Page 34 of The Moment He Couldn’t Walk Away

Finch only did a few hours because of his eyes and head, leaving before either of them flared up, but he was definitely feeling better. Did he like working outside in the cold? Not so much—but he liked working, and for now, that was enough.

He could do without the Christmas carols on repeat and the constant drive-through festive goodwill from Klaus’s customers, but he’d found himself humming along to a song earlier, so maybe he was getting used to them.

“I’ll pour it, and you come in and drink it, Mabel, before the next customer arrives, and you can hitch a ride back with them,” Klaus added, negotiating with the cat, who was looking up at him like she understood every word.

Curious, Finch moved closer to study the animal. She stared up at him with the unimpressed expression cats reserved for people who hadn’t yet earned their respect.

“Problem?”

“That’s Nina’s cat, Mabel. She walks here for a saucer of milk and some cat biscuits every day, and then gets a ride home,” Klaus explained, like this was the most unremarkable thing in the world. He wore a scarf wrapped three times around his neck today, but still no hat.

“You’re not serious?” Finch bent and stroked the silky white head of the feline. She leaned into his hand.

“She’s very intelligent. When Nina found out she turned up here each day, she asked the neighbors to check their doorbell cameras—those that had them—and Mabel walks along the path until she reaches the driveway and then crosses. Looks both ways first. Smarter than half the men who drink my coffee.”

Finch studied the cat. She meowed, unbothered by the review of her intelligence, and then leaped in through the open window with the confidence of an animal who had never once doubted she belonged exactly where she was. Shaking his head, Finch picked up his hammer and went back to work. The rhythm was becoming familiar enough now that his mind could wander while his hands stayed busy.

He’d gotten three boards nailed down before he heard the crunch of tires on gravel as another car pulled up to the window.

“Hey, Finch!”

Looking around the wall again, he saw Tripp Lyntacky, the town mayor, with Bradford, the lab tech come general handyman, pulling up in Bradford’s sedan.

“How’s it going?”

Sighing, he set down his tools as they both got out of the car. Finch then straightened to face the man who was solely responsible for the entire town dancing the Grapevine Twist in his aunt’s memory and managed a tight smile. “Good, Tripp. How about you?”

He had long, straggly gray hair that today was pulled up into a high ponytail with a red ribbon wound around it. On the sides were hair clips shaped like candy canes, a look Finch had never seen on the man before and had to say he wished he hadn’t. Tripp wore a beige jacket that came to his knees and jeans tucked into black cowboy boots that looked freshly polished. On his lapels were at least ten Christmas badges, one with flashing lights.

“Ah, nice boots,” was all Finch could come up with.

“I need someone to fix my door, Finch. The hinge is broken. You can do that after this job for Klaus.” Tripp said it as though the decision had already been made, Finch simply being the last person in town to be informed of it.

He didn’t sigh out loud this time, though it took effort. “I don’t need work, Tripp.”

“Of course you do.” The man patted his shoulder. “You’re already looking better. More color in your cheeks. I’ll expect you soon.”

“The color in my cheeks is because it’s cold.”

But Tripp didn’t acknowledge his words. He had already turned and was walking toward the window, where he leaned in to talk to Klaus while the coffee man made up their orders.

“I’ve always found the best way is to agree and then do what you want,” Bradford said, coming to stand next to Finch.

“What’s with the hair, though, bud?”

Bradford laughed softly under his breath. He was tall, lanky, and, as far as Finch knew, without a partner, but then, unlike everyone else in this town, the man was pretty private. He volunteered little about himself, which Finch respected. He was one of those really smart people you asked questions of, and no matter what it was, he had the answer. Finch was no dummy himself, but this guy was next level.

“Not sure, but best I can tell is that he went to the elementary school today, and some kid there did it for him.”

“I hope that’s the reason, otherwise our mayor is losing it,” Finch added, watching Tripp gesture animatedly at Klaus through the window, his ribbon fluttering in the breeze.

“Okay, Bradford, let’s go,” Tripp called, already heading back to the car with two coffees balanced in a cardboard tray. “In you get, Mabel.”

Finch watched the mayor open his door, and the cat leaped in without hesitation.

“This town. There are no words,” Finch muttered, going back to work. He drove a nail home with more force than strictly necessary.

He wondered how Nina was doing. He’d been thinking about her a lot since her mother passed away—more than he probably should. More than made sense for a man who once barely spoke to her beyond the occasional nod when they ran into each other. His own mother drove him crazy, checking in on him constantly whether he wanted her to or not, but he was grateful every single day to have her in his life, irritating visits and weird ways included. How was Nina coping with hers gone for good?