It didn’t look like a place Grandpa would’ve had any reason to visit, but the coordinates didn’t lie.
I parked across the street and sat there for a second.
“You better not be messing with me,” I muttered.
Then I got out.
The first place was a small auto shop.
Inside, a man, probably in his 60s, stood behind the counter. He had gray hair and a solid build.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
I hesitated, then pulled one of the receipts from my pocket.
“I… think my grandfather knew you,” I said. “His name was Walter.”
The man’s expression shifted into recognition.
He studied me for a moment longer.
“You must be Angelica. Walter was our friend. He showed me a photo of you once.”
“Can I help you?”
That stopped me cold.
Our?
“How do you—”
“He said you’d come,” the man said, already turning toward a drawer behind the counter.
He pulled out a sealed envelope.
“Walter told me not to hand this over to anyone but you.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t ask. Wasn’t my place.”
I picked it up.
“He said you’d come.”
“Why didn’t he just give this to me when he was alive?” I said, more to myself than to him.
The man gave a small, knowing smile.
“Walter liked making you work for things, didn’t he?”
I swallowed.
Yeah, he did.
I opened the envelope in my car. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a short note in my Grandpa‘s handwriting.
“You’re on the right track. Don’t stop now.”
“Okay,” I whispered. “I won’t.”
“Why didn’t he just give this to me?”
The second location was a diner with red booths and coffee brewing.
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