She’s mental.” Pewter fastidiously stepped over a grease spot that had permanently soaked into the concrete floors at ReNu.
Asking permission from no one, Harry had driven to town to examine the garage. She’d bribed her way past the front desk.
Mrs. Murphy, also avoiding the grease, replied, “She’s never going to change. We’re accused of being curious, but she’s worse than any cat could ever be.”
“Curiosity killed the cat. I hate that phrase. She’s come closer to death because of it than we have. If it weren’t for us, Harry would be dead.” Pewter was most certainly right about that, too.
Over the years, Harry’s desire to solve any puzzle had put her, the cats and dog, even her friends, in jeopardy. The animals, thanks to their superior senses, always knew the hammer was dropping long before their human did. Sometimes they could nudge her out of harm’s way. Other times she was knocked down with a thump. She never seemed to learn. Her husband had accepted this irritating personality trait. The animals were less flexible about it, although Pewter could always be brought around with fresh tuna.
“What nearly killed her was giving that slug at the front desk twenty dollars to let us in here at lunchtime.” Tucker laughed. “Twenty dollars. She’s out of control.”
“Out of control” may have been too strong a description of Harry’s behavior, but at the very least she was intrusive and foolhardy.
Nose to the ground, the corgi shot straight over to where Walt’s body once sprawled. “Mmm. Old blood. Old brains. Nothing left, but the aroma is heaven.”
The two cats, not carrion eaters, appreciated the canine stomach nonetheless. Even Pewter, now interested, passed up this opportunity to criticize the dog.
After the forensics team left, Victor Gatzembizi had called in a special crew to clean up the mess before the next day’s work. The husband-and-wife duo couldn’t lift the bloodstains out of the concrete, but they’d managed to clean up all the tiny bits of hair and skull. The forensics team had collected most of it, but there were always tiny fragments left or stuck under a cabinet. It’s amazing what flies out of and off a body that has been dramatically violated.
Good as the cleanup job had been, those kitty noses and that corgi nose could still detect information.
“I think his head was here.” Tucker stood on a spot.
“Well, something was here.” Pewter found the place where the tire iron had been.
Harry saw where her animals were, once again reminded of how keen their senses were. “That’s the place. He didn’t have a chance.”
She drew in a notebook. The garage, spotless as a matter of course, shone even more now after an incredible cleaning. Each of the four hydraulic lifts had a vehicle on it. Every workstation had a tall red toolbox with many pullout doors. Taped across the front drawer was the name of the mechanic. The boxes, on casters, could be moved about. Having each man responsible for his tools was another of Victor’s prudent decisions. Victor bought all the tools, but every man was held accountable for his toolbox. If anyone was fired, the contents of his red toolbox were immediately inventoried. Victor knew all about the old game of someone bringing tools to work but when the employee left claiming others. This way, Victor paid for tools but he paid only once.
One large box, four feet high, had been rolled against the wall. The name “Richardson” was still on the top drawer, black Magic Marker ink on masking tape.
The walls were covered by steel industrial shelving, with ladders attached at the top so they, too, could roll. On the shelves were air filters, fan belts, items easily stored. Ford, General Motors, Chrysler, Toyota, Subaru, Nissan parts filled boxes, all numbered to indicate the model and year.
Harry knew that most jobs required a wait while the particular engine parts were shipped to the collision repair shop. No one had the space for the inventory required when repairing all makes and models. But the basic easy stuff was there: batteries, windshield wipers. No tires, however. This puzzled her.
Wrapped up in her drawings, she lost track of time.
Jason Brundige, a young mechanic, walked in from lunch. His buddy Nick Ashby walked next to him. “Who are you? Weren’t you the woman who found Walt?”
“I am.”
The animals stared at the medium-size fellow.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Don’t talk to my mother that way.” Tucker curled back her upper lip.
“You’re right.” Feeling the hostility, Harry headed for the open bay.
As she strode past Nick Ashby, the young man smiled, happy to see a good-looking woman, whether she belonged there or not.
As Harry walked out, with Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker at her heels, the other mechanics—Bobby Foltz, Lodi Pingrey, and Sammy Collona—returned from lunch.
Sammy knew her slightly. “Harry, I’ve heard of criminals returning to the scene of the crime, but not witnesses.”
Chagrined at being caught, Harry said, “I … I couldn’t stay away. I don’t know why; I had to see it again.”
“Once should be enough, lady,” Lodi snapped.
With that, Harry climbed into the F-150, after lifting in Tucker. The cats were already inside.
As Harry cranked the motor, Nick Ashby trotted out, Jason Brundige glaring after him.
Making the time-out sign with his hands, the cute young Ashby said, “The guys aren’t as bad as they sound. Everyone’s upset, jumpy.”
“Well, I was kind of trespassing.”
“It’s okay. Next time you want to come around, call me. Nick Ashby.” He reached through the open truck window with his right hand to shake hers.
“Thanks, Nick. I will.” Releasing his hand, she looked into his eyes. “I am sorry about what you all have been through. Something that shocking doesn’t fade away quickly in one’s mind.”
He shrugged. “Things happen. You just gotta accept them and keep going. I learned a lot from Walt. He was hard on me, but he made me a better mechanic. I’ll miss him, but I won’t miss getting cussed out.” He smiled.
“Guess for some people it’s the stick, not the carrot, if that makes sense.”
“Does. I’m really a carrot guy.” He flashed a megawatt smile.
“I’ll bring you some bunnies.” Harry laughed as he patted the truck windowsill, bidding her goodbye.
She drove to Franny’s shop. She left the vehicle’s windows cracked and ran in. The ever-busy Franny, on her phone at her desk, waved in Harry.
Hanging up the phone, she said, “And?”
“You okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.”
Harry briefly recounted where she’d been, the response of the returning mechanics, and then she said, “No tires. Not one. Strange.”
“Not really.” Franny stood up, smoothed her skirt, and sat down again. “Tires take up a lot of room. Most people don’t know too much about tires, so a shop like ReNu will generally just put on what the manufacturer originally had on the vehicle, unless the customer asks for something else.”
“Does Victor ever buy tires from you?”
“Rarely. He calls in orders from the various wholesalers or tire manufacturers, if possible. And as you may know, the whole piece comes: It’s an entire wheel, tire already on it. In the old days, you’d pry the tire off with a tire iron. You can still change a tire if you get a flat, but for ReNu’s purposes, it’s easier to pop on an entire wheel. I think all this is economically generated, because the customer has to buy so much more than, say, in the 1950s or 1960s. Though it’s true you do get your car back faster.”
“You’ve answered my question. You were close, so I dropped in without calling. I apologize.”
“No apology needed after all we’ve been through. I just heard that Willa’s cancer has returned.”
Willa Reisman was a member of their cancer support group.
“Oh, no.”
“She made it four years, but damned if a spot hasn’t been found in her lung. That’s the thing: Those cells can travel. She had breast cancer, as you know.”
“Think they found it in time?”
“Hope so. She begins treatment next week. You know how viruses for computers are encrypted in something else, something that seems innocent?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what I think cancer does. Malware. God, I hate this disease.”
“I do, too.” Harry sighed, then changed the subject. “Do you think Victor at ReNu is a good businessman?”
“One of the best.”
“He hired a slacker for the front desk. I gained access to the garage during lunch break by slipping Kyle some money. So I’m thinking about that, you know. Victor is penny-wise and pound-foolish.”
Franny played with her earring for a moment. “I guess we all are, to a degree. I know Victor very well, and he also respects mechanics. He probably doesn’t think too much about the front desk.”
“But you hired a good person.”
“The front desk is your face to the public. It’s the first employee of your company most people meet. You’re damned right I have a good person, but I’m selling. Victor isn’t. When the squashed car comes to him with the blown radiator or whatever, Victor already has the job. Still, you’ve given me something to think about.”
“What?”
“How sharp you are and how you rush in where angels fear to tread. Once you’re in a mess, you miss very little.”
“I’m not really in a mess. I just discovered Walt’s body, along with Herb and Susan.”
“Harry.” Franny lifted an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me all this?”
Harry shrugged. “Dunno.”
Franny shrugged, too. “Whatever this was about—could have been anything, an outraged husband, a deal gone sour—I personally am not going to worry unless tire dealers go missing.”
Back in the truck, the animals stayed silent until they reached the farm. Murphy and Pewter spilled out of the truck, ran around the yard and to the barn, glad to be away from all those machine odors. Pewter sashayed to the house.
Pewter sat under the enormous walnut tree next to the house. Matilda, the huge blacksnake with glittering eyes, silently crawled down the tree—bark easy for her to grip—until she reached the lowest branch, about ten feet up. Wrapping her tail around the thick branch, she swung down above the gray cat’s head. While she wasn’t near enough to touch, the blacksnake was close.
“S-s-s-s.” She flicked out her forked red tongue.
Pewter, ears so good, looked up. She let out a scream, ran through the screened-in porch door, which had an animal door in it, and then through to the kitchen itself.
“Ha.” Matilda was full of herself.
Mrs. Murphy, sitting in the center aisle, saw Pewter run, then saw the source of the dash.
“Hey, Tucker. Come here.”
The dog joined her feline friend, who gave her the story. They watched the large snake swing back up onto the big branch.
“She has an evil sense of humor.” Mrs. Murphy laughed.
“Should we go into the kitchen? Pewter will be very upset.” Tucker did love the gray butterball.
The two laughed uproariously.
Flipping hay flakes into the stalls, Harry heard the meows and little barks, then saw her animals leaning on each other and thought about how love knows no boundaries.
For that matter, neither does hate.
