flannel, gray hair flattened from sleep. “Thomas,” he said, my name coming out like a question.
I killed the engine. “Eugene, I need to talk. The truck’s on the way, towed.” His eyebrows jumped. “Towed? Why?” I looked him in the eye. “Because I don’t trust it.” Inside his house, which smelled like black coffee and old leather, I explained what I’d overheard.continue reading …
