The sound of soft footsteps made him do it. He was standing on the other side of the kitchen by the time Sheila came in.

“Thanks so much, Mary Beth. Looks like you’re almost done. My, you work fast. Is your mother done with her hair?” she asked Parr.

“I don’t know. Just thought I’d hang out with Mary Beth here,” he said, giving Sheila a great big good ol’ boy grin. Mary Beth had turned away from the sink in time to see it.

“I just wanted to tell her that I got an e-mail from the town supervisor.” Sheila went to the back staircase and called up. “Alma! It’s going to happen!”

“Be right down,” was the distant reply, over the roar of a hair dryer.

“What’s going to happen?” Mary Beth asked, untying the damp apron.

“Your mother and I paid a call on the town supervisor. Seems that he was waiting for someone to complain and that’s exactly what we did.”

“Complain about what?”

“That old motel. It’s an eyesore. He’s going to ask the Brickell council for permission to demolish it.”

The hair dryer was switched off and Sheila mounted the stairs.

Parr exchanged a look with Mary Beth.

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” she said in a low voice.

“I think I do,” he said. “First of all, Sheila moved to Brickell after what happened at the motel. Right after, but I’m not sure she knows why my mother hates the place so.”

“Alma can tell me herself if she wants to.”

“I think it’s better if I do.”

She hung up the apron.

“Come on. Let’s go for a drive. I’m not going to do it here.”

He parked his truck by a lake covered in water lilies. A tall white bird stalked through the reeds, the only sign of life besides the two of them. He rolled down his window and gestured to her to do the same. “Unless you want me to turn on the air-conditioning.”

“No. It’s nice out. I take it this is going to be a long explanation.”

“That’s about right.”

Mary Beth waited. Parr leaned forward, his hands clasped together over the steering wheel. For a moment his eyes closed and he almost looked like he was praying.

Then he sat back.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” he said. “But here goes. That motel was where my father was shot dead.”

“What?” Her startled question was threaded with shock. Mary Beth had known nothing of that.

“He was having an affair with a married woman,” Parr said simply. “And her husband showed up. There was an argument and it got ugly fast. Long story short, he got shot. Then the other man shot himself.”