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“Yeah.”

“You cut the stems.”

He turns his head and looks at me, the same way he looked up at me from my lap last night. Then he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes and lets his shoulder rest against mine, heavy, like it’s the only thing holding him up.

“Thank you,” he says, so only I can hear. “For last night.”

“Thank you for taking care of my roses.”

“Hey, Lindsey,” Devin calls. “I think I’m coming down with a stomach thing too.”

Travis doesn’t open his eyes. He reaches into the bag, finds a cinnamon roll by feel and takes a big bite of it.

“Get your own florist,” he says.

Chapter Eleven

When the food is all gone, Lindsey stands and fidgets with the paper bag. Finally she says, “I’m thinking about going to Gary’s and closing the shop early.”

“I’ll come.”

She nods almost shyly.

“Give me one minute.”

I put the report on the desk and tell the crew I’m out.

They watch us go, but no one says a word. Which is weird in itself.

It only takes a couple of minutes to drive Lindsey to the shop. She puts a handwritten note on the door. Out for appointment, text my cell if you need emergency flowers.

“Okay.” She blows out a big breath. “I told Gary I might come by today.”

I hold the door open and do it again when we get to my truck. She’s quiet all the way there, her fingers touching that necklace.

“You’re here for the receipts,” Gary Morgan says from behind the counter when we walk in. “I’ve got every single one since 1982. My wife used to say I was going to get buried under paper.”

He walks us to the back room of Gary’s Hardware. One door later and we’re surrounded by forty years of banker’s boxes stacked to the ceiling.

The first thing I think is, fire hazard.

“Why do you keep them all?” Lindsey asks.

He looks astounded before responding tightly, “In case of an audit.”

“Gary, nobody audits a hardware store for 1982.”

“You don’t know that.” He pulls down a box labeled 2009, JAN–JUN. “What are we looking for?”

“Chain,” I say. “A tow chain. Heavy. Sometime in the spring.”

Gary looks at me over his glasses. Then he looks at Lindsey, and his face changes. Everybody in Eden knows about the car by now.

“For Danielle’s car,” he says in a serious tone.

“Maybe,” Lindsey says. “Travis thinks somebody towed it into that ravine. If they bought the chain here⁠—”

“Then I’ve got a receipt.” Gary sets the box on his desk and pulls off the lid. “Pull up a chair, Lindsey.”