He did not arrive in the SUV.
He borrowed an old pickup from the motel owner for two hundred dollars and a promise to return it with a full tank. He wore jeans, a plain shirt, and the least expensive shoes he owned, which still would have paid the Tate family’s electric bill for months.
Jaylen was in the yard, kneeling beside a lawnmower with its cover removed.
He looked up, surprised.
“You came back.”
“I did.”
“Mama’s asleep.”
“I won’t bother her.”
Jaylen wiped his hands on a rag.
“You still want to see the workshop?”
“Yes.”
The boy looked toward the house, then toward the shed behind it.
“It’s not much.”
The shed leaned like it was tired.
Inside, it smelled of oil, sawdust, hot metal, and rainwater. Sunlight slipped through gaps in the roof and fell across a world Wendell had not expected.
