Arlene James - Deck the Halls

“Aaargh!”

Jolie smacked the steering wheel with a closed fist. Not again! This time the engine wouldn’t even turn over. No cough, no sputter, nothing.

She’d have cried if it would’ve done any good, but tears wouldn’t pay for automotive repairs. Air wouldn’t either, and that’s what was in her checking account at the moment, with payday still two days away and rent due next week.

To make matters worse, she was going to miss at least a few hours of work this morning. The week was not starting out well. Sick at heart, she wrenched her keys from the ignition and crawled out of her old four-banger—no-banger at the moment—to head back upstairs.

Her first telephone call was to Mr. Geopp, who told her only to get into work when she could. He was a pleasant enough employer but somewhat distant personally. His late wife had been easier to talk and relate to. She’d cut Jolie every possible break, especially after Russell had arrived.

Jolie would stay with Geopp for no other reason than loyalty to the memory of his wife. She just wished that he would display a little more emotion, if only to let her know for sure where she stood with him in moments like this. It was one more worry on a long list of worries.

Jolie sat down to think through her options with the car. It had started before with a simple jump from a battery charger. Maybe that would work once more. She judged her chances of getting it done for free a second time at slim to none, however, especially if she called Cutler’s again. After questioning Vince’s integrity, she doubted that he’d cut her a break. Then again, neither would any other emergency service in town.

She thought of the coupons and shook her head in resignation. Cutler Automotive probably jacked up the price twice as high as normal before giving their fifty percent discount, but at least the towing would be free. They couldn’t jack up free.

Sighing, she reached for the telephone once more. This time a perky-sounding female answered the call.

The wrecker arrived twenty-four minutes later.

Jolie was sitting on the bumper tapping one toe against the pavement when the familiar white truck swung into the lot. Her stomach lurched in anticipation, but then a stranger opened the driver’s door and got out.

“You Ms. Wheeler?”

Nodding, Jolie tamped down her disappointment and straightened away from the car to look over this newcomer.

He seemed roughly the same age as Vince and had a shock of very dark hair falling forward over his brow, but that was where the similarities ended. This fellow was shorter and wider than Vince with a noticeable bulge around the middle and a slight under-bite that made his lower jaw seem overlong. His brown eyes twinkled merrily as he thrust out his right hand.

“I’m Boyd. What can I do for you?”

“You can make my car go.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” he said noncommitally, taking a toolbox from the truck, “and while I’m looking, why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with it?”

Jolie started with that morning’s fiasco and worked her way backward over the past couple weeks, leaving out only Vince’s diagnosis. By the time she was through with her tale, he was nodding his head knowingly.

“Sounds like the alternator and probably a bad sensor. I’ll try resetting the sensor and jump-starting it.”

Jolie breathed a sigh of relief, but it was for naught. The sensor would not register, according to Boyd, and the jump did no good.

“Well, I’ll tow her in and see what a full diagnostic turns up,” he said blandly.

“What’s that going to cost?” Jolie asked, fishing the coupons from the hip pocket of her jeans. “I have these.”

Boyd took the coupons, kept the one for the free tow and handed back the other, saying, “These’ll help.”

“So how much?”

He shrugged. “Provided it’s what I think it is and we don’t find any other problems, I’d say about three hundred, but a lot depends on the parts. This is a domestic car, but a lot of the parts are foreign-made, so…” He shrugged again.

Jolie felt physically ill.

“Is that three hundred before or after the discount?”

He looked at her sympathetically. “After.”

She momentarily closed her eyes.

“I can’t afford that!”

“Aw, don’t worry,” he told her. “The boss will cut you a deal.”

That would be the boss whom she’d practically called a crook.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she muttered.

Boyd chuckled. “No, really. Vince is a good guy. He helps people out all the time. Between you and me, he’d probably give the business away bit by bit if I didn’t keep reminding him that he was supposed to be making a profit. But then, the way I figure it, God takes care of His own.”

Jolie didn’t know about that. She just knew that life had suddenly gotten immeasurably more difficult for her personally, and it hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park to begin with.

“I don’t know how I’m going to manage this.”

“Listen, just call the shop later and speak to Vince,” Boyd urged. “Use the second number on the coupon. Okay?”

“Sure.”

The two of them were probably working the scam together, she thought sullenly, and the nice-guy acts were just a carefully coordinated part of it.

Then again, the car wasn’t faking it. The thing had been bugging out on her since well before Vincent Cutler had showed up on the scene.

Boyd had her put the car in Neutral so he could push it out of its parking space and “get a good hook on it.” A few minutes were all that were required to secure the towing device. Then he just started up the automatic winch, and they stood there watching the front end of her car slowly rise off the ground.

“I have to find a ride to work,” Jolie muttered to herself.

“Yeah? Where do you work?”

She told him, and he jerked his head toward the cab of the truck. “Get in. I’ll drop you.”

She brightened. That was the first bit of good news she’d had today.

“Really?”

“It’s on the way.”

“Great.”

She climbed into the cab of the truck while he finished securing the tow. It was spotlessly clean, despite a gash in the vinyl of the bench seat, and sported a two-way radio, GPS system and some sort of miniature keyboard attached to the dash with an electronics cord.

As soon as Boyd slid beneath the steering wheel, he picked up the keyboard and typed in some letters and numbers, then he triggered the radio and informed whoever was on the other end that he was headed back to the garage with a car in tow, rattling off both make and model.

Soon Jolie was standing in front of the dry cleaners watching her car move away behind the wrecker, its front end pointing skyward. Mindlessly, she swept her bangs back and then smoothed them down again before turning to enter the shop. Bumping into one of their regular customers, she pasted on a smile. A glance showed her that the shop was full and the counter vacant while Geopp evidently searched for garments to be picked up. She went to work.

“How are you, Mrs. Wakeman?”

“Arthritis just gets worse and worse,” came the usual doleful reply.

“That’s too bad. How many pieces today?”

“Three, and be careful of the gold buttons on the blazer. They tarnished last time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The rest of the morning proved as busy as those first few minutes, but Jolie’s mind was never far from her troubles.

Immediately after lunch, she called the garage, using the number on the card that Boyd had given her. Vince answered this time.

“Cutler Automotive. This is Vince speaking. How can I help you?”

She gulped inaudibly. “This is Jolie Wheeler again.”