"Have Peter come here," Josie suggested as she scrambled eggs on the stovetop.

"Here? No." Hank dismissed it quickly as his hands swirled a plate beneath the hot stream of water in the sink.

"You said it yourself; you aren't afraid of him. There's no harm in having him here."

Hank's mind splintered in frustration, causing the plate nearly to slip from his hands. "I don't want to draw you or Clara into this."

"Have him come here to the garage. You'll be working there; there's no need for him even to come in."

Hank mulled over her plan as he dried his hands and then dried the pile of dinner dishes before him. He leaned against the counter, lingering on a plate long after it was dry.

"Hank, please. I have a feeling about this. Don't go to that house." The caution in her tone stuck with him. He knew she was already against him speaking with Peter, but the focus on keeping him away from the Dillard Mansion was much more pressing to her.

"All right, I'll have him come here. But you stay in the house, no matter what." His eyes caught her with determination.

"I'll stay in the house as long as it's reasonable."

"Josie, if you hear anything concerning, just call Chief Fox." His tone was closed, as he was not negotiating on this point.

"Well, like you said, most likely Peter will be relieved."

Hank and Josie worked in silence for the rest of the morning chores. She slipped away to leave him to eat his breakfast alone at the island. He could hear the lively conversation from the living room. It sent a bitter taste coursing through his mouth. The ease that she can adjust her mood bothered him.

It was too early to call over to Peter, so Hank began on the truck, resolved to call mid-morning to see if Peter could stop by. He hoped to sound casual, keep his mood tempered in the manner that Josie could expertly maneuver. It was broaching the topic that was even more troubling.

Mid-morning, Hank slipped into the kitchen to call. Nancy answered on the second ring, as always. "Hey Nancy, it's Hank."

"Twice in one week," there was a pleasant surprise in her voice.

"Any chance Peter is in the office today?"

"He is. When I mentioned you stopped in, I think he was so envious of our visit that he resolved to be here more." There was a relief in Nancy's voice. "Hold on, and I'll send you through."

Hank offered a thank you, but it was well after the transfer's click had muted him. He didn't have enough time to collect his thoughts before Peter picked up.

"Hank, pleasant to hear from you. Everything all right? Clara hasn't taken a turn, has she?" The genuine worry in his voice sent a remorseful pang through Hank.

"Hello," he began, feeling his lips pull into a tight line as he struggled to swallow. "Clara is fine. I was hoping you could stop by today. I have a few things I've been meaning to discuss with you."

"Of course. I can head over to the garage now if you'd like."

"That would be great, except I'm at the house."

"Of course, Clara; slipped my mind." There was relief in Peter's voice that continued to cloud Hank's resolve. "Even closer. I will be over in a few."

"Thanks, Peter. Head right into the garage; I wouldn't want to wake Clara if she is finally getting some sleep." The lie spilled from him with such ease that it worried Hank; whom was the who pushing deceit?

Hank knew he didn't have long to collect himself, so he didn't bother. His hands absently picked up a few errant tools lying around and then settled on a constant and unnecessary wiping off his hands with a rag. He was still in this state when Peter arrived.

"Morning, Hank," Peter gave him a nod before dipping his eyes to the engine of the truck. "This the Chief's beast?" One of Peter's knuckles rapped on the hood of the Chief's truck.

"Sure is." Hank let his eyes slip to the engine as well.

"I'm surprised he finally reached out for help. I've been telling him to let you have a look for years." He finished his long gaze before leaning against the workbench and setting his eyes on Hank. "How can I help you? Sounded important on the phone."

Hank's hands passed a few more wipes of the rag before he threw it down on the edge of the truck. "Well, I wanted to ask you about my father;" Hank let his eyes meet Peter's, "and Josie." Hank inspected him for a response and was returned with relief, adding a slight slump to Peter's shoulders.

Peter began with a heavy sigh, "I always knew you'd come to me, eventually; lately, I've been feeling the moment creeping in on me." A smile flickered across his face as his eyes went distant. "She's a beautiful girl. I suppose it's too much to think this could be a gentleman's request."

"I think you lost that respect about twenty years ago." Hank didn't intend the severity of his words. His obtusely protective reaction to Peter speaking of Josie surprised him in a fatherly manner.

Peter gave a nod in acceptance of the shame. "She has my eyes." It was a thinly veiled acknowledgment. "I never intended for any of this," he stumbled for a moment over his thoughts. "Maggie had this way of knowing things before the world caught up." Hank's mind clung to the tender tone that hugged Maggie's name. "She was going to leave. I had to let her; it was what was best even if I'd lose them both."

Peter lifted his eyes to the garage and drew a heavy breath. He was standing before Hank, but his mind was on another time.

"Your father spent two lifetimes listening to me prattle on about the three women that kept me spinning. He had the patience of the saint. But when I told him she was leaving, he was unwavering that I had to let her go, let them go. He was right, of course, as he always was."

"Then what happened?" Hank couldn't wait anymore. He was so close to knowing what had derailed his life.

"I don't know, but I know it wasn't your father," there was a shift in his tone, a wall.

"Did you ever think of going with them?"

"Oh, of course; it was all I thought of that winter."

"Why didn't you?"

"Duty and fear."

"Peter, why did my father kill himself?" Hank watched as Peter shifted, uncomfortable. "Did he kill himself?"

"Hank, your father was a good man. The only man I knew that didn't have a single crack in his morals. He would never have willingly left you and Clara."

"You were there. What happened?" Hank needed more; he needed the truth.

"I..." Peter's voice faltered. "I should have left with her. None of this would have happened. I had this twisted duty to society that pulled me from her. I didn't intend for you to get pulled into this. Your family was, is, so important to me. The shining jewel that kindness and generosity yield success. It was a breath of fresh air in this social order constructed around deceit and dishonesty."

Hank was suddenly acutely aware that Peter could answer none of his questions. There were indeed things he was withholding, but Hank couldn't ignore that there was a mix of confusion as he recalled the moments. One thing was apparent: he was a broken man with no hope of solace.

"Where did she go?" Peter was back, fully present in the garage.

"I don't think it's my place to say."

Peter nodded solemnly. "She was beautiful; lit up the room just like her mother." He was distant again, "probably for the best. There is nothing decent for her here. She deserves better than these people, this twisted town." After a few more moments of silence, Peter began his exit. "I am sorry I could not offer you more. I have dreaded this day, knowing I don't have what you deserve."

Hank had more confusion than answers. He set his hands to work, expecting his mind to fixate on Peter's words, but all he could fixate on what Josie. Peter, seeing his daughter, had been the final toll drawing the last of life from him. It was not what he expected from a man he had recently suspected had killed his lover and best friend. It was the only thought that plagued him.