Chapter 26 - ADAM'S LAST YEAR
Ryan stopped searching.
Then Adam's old mechanic called.
Life had a sense of humor.
“Ryan?”
“Yes.”
“This is Paul Mercer.”
Ryan remembered him.
Adam's friend.
Auto shop.
Big beard.
Bad knees.
“We were clearing the office.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
Of course.
Paul continued.
“I found something with your name.”
Ryan almost said no.
Then:
“What?”
“A notebook.”
Ryan picked it up the next day.
Not secret evidence.
Not a diary.
Mostly repair estimates.
Parts numbers.
Customer names.
Then, in the last twenty pages:
LILY.
Dates.
Birthdays.
School start.
Doctor appointment.
Ryan's address.
Ryan stared.
Adam had kept track.
One entry:
Tell Ryan before Lily starts kindergarten.
Another six months later:
Coward.
Another:
Grant is dead. No excuse now.
Ryan froze.
Grant had died eighteen months before Adam.
Adam had known that once Grant was gone, nothing physically stopped him.
Next entry:
Went to Ryan's office.
Didn't go in.
Another:
Saw Ethan in parking lot.
Couldn't do it.
Ryan's chest tightened.
Then the final Lily entry.
Three weeks before Adam's fatal car accident:
Friday.
Tell him Friday.
Underlined twice.
Ryan looked at Paul.
“What happened that Friday?”
Paul frowned.
“What date?”
Ryan showed him.
Paul's face changed.
“He came here.”
Ryan waited.
“He was nervous.”
“About what?”
“Didn't say.”
Paul scratched his beard.
“He borrowed my truck.”
“Why?”
“His brakes were making noise.”
Ryan stopped.
Adam died the next evening.
Driving his own car.
The accident report blamed wet road conditions and excessive speed.
Ryan had accepted that.
He looked at Paul.
“Did you work on his brakes?”
“Monday before.”
“And?”
“Fine.”
Ryan felt the old pull.
Mystery.
Suspicion.
A new tunnel.
Paul saw his face.
“No.”
Ryan looked at him.
“Don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn this into something because you want an answer.”
Ryan stared.
Paul continued.
“Your brother drove too fast his whole life.”
Ryan knew.
“The cops inspected the car.”
“I know.”
“No failure.”
“I know.”
Paul handed him the notebook.
“He was going to tell you.”
Ryan looked down.
“Maybe.”
“No.”
Paul pointed.
“He wrote it.”
Ryan almost smiled.
“Typing isn't trying.”
Paul frowned.
Ryan explained:
“He taught me that.”
Then Ryan turned the page.
One final note.
If I don't do it Friday, mail Mara's recording to Ryan myself.
Ryan stared.
Adam had been moving.
Late.
Far too late.
But moving.
May you like
And then he died.
For once, Ryan let that be tragic without making it suspicious.
