was still capable of excitement. “Make sure to invite Cory and Erica for dinner Thursday.”
My eyes bulged. “Thursday?”
“Yeah, it’s Thanksgiving.” Ray disappeared out the kitchen door with a wave.
I looked at the list. Turkey. Stuffing bread. Canned cranberry sauce.
My armpits felt damp. I licked my lips. Not only did I have to face the world this morning, but I had to entertain in three days. Although Ray always did the turkey and the stuffing. Maybe I could manage mashed potatoes and a frozen pie. Cory and Erica would bring something. It might work out.
I ate two bites of waffle. Then two more. Then I finished the whole thing. My stomach felt bloated, but I wouldn’t need to expand the elastic in my skirt anytime soon. I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the granite countertops before stuffing the list in my purse and heading out the door.
Driving my Lexus for the first time in weeks reminded me how much I loved the feeling of independence and control behind the wheel. Traffic was light on Main Street, since most of the shops in Wachobe didn’t open until ten. Only Asdale Auto Imports opened at nine a.m. Tuesday through Saturday as it had for the last four years under my ownership and the prior forty or so years when my dad ran his garage at this address.
I pulled into the parking lot behind the building and found Cory’s BMW parked there. Strange for a Monday.
A cold front had settled in overnight. I held the collar of my white wool coat tight to my neck as I walked along the edge of my cedar-shingled building. The shingles and the white trim could have used a touchup this past summer. I hoped the town fathers hadn’t noticed as well. They considered my building an abomination amongst their prized Victorian brick and clapboard storefronts, and my pre-owned but pristine sports cars too modern for their desired tourist town image. In fact, almost a year ago, they tried to force me to relocate to a back street, away from Main Street and the lakefront that attracted thousands of summer residents and cottage rentals. I refused. The Asdale automotive tradition would carry on at this address. If I could get my act together, it might even do so under my leadership once again.
The bell jingled, announcing my arrival. Cory appeared in the showroom, wearing his mechanic’s overalls, booties, and plastic surgical gloves smeared with grease.
“Jo. What a great surprise.” He stripped off the gloves and threw them in the wastebasket. His arms bruised my ribs as he lifted me off the floor. “I’m so glad to see you.”
One whiff of his cologne and I felt the same way. Friends like Cory were hard to come by. “I missed you, too.”
He set me down inches from the 2006 F430 Ferrari Spider that had become the bane of my existence. It rested in the middle of my showroom floor, Rosso Corsa paint gleaming under the pin lights, no longer desirable to anyone after I found a murdered man in its front seat almost a year ago now. All my inventory dollars were tied up in the car. Unable to add to my stock on the lot, my only option was to offer customers my ability to locate and broker deals for a sports car of their choice. With the popularity of the Internet and cars readily available for sale online, not many customers took me up on my offer. Without Cory’s steady maintenance income, I would be out of business.
I searched his face. “It’s Monday. Why are you working?”
He avoided my gaze. “I’m a little behind.”
That wasn’t like Cory. He always finished his work on time or earlier. I opened my mouth to ask why then thought for a moment. Obviously, it was my fault. He’d been doing his work and mine for months. “I’m so sorry, Cory. I should have been here.”
Cory waved his hand as if to say “don’t worry about it.” He led me into my office and pushed me into my chair. “Good news.”
“You sold the Ferrari.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Ah, no. But we have two new customers, and one of them needs your expertise.”
My throat swelled shut. What expertise? Everything I touched turned into tragedy. “Tell me about the other customer first.”
He dropped into the chair beside the desk, looking like I’d punctured his tires. “Okay. Brennan Rowe bought a turbo-charged Mazda Protégé. He hopes to race it this spring, and