He stepped into the garage and pulled the door shut behind him. They’d exited the winter garden and ended up in a showroom. There had to be a dozen or more classic cars, all covered by protective tarps. The sight was a bit unsettling. They looked like mummies kept in an aboveground tomb. An immaculate workbench and pegboard of tools spanned the east wall.

“Holy shit,” breathed Kole.

How much money was parked in this garage, Hudson wondered. Eleanor was sitting on a fortune.

“You know, the Widowmaker wasn’t Clive’s only love,” she said. Her heels clicked on the epoxied floor as she walked a few paces in, turned around so she held both of them in her sights. “She was his favorite, sure. His go-to. The one everyone knew about. But … she wasn’t the only one he kept close.”

As he listened, Hudson got the feeling Eleanor wasn’t just talking about Clive’s classic car collection. And if he’d picked up on it, then Kole definitely had.

“Mrs. Reynolds, are you saying Clive had a mistress?” The antiquated word tumbling from his mouth and the company of vintage cars discombobulated Hudson. He felt as though he’d time traveled backward to a different decade.

Eleanor smiled as though he’d said something cute.

“How’d you find out?” Kole said.

“Oh come on, gentlemen. A woman knows when her husband has stepped out. Especially one like Clive. The formerly inattentive husband is suddenly the doting partner and adoring father, taking his family out to dinner so the public can see the Reynolds clan, so happy and harmonious. Buying diamonds for his wife, horse riding lessons for Cora. A basketball court for Carlisle, an in-ground pool for Bennett. Even a car for David—a Mustang. Plus, there were the calls to the house.” She shrugged. “Landlines have their perks. If I had a nickel for every time I picked up the phone in the den and listened to him talking to a husky-voiced harlot, I’d be a rich woman.” She paused, angled her chin as though reminding herself that yes, she was a rich woman.

“Sounds like Clive wasn’t too good at covering his tracks,” remarked Kole. His voice sounded farther away. Hudson hadn’t noticed he’d moved to stand next to a car. His hand was poised to lift up the covering. “Chevy Camaro. My grandpa used to have one of these. May I?”

Eleanor nodded.

Kole peeled away the tarp, revealing a cerulean blue finish and a stripe of chrome at the bottom of the frame. He whistled. Hudson didn’t know Kole to be a car guy, but then, there was a lot he didn’t know about the sergeant. Why he chose to waste his life in Black Harbor, for one thing—reliving a Groundhog’s Day of crime, drugs, and lies over and over again. For what?

He supposed he could be asking the same of himself.

Then, Kole reached into his back pocket for his cell phone. Either someone from work was trying to get a hold of him, or something in the Reynoldses’ garage had caught his attention.