Tools 

Austin and tools were in constant battle.

 His tools. His dad's tools. Wyatt's tools. Heck, even my pink tools.

 If Austin used them, there was a pretty good chance they were going to disappear.

 The frustrating part was that Austin was actually really good with tools.

 In high school, he made it all the way to the state finals in Raleigh with FFA for identifying tools. 

He had this natural ability to look at a job and just know what he needed. He knew the right tool, 

the right size, and usually exactly how to use it.

 Knowing where that tool went when he was finished with it,

 that was apparently a completely different skill.

Tools were probably the longest-running argument between Austin and his dad.

 I couldn't begin to count how many times Lee kicked Austin out of the building and banned him from using his tools.

 As a matter of fact, one of the reasons we bought the building in the first place 

was because Lee's toolbox had been sitting on the carport...

and he couldn't keep Austin out of it.

 Lee would go to grab a tool. Gone. "Where's my 10mm?"

Austin always had the same answer. "I don't have it."

He never had it. Yet somehow, Austin would eventually be the one to find it.

 Or Lee would discover it lying in the exact place where Austin had last been working on something.

 Sometimes I honestly wondered if Austin did it just to get under his dad's skin.

 There was no possible way someone could sit through as many speeches, arguments, 

threats, and rounds of Lee's very passionate opinions about putting tools back... and then lose another one the very same day.

 But Austin could.

 And Austin did.

 Repeatedly.

The cycle became almost comical.

 Lee would hide the keys to the building. "You're not allowed in my building."

 "Don't touch my tools."

Two weeks would pass. Maybe three.

Eventually, Lee would give in.

 He'd hand Austin the keys along with another long speech.

"If I let you back in there, you'd better put every single tool back exactly where you got it."

Austin would agree.  Of course, he would.  The next day...

Austin would be kicked out of the building again.

 Lee used to tell him,  "Boy, one day when you buy your own tools and realize how expensive they are, you'll understand."

So Austin did. He bought his own tools.

 Matco. Snap-on. Blue-Point. Good tools. Expensive tools. Surely now he would understand.

 Nope. He lost those too. I found expensive tools beside his bed.

 In the washing machine. In the yard. In other people's vehicles.

 Anywhere Austin had been, there was a chance he'd left a tool behind.

 Eventually, after losing most of his own, he ended up right back in his dad's building.

 Using Lee's tools.  Again.

Lee even tried to create an Austin-proof system.

 A bucket. The plan couldn't have been simpler.

 Take the tools you're going to use.

 Put them in the bucket.

 Keep the bucket beside you while you work.

 When you're finished, put the tools back in the bucket.

 Then sit the entire bucket on top of the toolbox.

 That way, even if Austin didn't put every tool back in its exact place, at least everything would still be together.

 It was brilliant.

 Until even the bucket went missing.

 At that point, there really wasn't much left to try.

This went on for years. Tools disappeared. Tools reappeared.

 Austin got kicked out of the building.

 Austin got let back into the building.

 Lee gave speeches. Austin promised.

A couple of days after the detective came to our house, Lee and I decided to retrace Austin's steps.

 We were searching for anything that might help us understand the events of that night.

 Anything we had missed. Anything that might explain something that still didn't make sense.

 We were walking down the sidewalk toward the area where it happened when Lee looked down.

 Lying against the curb was an extension.

 He picked it up and put it in his pocket.

 A few steps later... There was a socket. A 14mm Matco socket. Lee picked that up too.

 Neither of us thought much about it at the time.

 When we got home, Lee quietly walked out to the building.

 He opened his toolbox.

 And there it was.

 An empty spot.

The spot where his 14mm Matco socket belonged.

After all those years... after all those missing tools...

after all the arguments, the hidden keys, the speeches, the promises, the expensive tools left in yards and washing machines...

Austin made sure to return the last tool he borrowed.