Read When Grace Sings for Free Online Page B

story? And the
Real Scoop
needed a story that would capture the public’s eye before it collapsed like so many other periodicals.
    He’d keep his ears and eyes wide open. He’d peek beneath the surface of these people. He’d find dirt. One way or another, he’d find it and expose it for all the world to see.
    No rooster announced the dawn, but Briley’s cell phone alarm blared out the theme from
Star Wars
and brought him fully awake at seven o’clock. He groaned as he rolled off the mattress of the strangest bed he’d ever seen. Before crawling into it last night, he’d given it a careful look-over. Home built of sturdy wood and with a jointed metal frame, it actually folded up against the wall when it wasn’t in use. If Alexa—he might have to call her
Miss Zimmerman
, but he wouldn’t think of her as anything but Alexa—hadn’t already had it down and made up for him, he might not have even found it. The contraption squeaked every time he moved, but he had to admit the mattress was of good quality. Once he’d put in earplugs—something he always used at home but hadn’t thought would be necessary in these
peaceful
surroundings—he slept fairly well.
    He didn’t bother to remake the bed before hefting the mattress into thewooden frame. A click of the cabinet doors, and not only was the bed hidden from sight, but the space felt much larger. He whacked the dividing curtain aside and padded on bare feet to the bathroom. He dipped his knees to bring himself low enough to see his whisker-dotted reflection in the mirror while he brushed his teeth. The ceiling of the tacked-on room sloped toward the east and was better suited for munchkins than for full-grown men.
    But if he decided to take a soak, the claw-foot tub was like the one in Aunt Myrt’s old-fashioned bathroom, so it would accommodate his length. For now, though, he wanted a shower. He twisted the knobs until the water temperature satisfied him—the hotter the better—then stepped into the center of a clear plastic circular curtain that protected the walls from spatters. He had to arch backward to fit beneath the rain-shower nozzle, but the water flowed hot the entire fifteen minutes of his shower and felt good.
    He shaved, smirking at himself as he did so. Those
Duck Dynasty
guys had nothing on some of the Amish men he’d seen. Maybe he’d let his whiskers grow, too, while he was here so he’d fit in better. Nah. A beard wouldn’t be enough to make him fit. When he’d scraped his face as smooth as he could get it, considering his thick, dark whiskers, he splashed on spicy aftershave and then dug through his suitcase. He chose a deep plum shirt similar in color to the one the helpful boy had worn yesterday and a pair of denim jeans absolutely nothing like the boy’s homemade, suspendered britches. The shirt was pretty wrinkled from its journey, but he gave it several sharp snaps and managed to work out the worst of the creases.
    As he dressed, he glanced at the bureau lurking in the corner of the sleeping area. He should probably put his clothes in it rather than leaving them in the suitcase. Maybe later today. Or tomorrow. Aunt Myrt’s voice tiptoed through his memory.
“Procrastination is just a fancy word for lazy. Laziness isn’t a worthwhile trait. Don’t put off for tomorrow what you can do today.”
With a sigh he yanked open the drawers and transferred his clothing, then plunked the suitcase in the corner.
    He shook his head and said with a light chuckle, “There ya go, AuntMyrt.” The sound of his voice startled him. He’d never spoken to an empty room before. Maybe the silence of the place was doing weird things to him. Rather than examining himself, he tugged socks and shoes over his feet and headed across the yard for the door Alexa had indicated would be open when he was ready for coffee. Caffeine ought to chase the weirdness out of him.
    He moved with wide, eager strides across the dewy yard. A sloping concrete slab almost