Uncle Billy’s Budget Autos was a mile outside Appleseed Creek. The front lawn resembled an auto graveyard. The sad remains of hoods, engines, and truck beds covered the ground, which was mostly weeds and crab grass. A large white sign on a pole read UNCLE BILLY'S BUD.
“Uncle Billy’s Bud?”
Timothy glanced at me. “It used to have the whole name, but a storm came through here and tore most of the sign away.”
“When was that?”
He grinned. “Fifteen years ago.”
“Oh.”
A huge man with bushy red hair and a beard stepped out of the body shop as Timothy turned his truck into the pothole-ridden parking lot. “Hello there!”
I climbed out of the car. “Are you Uncle Billy?”
“Just call me Billy. I’m nobody’s uncle. Uncle Billy sounded more businesslike, you know?”
Businesslike where? Mayberry?
“Hey there, Timothy. In the market for any new truck parts? I’ll give you a great dealer on a carburetor.”
Timothy shook his head.
Billy shrugged his massive shoulders. “You must be Chloe Humphrey. Got your rental car right here.” He pointed to a compact car that had been red in a former life.
“What is that?” My voice shot up an octave.
Billy didn’t seem to notice my alarm. “It’s a 1990 Chevrolet Prizm. Isn’t it a beaut? I’ve kept her running long after her expiration date.”
No kidding. The car looked like it was held together mostly by duct tape and prayers.
Billy moseyed over to the car. I stepped up for a better look. I touched the driver’s side mirror, and it fell to the ground.
“Not to worry,” Billy said. He produced a roll of duct tape as if from thin air. “We can fix that in a jiffy.” He then proceeded to tape the mirror back to the side of the car.
I leaned close to Timothy, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Is this car safe?”
Timothy nodded, and whispered back. “It might not seem like much, but Billy keeps all of his cars in working order.”
Billy dropped the side mirror on the ground. “Whoops!”
“Are you sure about that?” I stared at Timothy.
My new car wasn’t the only item on Billy’s property covered in duct tape. So was his screen door, his mailbox, a line of milk crates that doubled as chairs, and his tool cabinet.
“You must like duct tape,” I said.
“I love the stuff,” he said. “I even made my wallet out of it.” He removed a duct tape-covered wallet from the back pocket of his low-slung jeans. “See. I only use the silver kind. It comes in colors now, but I’m a purist.”
“Wow.” It was all I could manage.
I circled the car. The bumper was held on by what else? Duct tape. “Are you sure this is the car my insurance company approved?”
“’Course it is. Then again, it was the only one I had available. Not too many people rent cars around here. Everyone has a junk truck or two they use for backup, and the Amish aren’t interested in my cars.” He laughed. “Timothy was the exception. He was over here all the time poking around in my shop even before he gave up his suspenders.”
“Billy taught me everything I know about cars.”
“Of course I did.” Billy chuckled. “Glad to see we have another redhead in town. We look enough alike to be brother and sister.”
I don’t think so. I smiled.
“If this is the only car you have, I guess I’ll take it.” I made a mental note to call my insurance company that night to straighten this out. The sooner I was away from the Prizm, the better. “Where is the paperwork?”
“Oh right,” Billy said. “Be right back. I’ll step into the office and grab the forms for you. We have to make sure we charge your insurance company.”
“We do.” After sending me to this dive, they deserved every surcharge Billy tagged on the bill.
Billy disappeared inside the shop, and I turned to Timothy. “Seriously, is this safe? Because I’ve had enough car accidents in my life and don’t need another one.”
“Another one? Has there been more than one?”
I stared at him.
The duct-taped screen door slammed shut. “Got your paperwork right here, Miss Chloe.” He handed me a duct tape-covered clipboard with the documents clipped to the front. He pointed to the papers. “If you could sign here, and here, and initial here.” He left a greasy mark every spot he touched on the paper.
I signed, and Billy fished a set of keys out of his pocket. “She’s all yours. Treat her well. She’s one of my favorites.”
I looked at the previously-red car. “I’ll try.”
“Shame about the accident. I read about it in the Mount Vernon paper.” He rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “Real sorry your sister’s in this mess, Tim.”
Timothy thanked him.
“Does she need a lawyer? I’ve got a good one. He’s real good and cheap to boot.”
Timothy started to shake his head, but I interrupted him. “She does need a good lawyer. They assigned her a public defender, but I’m worried that person won’t fight hard enough for her.”
“You’re probably right about that. My lawyer’s name is Tyler Hart. His office is just outside of Mount Vernon. He’s helped me out of a jam or two.”
I wanted to ask Billy what those jams were but thought better of it.
Timothy pursed his lips. “My father wouldn’t like it.”
“Your father’s not talking to Becky right now, and he’s hardly speaking to you. We have to think about what is best for your sister.” I faced Billy. “Do you have his phone number?”
“I know it by heart.” He tore a scrap of paper from the bottom of my rental form and scribbled a phone number onto it. “That’s his cell.”
An alarm went off in the shop.
“Whoops!” Billy jumped into action. “Nothing to worry about! That’s just one of the compressors. I’ll see you all later.” He galloped toward the shop.
“Are you going to call that lawyer?” Timothy asked me over the alarm.
“Yes.” My firm tone left no room for argument. “And we need to pay a visit to Mr. Mathews. It may turn into another dead end, but we have to check it out.”
Timothy agreed. “I have a job in Sunbury tomorrow. I can’t go until Thursday.”
“I could go myself or take Becky.” I was eager to talk to the developer. The sooner I did, the sooner I could cross him off my list.
“I don’t think so. It won’t hurt to wait a day.” He inspected my “new” car. “There is no way this thing will make it all the way to Columbus and back.”
I poked a fist into my hip. “I thought you said it was safe.”
“Not that safe.”
I sighed. “Okay, Thursday it is. I can get off work early. I’ll be ready to go at three.” I thought of Joel’s smart remark back in the office. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
He nodded. “Why don’t you drive off first? I want to make sure the car will make it all the way to Harshberger.”
I gave him a look.
“You can never be too careful.” Timothy grinned.
I climbed into the car. The interior smelled like wet socks. I leaned over the seat and rolled down the passenger side window. Then, I rolled down the window on my side of the car. I turned the key in the ignition, and surprisingly the car started right up. I waved to Timothy, who watched me through the windshield of his truck, and eased the Prizm onto the road. I tapped the brakes a few times, and the car reacted as it should. Timothy may have been curious about my stop-and-go driving, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
The car had a couple of hiccups on the road but did not stall. I supposed I could make do with Billy’s work of art until my insurance company sent me a check to replace my totaled car. Who knew how long that would be? I certainly wouldn’t be making any trips out of Knox County until I had some new wheels.
Timothy followed me all the way back, and I was comforted by his presence. As I turned into campus, he beeped his horn and waved before driving off.