Mr. Collins was very old and very gnarled. His strength and beauty had vanished into old age, and if he had been an athlete or a star, it didn’t show. He was just old in the scary, stale way nobody ever wanted to be. Mr. Collins said, “It was a bad night. I still remember it.”

Mr. Collins had been a neighbor in a small house sold years ago, the house worth nothing compared to the land, his house pulled down and a mansion put in its place. Now he lived in a tiny brick slice of an apartment, with a single flower in a pot on the step.

“And the renter from the apartment?” said Macey. “The owner of that burned-up car? Where was he? There isn’t a photograph of him.”

“The guy was a Negro. I remember how astonished we were, the wife and me. A colored man in that part of town? I mean, there was a project where a few of ’em lived then, and maybe there were one or two families renting above stores on the avenue, but Shell Road? It would be amazing to see a black family there now, but then? I remember the wife saying he must be yard help, but no. He lived there.”

“Did you meet him?” asked Macey.

“Didn’t talk to him. He was wearing pajamas. I remember that. That’s how I realized the guy really did live there.”

“May I borrow your photographs?” asked Macey.

He slid one finger behind each photograph, lifting them from the four little black triangles that held them against the black page of his album. “You can have them.” Mr. Collins found a sandwich bag and slid the photographs into it.

“What happened when everybody went home?” asked Aus. “Did somebody take the teacher in for the night?”

“The Beedons,” said Mr. Collins. “Nice couple.” He looked shyly at Austin and Macey. “The wife and I talked about it. The guy had no home, no nothing. We thought we’d call the minister, see if he knew a place the guy could stay, and then we thought, well, we have an extra room, the girls are grown. But we weren’t sure, we needed time to think, it was a big step, and then the Beedons drove up.”

“Did Mr. Sibley know the Beedons?” said Macey.

“No idea.”

“Do you know where the Beedons moved?” asked Macey. “Where they are now?”

“No idea.”

Grandfather bought his cars by the pound. The longer and heavier they were, the more he respected them. This was a Lincoln, more of a sofa with an engine than a car. Tonight was the first time Austin’s grandfather had let him take the Lincoln out after dark by himself.