Monday morning came quickly. Aside from the raking and windows, there was little time left over. Still, the stifling thoughts that had been troubling Hank for days continue to roll around his mind. It relieved him to spend the day at the shop. As the garage doors opened, he could hear the rumble of his next customer drawing near. A red 1970 Ford F250 roared into the lot.

"Hey, Hank," Chief Fox hopped from the cab in uniform.

"Chief," Hank gave him a nod. "I didn't know you had this hidden away."

The chief let out a gruff laugh. "Probably wouldn't be running too rough if I hadn't hidden it away for so long. I suppose it's a sign I work too much."

Hank circled the red truck, letting his finger run over the F of the front Ford. "Anything specific giving you trouble or just the tune-up?"

"Well, I guess that's why I'm bringing her to you. Long ago, I thought I'd work on her myself, but I suppose I'm ready to throw in the towel."

"I can have a look and give you an estimate. Could take a bit to work through; you need a lift somewhere?"

"No thanks, Hank; I got a deputy meeting me at the diner. Call me when you get the verdict."

"Sure thing." Hank caught the keys tossed from the chief with little thought.

Hank spent the morning digging through the truck. There was a focus to it he found calming. Nothing was terribly wrong, just the neglected maintenance items and a paint job. He realized he must have been enjoying the work too much when the clock drew close to noon. He gave the chief a call with the verdict and reluctantly agreed to meet him at the diner for lunch.

A hearty wave greeted Hank from one of the front booths when he arrived.

"Hey, Chief," his voice was still gruff and cracked despite its use in the recent week.

"Call me Charlie," as he spoke, Charlie pulled his hat down from the table to the bench beside him as if that would erase the fact that he was the police chief.

Hank responded with a nod, content with avoiding names to appease them both. "Truck is in pretty good shape for her age," Hank began. "Just a couple of minor things; gaskets, plugs, and filters. Could use a cleanup on the rust and some paint, but nothing that wouldn't let a magnet stick." Hank slid the full estimate across the table as the waitress approached.

"What can I get you?" Hank wondered if Myrtle ever went home as she stood expectantly waiting for their orders.

"Burger for me with a Coke." The chief handed her his menu, having never looked at it.

"Whatever you have for pie and coffee," Hank handed his unused menu over as well.

"Pie for lunch?"

The chief has a smile on his face that pulled Hank partially from his solitude. He was curious if he was softening with Josie's presence. "It offsets the battery fluid coffee."

"I avoid the coffee here," Chief acknowledged.

"It is certainly a gained taste."

"So, I heard you had a houseguest." The chief's voice was casual, but put Hank on edge.

"Yeah, fixing her car. She needed a place to stay, so I helped her out."

The chief gave a nod. "Evie seemed to have higher hopes than the story." There was a disappointment in his eyes. "You know, after everything that happened, I had always hoped to get to know you a bit better, Hank. The Bakers speak so highly of you."

Hank cast his eyes downward, not knowing how to respond to the onslaught. The chief was new to town when Margaret had been found dead. It was his first case as a small-town detective. At the time, he had seemed much older than 18-year-old Hank, but now, sitting across from him, Hank estimated he wasn't over ten-years more senior than him. He had been kind with his work. Hank had always remembered the care he took when speaking with Clara and him.

"The Bakers are good people," Hank finally responded.

"Good people gravitate to each other." Charlie had a friendly ease to him that reminded Hank of Callum.

Myrtle dropped off their food in silence as questions swirled in Hank's brain. "May I ask you a few questions?" Hank's voice was weak. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of a yes or a no. His hand spun the plate of blueberry pie.

As if expecting the conversation, Charlie let out a sigh. "Of course," his voice was tired.

"I apologize; I know this isn't why we are here."

"Isn't it, though?" Charlie was just like Hank remembered him, one step ahead.

"Was there any proof?" Hank realized he started in the middle, but he needed to know.

Charlie's head wavered from side to side as if it was physically wrestling with his thoughts, "fingerprints on the gun."

Hank shook off the answer; it didn't fit. "No, I mean of the affair. My parents never spent a night apart." He felt childish, as though he were clinging to a fairy tale.

Charlie looked at Hank closer; studied his face. "A witness had said they had taken up with each other; lunchtime dates." Hank sat back, taking in the new info; it fit. "I couldn't find anything more, but with this town, I was lucky to get that."

Hank nodded as he took a sip of his putrid coffee. "Why else would he kill himself." It wasn't a question; Hank was reassuring himself.

"Why would he?" Charlie's words came out haunted. "I should get going. This looks good." He slid the estimate across the table and tossed a few bills down to cover both meals. "How long do you think it will take?"

"A week or so," Hank absently took back the paper, folding it between his fingers.

"You want a lift back to the garage?"

"No, thanks. I'll call you when the truck is ready."

Hank sunk deeper into the booth as Charlie left. He ran his finger over the rim of his coffee cup as he lingered on the conversation with the chief. After a moment, he pushed the cup away with enough force to cause a slosh of the remaining coffee to spill to the table. He stood and left as abruptly as the shove.

Hank didn't linger at the garage, only staying long enough to park the chief's truck inside and grab his hat. He let his mind focus on why he was home early, as he knew his early arrival would startle Josie and Clara. He had no real excuse but could get by with needing parts to continue. Really, he wanted to be in the house. For so long, he had enjoyed every moment of escape from the haunted mansion. But now, he needed the ghosts. He needed to hear what he had been avoiding for so long.