Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

Behind Will, Olivia made a noise. The big man slapped his head. “Aw, Gawd. I’m sorry, honey. I forgot.”

“Why’d you change your policy?” Will asked.

“A couple years back we melted down something we got sent by the state police and then it turns out somebody’d been killed in the thing. You know, before the accident. Boy, didn’t they scream blue murder. So now we just let ’em pile up in the back.”

They rounded a squat industrial shed. “There’s Sonny. My brother. He’s working on your car. We pulled it first thing this morning, soon as you called.” The crumpled Mini Cooper was on its back, beneath a heavy-duty crane. The man digging in the undercarriage looked up at them. He was Buddy’s double, right down to the greasy flannel-lined jacket and the oil-stained, drooping jeans.

“Hey, Sonny.” Buddy thumbed toward Will and Olivia. “These here are the kids who called. You got anything for them?”

“Maybe.” Sonny wiped his hands on a rag. He stared at Will. “C’mere and take a look.”

Olivia raised her hands. “I don’t… I don’t know anything about cars.” Her voice shook.

Will squeezed her hand before rolling himself forward. “I do, but I can’t get to a good angle to see inside.”

“Hell you can’t.” Sonny slapped the portable lift next to the crumpled car. “Right here.”

Will’s face burned. “Look, I don’t know if you didn’t notice-”

“Sure did. What happened to you, kid?”

Will wanted to tell the old fart it was none of his damn business, but they’d come here looking for a favor. “IED. In Fallujah.”

Sonny looked at his brother. “What service were you in, kid?” Buddy asked.

“Marine Corps.”

Buddy grinned. He shucked off his stained jacket and rolled his thermal shirt all the way up his arm. An impressively large bulldog snarled from his bicep.

“You used to be a marine?” Olivia said.

“No used to be about it, honey. Once a marine-”

“Always a marine,” Sonny finished. He dragged his oil-spattered shirt up to reveal an eagle-and-trident on his chest.

“Please tell me you don’t have one of those,” Olivia whispered.

“So drag your ass over here, marine, and tell me what you can figure out.”

Cursing under his breath, Will maneuvered the chair next to the lift. There was no way to get on it except flopping forward and then wiggling around like a worm until he could wedge himself into a seated position. With Olivia seeing every glorious second. God.

“You know, this’d all be a lot easier if you was wearing your prosthetics,” Sonny said.

Will braced his hands on the undercarriage and peered into the Mini Cooper’s guts. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell would you know about it?”

A clang caught his attention. Sonny banged the crumpled sheet metal with a crutch. Two crutches. Forearm crutches-like Will had. They must have been leaning against the side of the car. Sonny grinned widely at Will, revealing less than perfect teeth, and shuffled back a few steps. He bent over and lifted the hems of his baggy jeans, looking like a shy girl inching her skirt up.

Will stared at the two black carbon prosthetics.

When the world reassembled itself inside his head, Will asked, “What happened?” He looked at Sonny, trying to guess where he might have seen combat. “Vietnam?”

Sonny shook his head. “Motorcycle accident.”

“You wouldn’t guess it, seeing as we’re respectable business owners these days, but Sonny and me used to be a wild pair.” Buddy hooted with laughter. Sonny joined him. Will tried to imagine how old he’d have to be, how many years he’d have to let go, before he could laugh like that at losing his legs.

“Did you have this business to fall back on, Mr. MacVane? After you got out of the service?” Olivia’s clear voice startled Will. He had forgotten she was there.

“Naw, honey, we started this up after I lost m’legs. Nobody cares how pretty you look if’n you can fix up their cars.”

“That’s true,” Buddy added. “We done real good. In fact, we got more work than we can handle. We been talking about bringing in a new guy to help out.” He grinned at Will.

Will stared. His head was buzzing. “Are you-are you offering me a job?” He looked back at Sonny. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know if I know jack shit about cars.”

“You tell me. On your honor as a marine. Do ya?”

Will started to laugh. He couldn’t help it-it was like falling down the rabbit hole and getting interviewed by Tweedledum and Tweedledee. “I do, actually. I rebuilt a Charger and a Camaro. I’ve done work on my friends’ cars. Including my priest’s old kit-version Shelby.”

“Sounds good to me,” Buddy said. “Can you start next week?”

For some reason, Will looked at Olivia. She bounced up and down, nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “I can.”

“Good.” Sonny pointed into the Mini Cooper. “Now tell me what’s wrong here.”

It took Will a minute to orient himself, seeing everything upside down. He felt like he might float off the lift if he didn’t keep a tight grip on the edge of the car. He scanned the ball joints, the axle, the rotary-there it was. “One of the brake caliper pins is snapped off.”

“Right.”

“That can happen in an accident.” Will lowered his voice. “Especially where the car was going downhill out of control.”

“That’s right, too. Metal stress. Or it was rusted out.”

“Nobody washes their damn cars in the winter no more,” Buddy put in. “Get their carriages eaten up with salt. Takes three, four years off the life of your car.”

“My mother went to the car wash every Saturday, year-round.” Olivia looked at the Mini Cooper with loathing. “She loved that thing.”

“So what caused this caliper to break?” Will asked.

“Dunno,” Sonny said. “Coulda been a stress fracture. Coulda been somebody who didn’t like your girl’s mama made a stress fracture.”

“Takes five minutes with a metal saw,” Buddy said.

“No way to tell,” Sonny agreed.

Will sprawled across the car’s undercarriage, careless of his dignity and clothes now. “You got a light?” Sonny put a flashlight in his hand.

“So you’re saying the police report was right,” Olivia said. “It was an accident.”

This time, Will spotted the brake calipers easily. It helped that the pin was snapped clean off. Just like the brake on the other side.

“No.” He pushed himself upright. “Two sheared-off brakes are no accident.”

“Ellen Bain’s brother is Trip Stillman?” Russ stared at Roxanne Lunt for a moment before swinging toward Clare. “Isn’t he in your group? Why the hell didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“I didn’t know! He never said anything about his sister dying.” Clare waved at the half-bare bookcases in Bain’s living room. “It’s not like there are pictures of him sitting around here.”

“He did say there’d been a death in the family. Remember?” Eric was trying to be helpful. Russ wanted to tell him not to bother.

“Good Lord,” Clare said. “I swear, this is the-” Her phone ringing cut her off. She snatched it out of her pocket. “Clare Fergusson here.” She paused. “What? Oh, Will, that’s wonderful! Your parents will be thrilled! Hang on.” She clapped her hand over her phone. “The MacVane brothers offered Will a job at their garage.”

“Why is he-” Russ began, but she was back on the phone. “Isn’t MacVane’s the junkyard the town uses?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah.”

“What’s Will Ellis doing over there?” He answered his own question. “Looking at the Bain woman’s wrecked car.” He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Jesus, Eric, do you really think the kid’s going to find something you didn’t?”