Ethan looked at him with frank skepticism. "Grown people were supposed to do theirs before," he said. Grim accepted the answer without taking offense. "You're right," he said.
"They were. You have a reason not to trust what people say. Watch what we do instead." For a moment Ethan looked almost startled. Adults rarely admitted to him that his distrust had been earned.
Danielle brought Sarah water and a clean washcloth. Millie had already called the medical clinic on the west side of town to ask about overnight care without giving a name, and the nurse who answered advised immediate evaluation because Sarah was having trouble breathing deeply. Sarah refused at first, afraid that the clinic would contact local law enforcement or produce records Clay's friends could find. Grim listened to the fear, then explained that a medical record would be evidence as well as treatment. "What happened to you deserves to be written down by somebody who isn't being paid to look away," he said.
Sarah stared at him. "I tried that before," she whispered. "The hospital wrote down 'fall.' Clay told them I fell."
Grim felt his anger sharpen, but he kept his voice level. "This time you speak for yourself, and somebody independent listens. We can arrange that without giving Clay a road map to where you sleep." Millie promised to stay beside her during the examination. Only then did Sarah agree to let a nurse look at her injuries.
While they were speaking, Danny disappeared through the kitchen and out the service door. He returned five minutes later with an expression Grim recognized, the look of someone carrying information too important to announce across a crowded room. "Outside," Danny said. "Now." Grim followed him, asking Millie to keep the children at the booth and the front shades partly lowered.
The back lot smelled of rain, diesel, and the wet cardboard stacked behind the garbage enclosure. A single yellow light buzzed over the service door, throwing weak shadows across three parked vehicles. Marco stood near his truck, and beside him was a young man Grim had never seen. The stranger looked barely old enough to drink. His denim jacket was damp, his boots were caked with mud, and he had the pinched expression of someone who had driven too long without stopping to decide whether he could keep going.
"He came up while I was checking the truck," Marco explained. "Said he needed to talk to you and wouldn't give me much else." The stranger swallowed. Grim stayed several feet away and kept his hands in view.
"Name?" he asked. "Jesse Tarant," the young man said. "I work for Clay Mercer. Or I did."
Danny moved slightly at Grim's side. Jesse noticed and lifted both empty hands. "I didn't come with him," he said quickly.
"I know how it looks. I know you have no reason to believe me. But I was the one who tried to warn you about the road." Grim held his gaze. "Tell it from the beginning," he said. "Slow enough that I can understand which part you know and which part you're guessing."