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A tat-tat-tat echoed through the quiet office. Before Cassidy Green, owner of the Amelia Speedway, could answer it, another staccato round of tapping sounded. Her Rottweiler raised his head and looked toward the source of the noise. Cassidy pulled open the wooden door. A woman in a magenta track suit hovered over the threshold, her hand in the air, mid-knock.
“Uh, hi,” the woman said. “I’m Marti Davis, and your gal at the check-in table sent me over to see Mr. Oliver.”
Cassidy looked over her shoulder at her Rottweiler, lounging in his bed. “I’m Cassidy Green. That’s Mr. Oliver.” Cassidy suppressed a smile. Her staff always sent the problem cases to him.
“She sent me to talk to the dog?” the woman sputtered. “Is she nuts?”
“How can I help you?” Cassidy asked.
Marti made a harrumphing noise and planted one hand on her hip. “I paid for a stall for your Junk in the Trunk rummage sale, and the idiot next to me has taken up three spots. How am I supposed to do my preliminary setup when that oaf won’t budge? And I thought today was to see our location and bring our stands and tables, not unload a crapload of junk.”
Cassidy picked up the clipboard on her desk. “Davis, uh, here you are. You have one of the larger spots behind turns two and three. Let’s go see what the issue is.” She grabbed her phone and keys. “Oliver, you’re in charge while I’m out.”
The giant dog, who was a teddy bear when he wasn’t in security mode, sighed and closed his eyes for a nap.
“This way.” Cassidy pulled the door behind her. Marti matched Cassidy’s stride as they walked past the shuttered food and souvenir shacks to the grandstands. The racetrack, built by Cassidy’s grandfather, had been a fixture in this rural part of Virginia since the 1960s. When her father passed away a few years ago, she left her job in marketing to run the day-to-day operations. Her Uncle Henry, who also lived on the property, took care of the racing details and fancied himself the official groundskeeper.
Cassidy led Marti, who had started breathing heavily, past the Junk in the Trunk patrons’ tables that circled the track’s fencing. The sellers brought all kinds of tables and backdrops for their wares, a lot of them looked like professional tradeshow displays. Cassidy slowed her pace as they rounded the turn near the back gate and the garage area.
Where there should have been five sellers, there were three. A meatball of a man in silver running shoes waved both arms and guided two younger men unloading heavy furniture from a pickup truck.
“See, I told you. He thinks he can do whatever he wants.” Marti pointed at the man who was as tall as he was wide. “I’ve known him for thirty minutes, and I want to kill him.”
The man spotted the two women and waddled over, waving both arms. “Oh now, you’ve gone to complain and whine some more. Why can’t you mind your own business? You one of those do-gooders who has to boss everyone around?” He pointed his meaty finger up at Marti and coughed.
Marti huffed and folded her arms across her ample chest. She towered over the man by a good six inches. “I told you about how he is. I want a new slot. I can’t spend my entire day tomorrow next to this, this.... He’s toxic.”
“It’s Ron. Ron Silver, and I sell high end, gently used furniture.” He turned toward the two men who set a cherry dresser on the ground with more force than necessary. “Hey, you two. I don’t pay you to break stuff. Watch yourselves. And Zac, I don’t care if he is your friend. I’ll fire him and you. Being the grandson has no status when it comes to work.”
The men picked up the dresser and moved it next to the matching headboard.
“Mr. Silver, I’m Cassidy Green. You paid for one slot at tomorrow’s sale. I’m either going to have to charge you for two additional spaces, or you’re going to have to move some of your items.”
“We’re getting our stuff arranged. I’ll move it in a bit. If this one,” he said, jerking his head in Marti’s direction “had given me time to explain, she would have known I was in the process of arranging my stuff. It’s all about the presentation. Selling furniture is an art form.”
“Oh, that’s a bunch of malarkey.” Marti spat out the words like they were a four-day old corndog. “When I asked you to kindly mind the boundaries, you said a string of words that would have made a sailor blush. Words that I will not repeat.”
“Okay, I think we have an understanding here. Mr. Silver and his team will move their furniture inside the boundaries and out of your way.” She shifted away from Ron toward Marti. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any other open spots unless someone cancels at the last minute. If that happens, I’ll be glad to let you know.”
Marti crossed both arms and looked down her nose at Ron.
He mimicked her movements and waggled his finger.
“Mr. Silver, you know that the Amelia Speedway is not responsible for any items you leave here overnight. You signed the agreement that you understood all the rules when you paid the fee. Today is check-in, and table and display set-up day.”
He coughed again and looked around his space. “The guys were only available to help me today. We have to unload this stuff. It’s too heavy to cart off, anyway. I’ll tarp everything. It’ll be fine. It’s early fall. We’re not expecting a frost tonight.”
“And everything has to be removed by five o’clock tomorrow,” Cassidy added.
“Of course. Not a problem. I plan to sell all these beauties. There will be nothing to carry home.”
Ignoring Ron, Marti turned to Cassidy. “Thank you. I’ll check in early tomorrow to see if any spaces open up. Moving my booth would be my preference.”
A plump woman with cottony hair approached from between the red truck and another older white one with an all-glass cab on the back. She held two coffees aloft. “Ronald, here’s your coffee.” The woman, a dead ringer for Mrs. Claus with a squeaky voice, made Cassidy giggle.
He reached for the to-go cup she handed him and watched the two men in the truck. “Hey, you two, take it easy. I’m not gonna tell you again.” Ron climbed up in the red truck to steady the top of a two-piece walnut hutch.
“Where are the lifting straps?” one of the guys yelled.
“In the back of the white truck,” the other guy grunted as he braced the furniture.
“I got ’em.” Ron stumbled down and toddled to the other truck. “Dern, it’s locked.” He pulled on the cap’s metal handle.
“Ronald, don’t break it,” Mrs. Silver hollered from her seat on one of the dining room chairs. “You’re yankin’ on it too hard.”
Ron ignored his wife and muttered under his breath as he climbed in the cab. He searched for several minutes for the key to the cap.
Mumbling mild curses, Ron slid the cap’s interior window open and hoisted himself up and over the truck’s seat. Everyone watched him huff and puff through the glass windows. Landing in the bed of the truck with a thud, he tossed the straps through the small sliding window and tried for several minutes to open the latch over the tailgate.
“You’re gonna break it,” Mrs. Silver whined again. “It’s ancient. We’ll never be able to get it fixed.”
Their back-and-forth reminded Cassidy of a seventies’ sitcom.
“I’m not going to break it, Pearl. I’m just trying to get out of here before I roast,” Ron bellowed.
“Here, I’ll help you.” The younger of the two guys jumped out of the bed of the other truck and followed Ron’s path through the small sliding window. Both men struggled with the locked handle for what seemed like forever.
Cassidy rolled her eyes. The two men looked silly crawling around in the back of the truck and fumbling with the latch.
“Climb out and pull on it from the outside while I work on this end,” Ron ordered.
The young guy slid back through the window and over the truck seat.
The pair fiddled with the handle for another ten minutes. A small crowd had gathered to see what was going on in the back of the old white truck that was bouncing on its shocks.
“We got the straps, Grandpa. Just climb out. We’ll find the key later.” The grandson picked up the ties from the driver’s side of the truck and returned to the heavy furniture.
Ron huffed and puffed and tried to slide back through the window and over the seat. After several unsuccessful tries, he grunted loudly and hoisted himself up. He dangled on the seat for a few seconds. When he slid forward, his blue sweatpants slid off and were left behind in the truck bed.
Ron in his white boxers flailed around in the cab.
Pearl gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.
Cassidy fought to keep a straight face.
Marti and several of the other gawkers recorded the escapade on their phones.
The red-faced Ron climbed out of the truck, and a small crowd got a better look at his unmentionables and silver sneakers. He slunk into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “Gimme your keys.”
The younger man tossed a ring inside the driver’s window.
Ron started the engine. The crowd scattered as he pulled out. The truck backfired several times, and he puttered out the back gate.
Marti shrugged and pocketed her phone. “I’ll be here early tomorrow for the sale.” She flipped her purse strap over her shoulder and headed toward a late model Volvo.
Cassidy watched as the younger men righted the top of the hutch and gently moved it to the grass. She walked around to see how the rest of the set up was going. Hopefully, Ron will recover from his escapade.
Circling the track, she noticed colorful displays and banners for local businesses and artisans mixed in with the rummage sale booths. Most of the sellers had checked in and arranged their areas. Her thoughts flicked to a quiet dinner at home with Oliver. Her goal was to turn in early to be ready for tomorrow’s excitement.
Before heading back to pick up Oliver and close the office, she stopped at the registration table. Her concessions manager, Dee, packed up a stack of flyers and several clipboards.
“All quiet?” Cassidy asked.
“Smooth as butter. Everyone checked in and is ready and excited for the sale. I’m going to put this stuff in the office and head out. See you before the sun comes up.”
“Thanks for all of your help with this. I’m hoping we have a good turnout.”
“No problem. I love all the fun ideas you have. You open up the track to all kinds of events.”
Cassidy smiled. “I can put these and the sign in the office.” Cassidy picked up the clipboards.
“ ’Preciate it.” Dee dusted her hands on her jeans. “See ya bright and early.”
Dee had worked concessions at the track since Cassidy’s teen years and had seen the facility undergo a lot of changes as it passed from grandfather to son and now granddaughter.
Cassidy had no idea of all the work involved until she took over the day-to-day operations of the track. Her biggest problem of late was keeping attendance numbers up. The facilities, only used in warmer months, still had to be maintained year-round. Attendance had been off since the last economic downturn. She planned several events like this weekend’s Junk in Your Trunk Sale to boost revenue and attract new people to the track. The space fees and the concession sales should put the revenue numbers higher than last year’s.
Dropping the clipboards and sign on the counter, Cassidy tidied her desk and shut off the computer. “Come on, Oliver. Let’s go see what’s for dinner. But first, let’s make sure everyone is out.”
The Rottweiler jumped to attention. He didn’t want to miss out on any action or a chance for a snack. The pair traversed the track. No sign of Ron or any of his crew. Most of his furniture was covered in blue and gray tarps.
After ensuring that all the guests had left, she locked both gates, and they headed home to her bungalow on the other side of the racetrack.
Cassidy and Oliver settled in on the couch after she reheated some left-over lasagna and made a green salad. Even though Oliver wolfed down his dinner, he was still interested in the cheesy scents wafting from her plate.
After two episodes of “Father Brown,” Cassidy rinsed her dishes and loaded the dishwasher. “Come on, Oliver. Let’s do a walk and call it a night.”
The big dog bounded for the front door and waited patiently for his leash. Cassidy slid on her tennis shoes and grabbed a flashlight and her phone.
The temperature was still pleasant for an early fall evening. The last bits of light from the sun peeked over the horizon. As they crossed the grass to the back side of the track, Cassidy flipped on her flashlight. Not wanting to turn in any time soon, Oliver tugged on his leash and led her to the asphalt roadway encircling the track.
“Okay, one lap, and then it’s bedtime.” Cassidy patted his blocky head. Oliver trotted off around the track, stopping occasionally to sniff things that caught his attention.
“Come on, buddy. We need to walk back soon.” Cassidy tugged on his lead.
As they rounded the turn to head behind the leader board, Cassidy thought she saw movement. She swished her flashlight around, hoping to catch whatever it was.
Oliver let out a guttural growl and darted toward the seller booths near the fence. Cassidy had to catch her balance and jog to keep up with the mighty dog. He ran to Ron Silver’s booth and started sniffing around the tarped items.
“Oliver, no. Let’s go.” Before she could get him to heel, he started digging at the corner of one of the tarps.
Cassidy swung her light around Ron’s booth. Oliver growled louder and started digging furiously at the base of some piece of furniture.
Cassidy moved closer for a better view, her light landing on something shiny. It didn’t look like a table leg or dusty carpet. She inched forward and drew in a breath. A single silver shoe with a silver strip jutted out from under the tarp.
