CHAPTER 19 —

The Hendrix shop smelled like sawdust, oil, and guilt with a lacquer finish. It was the kind of place that kept its secrets in a crate marked “fragile,” and the man behind the counter moved like someone who believed wood had better bones than people. He introduced himself as Simon Hendrix — not a shock, because the name was on the awning, but the handshake was firm, honest, like a man who fixed chairs and didn’t break promises for sport.

Nicole stood with her coat ...