Page 24 of Shadow Justice

Hank ignored the hand and pulled him into a back-thumping hug that made the spoons rattle. “Mr. Toler, my ass. You call me Hank. You’re not twelve anymore.”

“No, sir.”

“Still stubborn, I bet, though, ain’t cha? Just like your grandfather.” Hank stepped back and looked him over. “Your sister tell you I asked after him?”

“She did.”

“Did she tell you I called him a mule-headed old tyrant for not coming to cards?”

“Also, yes.”

Hank jabbed a finger toward him. “That man needs to get out of the house. We’ve got room at the table, and Dottie cheats badly enough to keep him entertained.”

Behind him, a woman with short gray hair and bright red glasses lifted her coffee. “I don’t cheat.”

“Liar,” Hank called back.

Reid felt a smile pull at his mouth despite the day. “I’ll tell him he’s invited.”

“Tell him if he doesn’t come, I’ll show up at his house with pinochle cards and no mercy.”

Hank’s teasing eased some tightness Reid hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. His grandfather had been fading from public life by inches, first declining invitations because he was tired, then because his knee hurt, then because remembering names took more effort than he wanted anyone to notice. Reid had come home to help, but help often felt like standing outside a locked door, listening to a man he loved retreat from the world.

Holly set Hank’s coffee on the counter. “I’ll have Roni tell the judge that I’ll make lemon scones if he comes.”

Hank picked up the mug and gave her a fond look. “That might do what my threats can’t.”

Holly was busy ringing Hank up, but her expression had softened in a way that made Reid’s chest tighten. She remembered his grandfather’s favorite. Of course she did. Holly built rooms out of details other people missed.

“You working here now?” Hank asked.

“Filling in to help Holly out,” Reid told him.

Holly slid Hank’s change across the counter. “It’s temporary.”

Hank carried his coffee back to the card table, and the evening settled into motion. The book club talked quietly in the corner. At one point, they asked Holly if she’d heard anything from Nell.

Holly shook her head, not looking at them. “Maybe she’s sick or didn’t want to come out in the rain.”

“I’ve tried texting and calling her,” the woman who’d saved Nell a seat said. “I’m getting no answer.”

Panic skated across Holly’s face, but she didn’t look at Reid. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon.”

“Oh, you know Nell,” one of the other women said with a dismissive wave. “She probably stopped at the library and forgot the time.”

The group returned to their discussion, which sounded to Reid more like gossip than plot or character insights.

The retirees played cards with enough commentary to count as a civic event. Holly moved between the two tables, pouring refills and taking orders.

At the card table, Hank mentioned courthouse security changes and grumbled that the new generation wouldn’t know a proper chain of custody if it bit them. Dottie with the red glasses asked Reid if he knew how to play euchre, then told him never mind, he had the face of a man who counted cards and ruined fun.

He kept his hands busy and his attention open. Nothing happened. No one slipped a note under a cup. No stranger walking by lingered at the windows. No customer behaved in a way he could take to Claire and Emmet as more than a vague unease. Yet the longer Reid stood under Sanctuary’s warm lights, the more the risk grew in his mind.

The threat wasn’t only the front door, the back entrance, or the windows left bare after dark. Those mattered, and he’d deal with them. The deeper vulnerability sat at every table.

People came here because they trusted the room and they trusted Holly. They believed Sanctuary was neutral ground, safe ground, a place where book clubs could order a drink for a friend and old courthouse employees could argue over cards while rain slid down the windows.

They brought their routines here, their grief, their predictable seats, meeting times, and small private sorrows. If the offender was watching, he didn’t need to break a lock.