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Isobel gulped. She shrank to press her back against the wall behind her and waited awkwardly for whatever would come next. She wanted to make a break for the front door, but she couldn’t decide whether it would be better to stay and try to conjure up some excuse for herself.
She started to speak, but he cut her off.
“No,” he grunted, holding up a hand to silence her. “Don’t say anything. I’m glad you’re here. Even if I feel like he could do better.”
Isobel’s mouth snapped shut, her teeth clicking together. For real? Did he just say that to her?
“But if he was dead, I doubt you’d be sniffing around here. And that’s something I’m grateful to know. Besides that, you’re probably the one who’s got the best chance of reaching him. So when you do, if you haven’t already, I need you to pass on a message for me, do you hear?” He shook a finger at her. “You tell him I’m going to sell that car. I’ve already got an interested buyer. So you tell him I’m not a holding garage, do you hear me? He’s got till March. March, you got that? Don’t forget.”
Miffed by his words, Isobel didn’t respond. She couldn’t trust herself not to say something scathing or to tell him that, as far as best friends went, he didn’t quite get her Varenworthy stamp of approval either.
He grunted when she didn’t speak and went back to pulling books from the shelf, letting them fall into the open box one at a time.
Isobel turned and stalked toward the front door.
“Wait!” she heard Bruce call as soon as she placed a hand on the knob.
She halted. Back rigid, she complied, even though she wanted to walk out on him.
He started coughing again, and though he tried to talk through the fit, he only succeeded in getting out one or two unintelligible words.
She looked back to see that he held one knotted hand over his mouth and the other extended toward her.
“Don’t . . .” He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, at last regaining his composure. “Don’t tell him that. Don’t tell him I’m going to sell it. Just tell him March. He needs to come get it by March if he still wants it. Tell him that’s . . . tell him that’s what the doctors said.”
“Doctors?” Isobel asked. What was that supposed to mean?
He rose, using one of the shelves to help him pull himself to his feet. “Go on now,” he said. “We’re closed.”
“But—”
“I said we’re closed!” he growled, waving his arms at her as though she were an alley cat he could frighten away. “Now get out!”
“I—”
“I said go!”
She bit back her questions and pushed through the door just before he could reach her. She stumbled out onto the sidewalk as he flipped the OPEN sign to the CLOSED side. The lights inside the shop went out with a snap, and his dark brown eye lingered on her a second longer before he slipped backward into the shadows.
“What the heck happened in there?”
Isobel turned to find Gwen standing on the curb right next to the Cougar, a folded slip of paper held ceremoniously between both hands. Without asking, Isobel already knew that Gwen had pulled the paper from the glove compartment of Varen’s car.
“He thinks Bruce knows something,” Isobel said.
She kept her eyes steady on that white slip as she wrapped her arms around her middle. Dusk had already begun to settle over the street, causing the lamps to glow brighter and the bite in the air to grow stronger. Isobel hugged herself tightly, shuddering as she wondered what the paper held. At the same time, she wished she wouldn’t have to find out.
“About Varen?”
Isobel nodded once.
She’d already decided not to tell Gwen about the secret room beneath the stairs, or the foreboding message Bruce had asked her to relay. Both of those things felt off-limits, knowledge meant for Varen only. More things to be added to her growing list of isolating secrets.
“His dad is convinced that he’s still around somewhere,” Isobel said. “Hiding. But . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t understand why. He has to know someone would have reported seeing him by now.”
“Um,” Gwen said. Her eyes flitted to the ground and then to the side. She pressed her lips together and stepped forward, holding the paper out to Isobel. “Hope you don’t mind. I sort of read it already.”
Isobel took the slip. She unfolded it, revealing a handwritten message to Varen from his father, the brief sentences formed with sharp and slanted lettering.
