Christine Johnson - Suitor by Design

“Sounds like you can build anything.”

Maybe it was the lighting, but Peter thought he saw a gleam in Vince’s eye. “Most anything. Can’t make a spark plug, of course.”

Vince laughed and ran his hand over the fender of Mr. Kensington’s Packard. “Have you ever done custom work on the body of the car?”

Peter thought back to the luggage rack Mariah had insisted they make for her Overland after returning from Montana. “Some.”

“Think you could redo an interior?”

Peter wasn’t sure what his friend was getting at. “Not the upholstery.”

“But anything in metal or wood?”

“Sure.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

Vince’s grin broadened, and he clapped Peter on the back. “Then I’ve come to the right man. I told the boss that I knew someone that could do the job.”

“What job?”

“It’s more like an opportunity, old sport, a chance to get yourself some of this.” Vince flicked his gold cuff links. “My boss is lookin’ to get his car customized to his particular needs.”

“What kind of needs?”

“He needs room for...er, luggage.”

“I made a luggage rack for an Overland.” Though many touring car manufacturers offered luggage racks with a trunk, Peter figured the car in question must not have that option.

Vince shook his head. “My boss don’t want a trunk outside, where his stuff might get wet. Do ya know what I mean? He wants storage inside the car.”

“There’s storage under the rear seat if it’s a sedan.”

“But it’s not quite the right size. And he wants a place for his valuables, say underneath the main luggage compartment. Is that something you can do?”

“You mean a hidden compartment?”

“That’s it,” Vince said with a grin. “Glad we understand each other.”

Peter supposed a man rich enough to run a company that paid Vince high wages would want to hide his valuables. “Depends on the car. What make we talking about?”

Vince motioned to the Pierce-Arrow. “How about that one?”

Peter ambled over and peered inside. The rear seat was spacious and had decent depth. He popped his head out and wiped his fingerprints off the polished door. “I can do it, but it wouldn’t fit a full steamer trunk.”

Vince waved that off. “The boss wouldn’t bring anything that big. I’m thinking about like this.” He demonstrated something almost twice the size of a vegetable crate.

“That’d fit, but I might have to raise the seat a bit depending on the size of the hidden compartment. How big do you need it?”

Vince explained the dimensions. They even pulled out the seat cushion, and Peter measured the space. He penciled the figures on a piece of paper and sketched a rough design.

“Look all right?” Peter asked.

“Perfect! Just what the boss wants.”

For some reason, Peter got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe because Vince never said who he was working for. “Your boss?”

“An up-and-comer out of Brooklyn. He moved to Chicago a few years ago and set up shop. Furniture. Antiques. That sort of thing. Since coming to these parts, business took off, and he’s setting up other locations.” Vince wandered around while he talked, seeming too fidgety to stand still.

That made sense, but the strange feeling wouldn’t go away. “Is this a paying job?”

“Of course.” Vince laughed. “Would I ever cut you short?”

Peter thought back to those long days waiting for Vince to come back to the orphanage. “I guess not.”

“Tell ya what, kid. Do a good job, and the boss’ll make it worth your while.” Vince pulled out a money clip fat with bills. “Maybe he’ll even have more work for you.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. The outside bill was a hundred. There had to be fifty of them in the wad.

Vince grinned. “That’s right, kid. I seen the way you worked with your hands back in New York. Figured you still had the talent, but I had no idea you got a shop like this.” He whistled. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re the man for the job.” He pulled one bill off the clip and slipped the rest back into his pocket. “Is this enough to start?” He waved the bill before Peter and then snatched it back. “One question. What about the upholstery? You got anyone who can handle that if you gotta change the seat?”

Minnie’s face flashed into Peter’s head. She did sewing at the dress shop, and her family could sure use the extra money with her pa sick and all. Maybe if he got Minnie some work, she’d be so grateful she’d see him as more than a friend.

“I know someone who could do it.”

“Good.” Vince grinned and handed him the hundred-dollar bill. “We got a deal, then, Stringbean?” He extended his hand.

Peter hesitated. Something still didn’t feel quite right, but it was a lot of money. It would help at the orphanage, and Minnie’s family could use a little extra. Maybe she’d even stop chasing after no-account swells and notice him. Besides, Vince was a good guy. Peter had known him for years.

He grasped Vince’s hand and shook. “Deal.”

Chapter Two

Minnie didn’t spot the sleek new car again until they reached the dress shop. From there she could see it parked half a block ahead in front of Simmons Motor Garage. The driver leaned against it, his back to her, as he talked to Peter. The man wore a slick wool suit in the latest fashion. The cold didn’t seem to bother him. No overcoat. No gloves. No scarf. Just a black fedora. His cuff links flashed in the sun. Could they be gold?

Her pulse quickened. Had her unspoken prayer been answered that quickly? A wealthy stranger in Pearlman. In February. That simply didn’t happen. Now, if he was a bachelor who happened to be looking for a wife...

“I wonder who he is,” she mused.

Jen paused at the dress-shop door. “Who are you talking about?”

“The man driving that fancy car. He’s talking to Peter. Either they know each other or the man has car trouble. Must be the car. How would someone like that know Peter?”

“I don’t know.” Jen opened the door. “Are you coming?”

“In a minute.” Minnie couldn’t let this opportunity pass. “Will you start closing up? I promise to be back just as soon as I find out who he is. Please?”

Jen relented. “All right, but hurry.”

“I will,” Minnie called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the garage.

When she reached the end of the block, she lingered on the corner, pretending to wait for an opportunity to cross Main Street. A quick glance revealed nothing had changed. The man still stood with his back to her. He gestured with his arms as he talked. A few heavily accented words drifted her way. To her disappointment, he was shorter and stockier than Peter. But that suit! Even Hutton’s Department Store didn’t carry one that fine.

A cloud of steam rose above his head, and he lifted a cupped hand to his lips. Oh, dear. That wasn’t steam. He was smoking a cigarette. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She hated their stench, but they were growing more and more popular thanks to the movies.

Peter looked her way, and she darted behind a nearby maple. Peeking around the trunk, she noted that the two men continued their conversation. Neatly trimmed dark hair peeked from under the brim of the driver’s hat. From the way the hair gleamed, he must use a treatment. One of those nice-smelling ones, she imagined. She hugged her gloved hands to her chest, torn between wishing he would turn around so she could see his face and terrified that he’d turn around and see her spying on him.

She chewed on the fingertip of her glove.

The man acted as if he knew Peter. The two laughed, and then the man clapped Peter on the back. They shook hands, and the man climbed into his car. He was leaving? Then he couldn’t have car trouble, at least not bad enough to leave the vehicle at the garage.