I texted back, “Can’t. Shop’s packed today.”

His reply was instant. This is about the shop. Be here.

Something about that phrasing, about the shop, made the hair on my arms stand up. Hank’s never cared about the business. Hell, I doubt he can even name the difference between a carburetor and a fuel injector. But ever since we got that shout-out on a regional car blog and our waitlist filled up for three straight months, I’d noticed him sniffing around, asking Mom weird questions, offering to “help” with the paperwork.