Page 39 of Mistaken Identity
So that was what we did.
When we arrived in the parking lot, I pulled right up into the bay to keep the sun off the truck, then left it running as I got out and closed the door as quietly as I could so not to wake Lottie.
Creole did the same from the other side, wincing when it made a louder click than she’d intended.
I grinned and said over the hood of the car, “She’s not quite that bad.”
“God.” She laughed nervously. “I’m just so used to Damon and how he…” She trailed off, her face falling. “One wrong step on a floorboard, and that boy’s eyes snapped open like a horror movie villain. Swear to God, I think I tiptoed around for two straight years.”
I smiled. “But I bet he was a really good kid once he grew out of that stage.”
What little I knew of Damon, I knew that to be true.
Damon had always been such a cute kid, and always so damn happy.
Even in the throes of the leukemia trenches, he’d been smiling.
“Hey, what’s up?” I heard Silver call. “Oh, hey! What are you doing here, Creole?”
Creole offered Silver a small, reserved smile before saying, “We need to talk to Webber.”
“Webber’s…” Silver trailed off when Webber rounded the back corner of the shop, carrying a transmission casing in one hand, and a pan full of nuts and bolts for said transmission in the other. “There he is. He was getting some parts from the steamer.”
Webber set everything down, then walked over to me and offered me his hand. “What’s up?”
I looked around the shop and said, “Have some time? This might take a bit.”
Webber studied me for a long moment before he said, “Sure. Lottie asleep?”
“In the car.” I jerked my head toward the truck. “She’ll be out for a while, though. We drugged her up and gave her some medication to help with the pain.”
“I’ll sit in your truck for a bit while y’all talk,” Silver said, reading the room. “Y’all can talk in the office.”
I blew out a breath and said, “Thanks.”
Creole patted Silver’s shoulder, whispering, “Thank you,” as she passed.
The three of us headed into the office, the air conditioner hitting us full blast as we crossed over the threshold.
“Hey, I’m getting lunch. What do you want?” Webber’s mother, who ran the front office, called out without looking up.
“Whatever, Ma,” he said. “Can you get something for Audric and his girl, too?”
“Oh.” Webber’s mom smiled sheepishly. “Hey, didn’t see you there.”
“You don’t have to get us anything,” I promised.
“Nonsense.” She patted my shoulder. “I’ll bring pizza.”
Then she was gone, leaving us to the office alone.
“Okay, hit me.” Webber jerked his chin toward a couple of seats near the window where customers usually sat.
I took the seat and was pleasantly surprised when Creole took the seat next to me.
“Okay, so I’m going to start.” Creole looked green for a moment. “And I don’t want you asking questions until we’re done.”
Webber smiled in amusement before saying, “Okay.”
