The man’s face animates for the first time, and he approaches us on stubby fire-hydrant legs. “Get outta town,” he says. “Russ Smith. You’re his grandson? You don’t say.”

“That’s me. I’m Carson Smith. This is my friend Aisha Stinson. Do you know him?”

“Knew him, yeah. How’s he doin’?”

“Okay. Well, not okay. Actually, I don’t know. Do you have a few minutes to talk to us? We’re kind of trying to figure out what happened to him.”

He slaps me on the shoulder. “Any family of Russ Smith is certainly welcome at our place. You up for some lunch?” He motions toward his trailer.

This does not seem like a great idea to me, but Aisha starts to nod. I excuse us and pull her away for a moment.

“Might as well. We’re here,” she says to me.

“I’m from New York City,” I say. “I don’t generally go into strangers’ trailers for lunch. Everyone in New York is a potential serial killer. I’m pretty sure that’s true out here too. I mean, he seems harmless, but really?”

She shrugs. “I’m not afraid of him. Seems like a nice old dude.”

“That’s how they get you!” I’m not sure I even mean this, but now that I’ve started it, I feel the need to follow through. “Isn’t there some ‘Don’t go in the attic’ thing?”

Aisha turns and looks out at the horizon. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think at some point, if you’re going to have a life, you have to start going into the attic.”

“Wow,” I say, remembering how going up into an attic nearly got us in trouble yesterday. “Just, wow.” But I don’t have any other arguments, so I walk back over to Thomas, who has been watching us from a distance.

“We’d love to, thanks,” I say.

“Well, good,” he says. “Nice of you to come up to my attic.”

I jump a bit. Thomas’s laugh is unexpected and melodic. His face lights up and his mustache twitches like a caterpillar.

“You need to talk more softly if you don’t want people to hear you,” he says. “Life isn’t a movie.”

I blush, and Thomas keeps smiling. “You’re kind of funny,” I say, genuinely surprised.

“Me?” he says, looking all shocked. “I’m just a nice old dude.” He leads us over to the trailer and opens the screen door. We follow him in. “Oh, dearest!” he bellows.

The door to a room at the far end of the trailer opens, and an old woman with a radiant smile peeks her head out. “There you are!” she says, and then she sees us and says, “And guests!”

“This, dearest, is the grandson of one Russ Smith!”

She puts her hand to her chest. “Russ Smith? Oh! Oh my goodness!” The woman scurries over to us, arms out wide. “It is so lovely to meet you! I’m Laurelei.”

“His name is Carson,” Thomas says. “His friend, who is clearly the second most beautiful person ever to step foot in this home, is Aisha.”

She clasps Aisha’s hands in hers, and says something like, “My, aren’t you gorgeous.” Then she looks at me. She raises her left hand to my head and instinctively I open my arms to hug her. As I do, she says, “Oh!” and I pull back. In her left hand is a leafy thing that she must have pulled from my hair. I say, “Well, that’s awkward,” but she shakes her head like this happens all the time.

Then she does hug me, and I am amazed at how much I feel like lingering in the hug of an old lady I don’t know. I feel starstruck, like I’m meeting the trailer park version of Oprah Winfrey, maybe. She’s got to be at least sixty, but something about her is also eighteen, like on the inside. Her face seems to glow.

What appeared from the outside to be a small trailer is surprisingly wide and long, with low ceilings, maybe eight feet high. Thomas heads into the small kitchenette area and gets busy washing, chopping, and plating fruits and vegetables. Laurelei sits us down on twin couches near the front door and brings us a bowl of trail mix to snack on. She asks us about our trip and tells us what an amazing day she’s had. It consisted of walking through the trailer park and seeing a handful of neighbors. She also interacted with a neighbor’s dog.

That’s it. And she seems happy. Not like pretending, but actual joy. I kind of want to move in with her. I look at Aisha, and I can tell she feels the same way.

“What would you like to drink?” Thomas yells from the kitchen.

“How about some wine?” I ask, half joking, and Aisha frowns at me.

He laughs. “Nice try.” He brings out a salad bowl for each of us, a medley of raspberries, strawberries, melon chunks, and broccoli on a bed of sprouts, no dressing. We sit on the twin couches and eat with the bowls on our laps.

“So my grandfather,” I say. “You knew him well?”

“As well as you can know someone who was in your life for, what, two days? Three?”

“That’s all? You acted like he was your best friend when I said his name.”

Thomas laughs again. “Out here, we don’t get tons of visitors. He was memorable. Looked like an older version of you, you know. I coulda guessed if you’d let me. It’s in the cheekbones.”

I feel my face and then, self-conscious, move my hands away. “I just hope you can help us figure out what happened to him.”

“Well, I’m not sure what we can say that will help you,” Laurelei says. “We enjoyed his company, but I’m sure we never heard from him after he left us.”

“Wasn’t it Wyatt Thurber who introduced us?” Thomas asks Laurelei. “The pastor. From Billings, wasn’t it?”

“John Logan, maybe?” I ask.

His face lights up again. “I think that’s right! John. It’s been so many years.”

“He’s my dad’s neighbor.”

“How is John?”

“He’s fine,” I say. “But my granddad hasn’t been back to Billings since he visited you. And it’s kind of a big deal, because my dad hasn’t seen or heard from him since either, and now he’s dying, and —”

“Oh! Poor dear,” Laurelei says, and even though it’s lunch and we’re eating, she actually stands up, comes over behind me, and puts her hands on my shoulders while I sit. She rubs them softly. It’s the weirdest thing ever.

“It’s fine,” I say, my body rigid. “I hardly know him. He’s a drunk. I mean. My mom and I left when I was three. We’re like … just taking care of him now while he’s —”

I can’t finish the sentence, and I find myself counting by elevens to 209.

Laurelei continues to massage my shoulders, and I see that Thomas has stopped eating and is looking at me with very kind eyes.

“There’s a lot of feelings in there,” he says, pointing at my chest, and I’m like, Whoa, fella. Buy me a drink first. I’m just fine, thanks.

Then I realize I haven’t been breathing.

Laurelei goes back to her seat, and I must be two people now, because part of me thinks, Awkward turtle, and the other part thinks, Come back, please. I’m not done being touched.

“So, um,” I say, trying to get my head back. “Do you have any idea what was going on? Why he left without telling my dad?”

Thomas and Laurelei look at each other. “Not a whole lot,” he says after a beat. “He was a nice man and we enjoyed him. If I recall, it was a tough time in his journey.”

Laurelei nods. “Such a sweet man. Like you, Carson.”

I look down at my food.

“So, nothing else?” Aisha asks.

“Sorry,” Thomas says, looking at Laurelei. “I wish we could be more helpful.”

Our only clue, a dead end. Then I remember the letter my grandfather sent.

“Wait,” I say. “Yeah. He wrote this letter to Pastor John from here. We have it.” I pull the letter out of my pocket and read it aloud to them.

Thomas looks up at the ceiling like he’s pondering the whole thing. “What’s the world’s most dangerous grid?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

“Maybe an electrical grid?” he says.

“It’s expensive too,” I say.

“Right. Of course. An expensive and dangerous electrical grid, run by a church choir director.” He chuckles. “Doesn’t ring a bell when it comes to Russ. I know it’s been a lot of years ago, but I don’t remember much going on about expensive grids.”