Page 110 of Scatter the Bones

At least Paul cleared a portion of the driveway and made it to the front steps before the thing died.

I crouch beside the beast of a machine and remove the gas cap, tilting the whole unit slightly to check the tank.

“Yup. Empty.”

Paul squints. “That’s bad, right? Did I wreck it?”

“Nah.”It’s definitely a four-stroke.“Just needs some gas.”

Relief softens his features. “We haven’t used it much. One of the guys usually plows the parking lot, then jumps out and shovels the walkways.”

“This’ll do the parking lot. It’ll just take some time.” I pat the frame and stand. “I’ll run out and get the gas.”

“I, uh, you don’t have to do that,” he protests.

“My truck’s ready to go.” I nod toward the slice of driveway he cleared. “Your vehicles are still boxed in.”

“Good point.” He hooks his thumb toward the right. “There’s a gas station a couple miles that way. Otherwise, you’ll have to go almost all the way back to the highway.”

“Thanks.” I turn toward my vehicle. “Be back soon.”

My engine turns over without hesitation, but I let it idle for a minute. While it warms up, I shoot off a quick text to Margot so she doesn’t worry, then tap Remy’s number.

He answers on the second ring. “Jigsaw?” His voice is low and rough. “What’s up?”

“Like two feet of snow.”

He chuckles, the sound muffled by wind. “Yeah, no shit. Been plowing all morning.”

Good.“Think you could swing that plow over to Pine Hollow?”

Silence, except for the wind howling over the line. “What’s out there?”

“The Cedarwood Funeral Home.”

Another pause. “Oh.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“It’s not that,” he says quickly. “One of my neighbors is sick. I’ve been keeping their place clear. Just in case, you know, she needs to call an ambulance. Her husband’s...not doing great.”

“Shit. Sorry to hear that.”

He sighs, heavy and tired. “They were good to my grandparents back in the day. Just trying to return the favor.”

Grinder had mentioned Remy helped out most of his elderly neighbors. One of the reasons he’s got so much respect for the kid—when Grinder usually dislikes almost everyone. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Let me make a call,” he says. “I got a buddy out that way who can probably get there faster than I could anyway.”

“That’s all right. We’ve got a snowblower.”

“That’ll take forever to clear their parking lot. Hang tight. I’ll call you back.”

“Thanks.” We hang up, and I shift into Drive, easing onto the slick road, while flakes continue to fall in lazy swirls. At least the snow seems to be slowing.

Half an hour later, I pull back into the Cedarwoods’ driveway, sliding into the spot I claimed earlier—close to the house, out of the way of the plow Remy promised should be here in another thirty.

Paul’s shoveling in front of the garage. He’s actually made a lot of progress in the short amount of time I’ve been gone.

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