Рита Браун - The Big Cat Nap

“More power to you.” Franny meant it. “I missed the reproduction boat.”

“There’s still time,” Susan teased her.

“I sincerely hope not.” Franny giggled, still buoyant over her good news.

“She’s right, Franny. A woman in England gave birth in her sixties,” Harry told her.

“You know,” Franny became thoughtful, “it’s wonderful. If a woman wants to do it, good for her. Used to be we only had but so much time, whereas men could go on and on. I wasn’t ready at twenty. I’d be a disaster now. Oops, someone at my door. Harry, I’ll see you at group.”

“Great news, girl.” Harry hung up.

“She’ll need to be peeled off the ceiling.” Susan reached into the fridge to refill her glass.

Three ice cubes clinked into a glass, tea over that, and Susan handed Harry her own glass.

“Susan, do me a favor. Call Vivien Bly and ask her where Safe and Sound takes totaled cars.”

Sitting down at the kitchen table, Pewter now in front of her at eye level, Susan bargained. “Tell me why I’m doing this.”

“Are you going to eat anything?” Pewter put on her sweetest puss face.

“Pewter, get off the table,” Harry ordered.

“She’s not going to listen to you.” Susan stared straight into Pewter’s gorgeous eyes.

“You really like me, don’t you? I like you, too. How about some tuna? I like turkey, too.”

“Fatty, fatty, two by four,” Tucker sang under the table. The gray cat pointedly ignored the corgi.

“Harry,” Susan demanded.

“All right.” Harry sat opposite Susan, whose pageboy haircut looked so good on her. “I expect everything is taken out or off squashed vehicles and sold. The hulk is then sold for scrap. Logical?”

“Well, if they do it to human bodies, I’m sure they do it to cars,” Susan agreed.

“I have a hunch. That’s why I want to find Tara Meola’s car. I looked at Herb’s radiator and I, um, have a hunch.”

“Tell me.”

“Not until I’m more sure. I don’t want to look stupid and I don’t want to point the finger.”

“I understand not pointing the finger, but looking stupid? You might want to revise that.”

“I love you, too.”

Smirking, Susan whipped out her cellphone, dialed. “Vivien, Susan here.”

“Still on for Friday?”

“I am. I sure hope the heat has cooled down by the time we go out.”

“Should. Well, that’s what coolers on your golf cart are for. I can taste one of my frozen daiquiris now.”

“I’ll sure want one when we’re done. Vivien, I was wondering if you could help me,” Susan asked.

“I can try,” she replied, a hint of eagerness in her voice.

“You and Latigo are still building Safe and Sound. You know auto insurance.”

“It interests me. It’s what brought Latigo and me together. His first wife, although she really did help start the business, wanted to spend his money. I want to make it,” she forthrightly said.

“As you know, Harry and I serve on the vestry board at St. Luke’s. Your husband kindly wrote the reverend’s 1994 Chevy off. What happens to that truck? I assume it’s stripped for anything of value.”

“Yes, it is. Sometimes we tow the vehicle to a salvage yard. If the motor and other parts are quite serviceable, we tow it to ReNu, where those parts are removed, sometimes refabricated, if you will, or simply put on the shelf until they can be used again.”

“So they’re rebuilt?”

“Sometimes they don’t even need that. They’re serviceable with a little fixing up. But what’s left if they’re not serviceable is always sold for salvage. As you know, those prices go up and down like waves in the ocean. Anything having to do with cars, steel, rubber, oil—the prices are volatile. Last year, metal salvage went through the roof. Our profit from that salvage shot up seventeen percent.”

“I’d throw a party.”

Vivien replied, “I bought a new set of clubs.”

“What salvage yard do you use?”

“Haldane’s Salvage in Stuarts Draft. There used to be yards on Avon and Avon Extended.” She cited a street in Charlottesville. “The congestion, traffic especially, made us switch to Stuarts Draft. Easier to get the vehicles in.”

Stuarts Draft is a small town between Charlottesville and Staunton.

“You’ve satisfied our curiosity. See you Friday.”

Harry walked over to the wall phone, pulled a phone book for Augusta County out of the drawer, located the salvage yard in the yellow pages, and dialed.

After ascertaining that Safe & Sound had dropped off fifteen vehicles at Haldane’s Salvage in the last two months, Harry asked, “Do you know who used to own those wrecks?”

“Most times we do,” said Mildred Haldane. “We have paperwork on everything—what’s been removed, what’s left,” the older woman replied with pride. “We’re environmentally concerned. No battery-acid leaks around here.”

“That’s a big job.”

“It is, but we’re the best.”

“Would you mind checking your records to see if you have a busted-up Explorer once owned by Tara Meola?”

“Pulling it up right now.” Silence followed. “Still here. Hasn’t been crushed yet. Now, that’s a process if you’ve never seen it. A big car reduced to a metal cube—a big cube, but it’s amazing.”

“Ma’am, that car was stripped down, right?”

“Oh, yes. Had two wheels left. Even the steering wheel was removed.”

“Why were two wheels left?”

“The other two cracked. These days, wheels are one unit. In the old days, they were steel. Now it’s all aluminum, one unit. They’re lighter, so it saves gas. That’s why it costs about four hundred dollars to replace them. Tires, easy. Wheels aren’t anymore.”

“Cracked?”

Happy to be knowledgeable, Mildred chirped, “See it all the time. Cheap stuff. You’d be surprised at what I see down here. Sometimes they’ve been welded, which changes the molecular structure. Makes it brittle. See copycats of the original wheels—you know, cheap replacements. People can’t tell the difference.”

“The two cracked wheels—could they have been replaced?”

“Cheap, cheap, cheap. Looks just like they came from Ford, though. The destroyed wheels were replacements from an earlier accident. I’d bet on it. Whoever originally owned this Explorer probably did that,” Mildred clucked.

“Ma’am, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Harry hung up the phone, stood leaning against the counter. “Susan, I’m getting the picture.”

Vivien was also getting the picture. Susan’s highly unusual questions alerted Vivien to something brewing. Miserable as Latigo’s philandering made Vivien, she loved him. She’d protect and stand by him.

He didn’t deserve it.

M rs. Murphy slept behind Harry’s computer. Pewter sacked out on the tack trunk, while Tucker lay flat in the center aisle of the barn for the cooling breeze. Crickets chirped, and the peepers in the pond sang loudly, melodious songs punctuated by deep bullfrog calls. Flatface lifted off her nest, venturing out for one of her evening food runs.

Thin tendrils of charcoal clouds floated above the Blue Ridge, now looming and dark. All those thousands and thousands of miles away, white-hot stars sent down their light to shine over those once-mighty mountains. Flatface, flying low, never gave the history of the Blue Ridge Mountains a thought. This geographic phenomenon was all the huge owl knew. Most humans didn’t give the mountains a thought, either, but those who did knew that, before our species walked on earth, the Blue Ridge soared higher than the Alps and the Rockies. The Atlantic Ocean rolled much closer to them than today.