Page 53 of Jack

“Oh please,” Jack said. “Don’t tell me Grandpa’s war stories arenotwhy you went into the military.”

“No doubt. But you, big bro, had big dreams. And be honest—none of them included you sitting behind a desk. You loved arguing cases.”

“I loved a good story. And winning. And hanging out with Grandpa.” He grabbed his tux and followed Stein to the front, where Doyle was finishing up his rental order. Outside, the sun had started to wane, sending firelight into the snowbanks.

“See you at dance lessons.”Harper’s words to him as he’d dropped her off at the bridal salon lit a terrible warmth inside him.

Down, boy.Four days. Then back on the road.

“I miss Gramps,” Stein said as he handed over his credit card. “And hanging out with him in his shop, working on his boat.”

“I can still smell the barn sometimes,” Doyle said. “The diesel fuel in the air, or wood shavings from his projects.”

“He had that old transistor radio with the cloth cover.” Stein signed the receipt. “Used to listen to the local station—for fishing reports.”

“And classic rock.” Doyle hoisted his garment bag over his shoulder as Stein joined him. “Journey. Queen. Boston. I knew all the words. It’s crazy how many old bands are reused in video games today. I’m constantly hearing the classics when I’m down at the Hub.”

Jack stepped up to the desk, his credit card in his hand. “You’re still volunteering at the Duck Lake Youth Center?”

“He’s practically running the place,” Stein said.

Doyle shrugged, and Jack spotted Doyle’s own version of running in his gesture.

Jack paid for the tux, picked up the garment bag. “Thanks.” And just like that, with Doyle’s words, Harper’s story about Ty rounded back to him.“Loved his classic rock.”

Queen, playing in the snow.

A phone?He looked at Stein. “I need to swing by the Moonlight before it gets dark.”

Stein followed him outside. Jack hung his garment bag on the hook in the back seat and slid in, Stein on the passenger side.

“What are you looking for?”

“A phone. I think.”

“Penelope’s?”

“No. I think it belongs to an Uber driver—Ty Bowman. Maybe. Just a gut feeling.” He glanced at his brother. “How are things going in—where are you at?”

“I’ve been working as a dive master in St. Lucia.” He looked out the window. “But I think I might look into a tactical job. Did you know our cousin Ranger lives in Minneapolis? He’s on a private tactical team. They do SAR and security work and need contractors.”

“So, personal security?”

“Maybe. Could be defense work overseas.”

“How are the knees?”

Steinbeck ran a hand over both replacements. “Today, okay.”

“Good enough for security work?”

“We’ll see.”

The amber rays of the sinking sun bled through the skeletal maples and oaks as he pulled into the lot of the supper club. Jack parked near the edge of the pine trees, where he’d last heard the ringing. Getting out, he turned on his phone’s flashlight. Stood on the drive.

“So?”

“He’s the Uber driver, so it doesn’t make sense that he’d ditch his phone. So, let’s say that someone took it and threw it. When we looked at the footage of Penelope getting into the car, Harper thought she saw a person already inside.”