When the call was over, I made a cherry and banana smoothie to go and left by quarter to eight. I hopped on the Zip-Two and got off in front of Dig’s Towing.
Today Dig was dressed in a turquoise bowling shirt with red flames on the back. The sleeves, as usual, had been torn out, and the anchor tattoo on his formidable biceps was on display. His jeans were dark wash, wide leg, and cuffed over CAT boots. Dig didn’t seem to care that the temperature in Proper was ninety degrees in the shade. Dig was so cool the heat didn’t touch him.
He was bent over the engine of his tow truck. When I said hello, he jumped and banged the back of his head on the raised hood.
“Where’d you come from?” he asked, rubbing the back of his bald head.
“The Zip-Two.”
“Something happen to the scooter?”
“No, I thought it would be easier to scare you if you didn’t see me coming.”
“You got your dad’s sense of humor, that’s for sure. How’s Jerry doing? Ebony told me he’s back in the hospital.”
“He’s going to be fine. I talked to him this morning and he said the doctors expect to release him in the next day or two.”
As comforting as it was to know how many people in town cared about my dad, it was hard to keep answering the question that I was only barely allowing myself to think about. I hoped if I repeated “he’s going to be fine” enough, it would become true.
“Jerry’s not ready to cash in his chips yet,” he said. “Not until he gets to Florida.”
“Florida? What’s in Florida?” I asked. I’d never once heard my dad mention an interest in going to Florida.
“He’s got a pen pal out there who has a collection of pink flamingo costumes. Can you believe that? Apparently there was some kind of stage production and a local artist made ten of them. Adult sized. Now who else in this whole country would be interested in ten life-sized flamingo costumes? I don’t know. Those pink flamingos have Jerry Tamblyn written all over them.”
“If it takes pink flamingos to keep my dad going, then pink flamingos are my new favorite bird,” I said.
“Word,” he said. He stood back from the truck and crossed his arms over his chest. Now I could see half of both of his tattoos: the anchor and the Tweety Bird on the other side. “You didn’t come out here this early to give me an update on your dad’s health, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I wanted to talk to you about Ebony’s car.”
He lowered the hood of the truck and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You’re talking about the vandalism, right?”
“Right.”
“Let’s go inside.”
I followed him to the open garage. He went straight for a small table that held a fresh pot of coffee and an assortment of powdered creamers. “You want some?” he asked. I shook my head. He poured himself a mugful, dumped in a ski-slope-sized amount of powdered creamer, and stirred it all with a brown plastic stirrer. He ran the stirrer through his lips and tossed it before turning back to me.
“What do you know about that vandalism?” he asked.
“Not much. I came out of the shop and there it was. The window was broken, the car was spray-painted, and the tires were flat. I thought I knew who did it, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Turns out you’re not so sure about a couple of your facts. The paint, as you figured out, was hair spray. Came off with soap and water just like you said.”
“That’s only one fact that I was wrong about,” I said, knowing that he was building up to something.
“The window wasn’t broken.”
“Yes it was. I saw it.”
“Somebody wanted you to think the window was broken.” He drank from his cup, made a face, and added more creamer. “There are two things I know that you don’t. The back lock on the passenger side of Ebony’s car doesn’t work. Looks like it’s locked, but if you try to open the car and jiggle the handle, the door pops right open.”
“So anybody who wanted to get into her car could.” I thought about what Amy had said about Blitz and Gina in the backseat at the party. That explained how they’d gotten in there. “But what about the broken glass?” I asked.
“That’s where somebody got creative. Ebony’s window was rolled down and glass was inside and outside of the car. Whoever did the vandalism wanted you to think that the window was broken.”
“So you just rolled the window up?”
“Pretty much. The crank sticks a little, but if you know the trick like I do, you can get it to work.” He flashed a proud smile at knowing how to work Ebony’s car. It was cute.
“Why would somebody do that? Make it look like her window was broken when it wasn’t?”
He shrugged. “I can’t figure that part out. The whole thing is off if you ask me. The paint washed off, the window wasn’t broken, and because the back door wasn’t locked, she can’t claim somebody broke in.”
“What about the flat tires? Somebody sliced them.”
“Nope. Somebody let the air out, but the tires were intact.”