He approached, assessing the older man. Ed’s features had been bold and memorable. Robbie’s were plainer and less wrinkled. Ed had sported a full head of long white curls. For a man of eighty, Robbie also had a lot of hair. But his was gray, and he kept it short and tidy. Like Ed, Robbie had a lean frame. He’d dressed today in chinos and a striped button-down.

Clearly, Finley and her uncle had already finished eating. Their lunch plates and silverware had been removed. Only two near-empty glasses of iced tea remained.

“Luke,” Finley said in welcome, “I’d like to introduce you to my uncle, Robbie Sutherland.”

Robbie stood, and they shook hands.

“Nice to meet you,” Luke told him.

“Likewise.”

By the time they stepped apart, Finley had pulled up a chair for him.

“My brother told me all about you,” Robbie said as they took their seats. “Your friendship meant a lot to him.”

“It meant a lot to me, too. What was it like to grow up with Ed?”

A sad smile moved across the older man’s face. “Great. Always eventful. I was lucky.”

“Tell Luke the story about the time Dad talked you into plugging the neighbor’s sink and turning the faucet on full blast.”

In his measured way, Robbie relayed the story.

“He can mask what he’s thinking and feeling,” Finley had said about Robbie. Luke could see the evidence of that. Robbie was self-controlled. Distinguished.

Luke had been around plenty of dangerous men and criminals, both at the chop shop and in prison. He’d become pretty good at recognizing people who fell into those categories, even when they were soft-spoken and wore button-down shirts.

He didn’t recognize Robbie as dangerous or as a criminal. However, he did have the sense that Robbie might be more complex than he appeared. Most people couldn’t keep a secret. Robbie seemed like the type who could take a secret to the grave.

“We’d better head out, Luke,” Finley said a few minutes later.

“Certainly,” Robbie replied courteously. “I’ll let you two get on with your day.”

Finley hugged her uncle. After exchanging good-byes, Luke held the door for Finley as they exited. On this late-January day, the bare branches of the trees stretched through thin sunlight toward bands of clouds in a light blue sky.

Their steps turned toward the visitors bureau.

“What did you think of Uncle Robbie?” Finley asked.

“He seems like a good guy.”

“He is,” Finley said, pulling on her coat. Her clogs thumped, but his boots hardly made a sound as they passed brick buildings almost two hundred years old. Some housed companies. Others held trendy distilleries, restaurants, shops.

Finley’s hair swayed against her back as they walked. He watched the strands slide against the fabric, overwhelmed by how much he wanted to pull her into one of these recessed doorways and push his hands into that hair—