“I found one after that.”
“Good.”
Jory stared into the coffee.
Calvin asked the next question carefully.
“You think your father’s stroke has something to do with Devo?”
Jory was quiet for so long that he wondered whether she would answer.
“My father was fifty-eight.”
“That doesn’t mean anything by itself.”
“I know.”
“Was he sick?”
“No diagnosed hypertension. No previous stroke. No serious cardiovascular history.”
Calvin waited.
“The week before it happened, Devo sent somebody to the garage.”
“Who?”
“Reginald Vickers.”
Calvin knew that name less well.
“What does he do?”
“Whatever Devo doesn’t put on company letterhead.”
“What happened?”
“My dad called me that night.”
Her thumb rubbed unconsciously along the rim of the coffee cup.
“He said Vickers never really negotiated. Dad said he spent more time looking at the garage than talking about the offer. Walked around the building twice. Looked down the north access. Asked whether Dad still opened alone every morning.”
Calvin’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s specific.”
“I know.”
“What did your father think?”
“He said it felt like being measured for something.”
The garage seemed quieter.
“And two days later?”
“Dad was found unconscious near the side work area.”
“Who found him?”
“A parts driver.”
“Official diagnosis?”
“Hypertensive stroke.”
“Signs of anything else?”
“Bruising.”
Jory met Calvin’s eyes.
“Doctors assumed he fell when the stroke happened. So did I.”
“But now?”
“Now I don’t know.”
“That’s different from saying Vickers caused it.”
“I know.”
Her voice remained level, but Calvin could hear how much effort that levelness required.
“That’s why I haven’t accused anyone.”
She looked toward the bay door.
“I haven’t told police. I haven’t told Dad. I haven’t even said it to myself properly.”
“Until now.”
“Yes.”
“Why tell me?”
Jory looked at him.
“Because you’re the first person who asked why the truck was there instead of asking what I did to make somebody follow me.”
Calvin had no answer to that.
He finished his coffee.
That evening, after Jory left, he called a table meeting.
It lasted less than fifteen minutes.
Calvin explained only what they knew.
Lawrence Devo wanted Baxter’s Garage.
Gerald Baxter had rejected him.
Gerald suffered a stroke.
Jory had inherited the fight over the property.
A truck connected in some way to Devo’s world had been watching Iron Pines while she worked there.
Brack leaned back.
“We don’t know what happened to Gerald.”
“No.”
“We don’t know who’s in the truck.”
“No.”
“We don’t know if watching Jory is criminal.”
“No.”
Brack looked around the table.
“So we don’t invent anything.”
“Exactly.”
Calvin folded his hands.
“But she works here.”
Nate nodded.
“She’s here.”
That was enough.
Iron Pines did not surround Jory with riders.
Nobody threatened Devo.
Nobody followed the truck aggressively.
Instead, men started noticing.
License plates.
Times.
Drivers.
Where the truck parked.
Which direction it left.
Nate wrote everything on a calendar beside the parts room.
Jory was not told to stop working.