He grabs the cups from under the dispenser, slides one across the island to me and leans on the counter with both elbows. “Okay, so you know how I thought Ted was looking to expand, buy up that other shop in Cashiers and let me run it?”

“Yeah.” Ted is his boss, the ancient mechanic who owns Lake Crosby Automotive.

“Well, he wasn’t looking to buy, but to sell. Some chain out of Asheville swooped in and bought up a whole bunch of shops, including his. They sent everybody home but the master mechanics.”

“So go back to school, get a certificate.” Up to now, Chet’s training has consisted mostly of YouTube videos and trial and error on my old clunker, which he’s managed to keep running for fourteen years and over two hundred thousand miles. That’s got to count for something. “And you know more obscure car facts than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like the car version of the Rain Man. You can always learn.”

He gives me a look over his coffee cup. “Nobody’s ever accused me of being smart except you, which is how I know you’re full of it. And even if I was smart enough, what am I gonna do in the meantime? I can’t pay my share of the rent until I get another job, and even then, it’ll take a couple of weeks before the pay kicks in.”

“So she just kicked you out? Not cool.”

At the same time, the realization he’s got nowhere to stay wilts that hard knot between my shoulder blades. This house is too big, too made of glass to sleep in alone—especially with a murderer on the loose. With Chet here, maybe I won’t look out the darkened windows and feel eyes, watching my every move. Maybe I’ll actually sleep.

“It wasn’t just the job. It’s also...” He winces and shifts from foot to foot, boots scraping against wood. “Okay, so Annalee’s been dying to go to Disney for, like, ever. It’s her dream vacation, to drive down to Florida and spend a week visiting all the parks. Every Sunday night, she’d make us empty our wallets into the cookie jar. She said after a while, we’d have enough. She even made a little sign she taped onto it, with drawings and everything. She called it Mickey Money.”

“Cute.”

“But I’ve been asking around, and do you know what that place costs? Not just the tickets for the parks, but the hotel and the gas and these special passes so you don’t have to stand around in line, and apparently everybody walks around with these giant turkey legs that cost ten bucks a pop.” He shakes his head. “How am I supposed to pay for all that?”