Vault used to be?” he asks, his voice shaking.

“It surely is,” I say.

“But the street number was different,” he mutters.

“That changed with rezoning a long time ago,” Callum explains. “After the club was torn down, the lot became a car park for a couple of decades, but then the land was sold again and this building went up.”

Nigel gulps. “I see. Is that why you wanted to bring me here, to reminisce about the past?”

Callum holds his notebook at the ready and leans forward in his seat. “Let’s start with your uncle. What can you tell us about Reggie?”

Nigel looks between us, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he sits back in his chair and crosses his arms in a defensive way.

“Uncle Reggie was… a complicated man. He had his demons, but the worst of them was gambling. Later on, he turned to drink and went downhill from there.” His expression clouds over as he speaks. “That’s what killed him in the end.”

“He was your guardian, right?” I say.

Nigel shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “That’s right. I never knew my father. The wanker fucked off when my mum told him she was pregnant. She raised me as a single parent until she got sick…” His voice trails off and he hunches in on himself. “She passed away when I was ten, and no one else in the extended family wanted to take me in. Uncle Reggie was the only one who stepped up, refusing to let me be put into the foster care system.” His voice softens. “For that, I’ll always owe him a debt of gratitude.”

“What was life like with him?” I ask softly. “Was he a good guardian?”

“For the first couple of years, yeah, things were good. Uncle Reggie set his sights on opening a business and was working on trying to buy the old warehouse, planned to convert it into a nightclub. It took a while for him to get a loan, then he had to file all the paperwork to get approval for the renovations, and then the actual work had to get done. It took nearly two years to get the club finally open. By then, I was thirteen.”

“From your recollection, how did the club do financially?” Callum asks, his sharp gaze focused on Nigel.

I love when he gets like this. He’s so intense. It kind of makes me want to have him interrogate me. Maybe a little role-play where he plays bad cop and I play naughty criminal…

Nigel hesitates. “I think it did well… at first. It was popular in the area, had lots of young people coming in to drink and dance the night away. Disco was in its heyday, and Reggie really went all in.” His gaze turns inward. “But by the second year, Uncle Reggie started having money problems.”

“Ken told us it was because of his gambling, that he’d gotten himself into debt and was siphoning money from the club’s revenue to cover his losses,” Callum says.

Nigel looks down, shamefaced. “Ken was right. Uncle Reggie changed after that. He was constantly angry and on edge, but he couldn’t seem to keep away from the racetrack. He was always so certain he’d be able to turn his luck around, but instead he got deeper and deeper in debt. It got so bad that some of the staff started threatening to leave. He was getting behind in the bills, payroll started getting late.”

“How did Reggie respond to that?” I ask.

“He mostly shrugged it off. Told them he’d get everything sorted, not to worry. But it was all a front.”

“So what happened the night of the fire?” Callum asks.