Page 1

Chapter

One

My first warning was the crash. Then a loud thump that rattled my office windows. Before I could determine the source of the ruckus, the second warning came in the form of a stream of obscenities he could only have perfected in the Navy six decades ago.

“Dad?”

I jolted so quickly out of my chair that I toppled it. When it came to warnings like this where my dad was concerned, I’d learned to move fast. Otherwise, it would already be too late.

Another crash.

He was outside in the alley next to our office building. Years ago, Dad had purchased and restored a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old, two-story former barbershop and converted it into what had once been the law offices of E. Thomas Gale. It was a beautiful space. It was also jammed close to our next-door neighbor, Hart and Cummings Financial Planning.

Hart had just poked his head out of his own office window. I raised my hand in a wave. He scowled and shook his head. He’d grown used to the antics of E. Thomas Gale.

“Dad!” I shouted.

As I rounded the corner, I saw the source of his ire. He stood with his hands folded, shaking his head as he kicked the rear tire of his blue 1972 Ford Five Hundred. The passenger-side mirror hung limp and twisted against the door. The door itself bore a long gouge running from the handle all the way to the wheel well.

“What happened?” I gasped. The Five Hundred had been another of my father’s passion projects. It was the first car he bought for cash in the early 1970s. He spent his whole paycheck after winning his first high-profile murder trial as a young defense lawyer. Not your typical high-value classic car, and few people understood why he spent so much time and money restoring it. If you asked him, he’d simply say, “Because it’s a damn good car.”

There was little my father couldn’t master from a mechanical standpoint. An old-school self-taught mechanic, he loved tinkering with anything that had an engine. Boats were his favorite.

“What does it look like?” he grumbled. “Somebody sideswiped her and took off like a coward.”

Dad ran his finger along the length of the scrape. As I peered closer, I noticed a strip of bright yellow, almost orange paint in the gouge.

“Here?” I asked. “You think they hit it while it was parked?”

It made no sense. The car was parked parallel to the wall. There was only about a three-foot gap. Nothing big enough to do that kind of damage could fit through here.

“Are you sure this didn’t happen while you were driving it? When was the last time you took it on the road?”

Dad kept the Five Hundred here in the alley over the summer with a special parking permit from the township. Helene was the kind of town where you could still do things like park your classic car out in the open and not worry about anyone stealing it.

Or sideswiping it without leaving a note.

When my dad straightened and glared at me, I knew I’d cut the proverbial red wire. If I didn’t pull back on the stick now, the man would explode.

“It’s okay,” I said. “That’s what insurance is for. Come on. Let’s get back inside. That storm’s about to blow through.”

As if God Himself was on my side, a cloud rolled in followed by a distant clap of thunder. Dad just shook his head and muttered more vintage obscenities, but he followed me inside.

We crossed in front of the painted gold lettering on the window. We’d just had it redone a year ago. Gale and Gale Investigations. Not long before that, I’d come to town to stay with him for a little while. We’d spent most of my adulthood estranged. But when I learned he’d started to exhibit signs of dementia, Helene, Michigan, became my home too.

“I’m going to have to fix that myself,” he said. “Insurance company won’t cover what needs to be done to make it right.”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “I can ask around. See if anyone saw anything.”

He nodded but didn’t lose his scowl. I held my breath. It felt like I had done a lot of that lately. The smashed car was another event in a growing list that made me wonder if it was time for another doctor’s appointment. One I didn’t want to think about.

Dad stood in the center of the lobby. For a split second, I wondered if he knew where he was. He had a blank look on his face as if he were trying to get his bearings.

Admittedly, the office looked a little different. I’d done some redecorating lately. Upon my arrival, I found the office in shambles. Underneath all of that, it had dated decor from the early 2000s. I spent most of last year at thrift and antique stores, restoring the room to its former glory.

“What’s on the list today?” he asked.

“Four appointments this afternoon,” I said. I now ran a private investigative service as we closed down the last bits of Dad’s legendary law practice. He still did plenty of legal-adjacent work for me when I needed it. But divorce clients and adult adoptees had paid the bills in spades. I was getting business from all over the state. More than I could keep up with most of the time.