I thought maybe I should give him another chance to look at Syd’s picture.
Ian put his right turn signal on. I did the same.
I followed him into an old residential area with trees so mature they formed a canopy over the street. As he came to a stop in front of a two-story colonial, I drove on past and turned into a driveway half a dozen houses up.
Ian got out, white wires running down from his ears and into his shirt pocket. I was guessing he had a mini iPod like Syd’s. He went around the passenger side of the van, slid open the door to get a large bouquet of flowers, and walked it up to the house.
I backed out of the drive and pulled up across the street. I waited by the van while Ian rang the bell. A woman answered, took the flowers, and then Ian was walking briskly back down the walk.
He looked startled when he saw me standing by his vehicle.
“Ian?” I said.
He still had the wires running to his ears and yanked them out. “What?”
“It’s Ian, right?”
“Yeah. Can I help you?”
“We met the other day, at the shop, when Mrs. Shaw was closing up. I showed you a picture of my daughter.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, moving past me to the driver’s door.
“I wonder if you’d mind taking another look,” I said, taking a photo from my jacket and following him.
“I already told you,” he said. “I don’t know her.”
“It’ll only take a second,” I said. He had the door open, but I put my hand on it and eased it shut. He didn’t fight me.
“Sure, I guess,” he said.
I gave him the photo. This time, he studied it a good five seconds before handing it back. His eyes seemed to dance around the whole time, like he was never really focusing on Syd’s face.
“Nope,” he said.
I nodded, took my hand off the van door. “Well, I appreciate you taking another look.”
“No problem.”
“Mrs. Shaw said you live behind the shop?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“There’s an apartment back there?”
“Kinda. Nothing big. Big enough for me.”
“That’s handy, living right where you work,” I said. “You all by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“You worked long for Mrs. Shaw?”
“Couple of years. She’s my aunt. That’s why she lets me stay there, since my mom died. Some reason why you’re asking me all these questions?”
“No,” I said. “No reason.”
“Because I’ve got other deliveries.”
“Sure,” I said. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
Ian got in, closed the door, buckled his seat belt, and hit the gas hard as he sped off down the street.
Sometimes, I’ll get a customer who, once he’s made an offer on a car, starts to panic. He’s not worried the offer will be rejected; he’s scared to death it’ll be accepted. He’ll have the car of his dreams, but now he has to find a way to pay for it. Between the time he signs the offer and learns whether the sales manager will accept it, he fidgets, he licks his lips, he looks for water because his mouth is dry. He’s gotten in over his head and doesn’t know how to get out.
Ian had that look.
*
“EVAN?” SUSANNE SAID. “What did you want with Evan?”
I’d just walked into the sales office at Bob’s Motors. Bob was out on the lot somewhere, no doubt trying to persuade someone looking for an econobox that what they really needed was an SUV that could go over boulders. I hadn’t seen Evan out there.
“I just want to ask him a couple of questions about Syd,” I said.
“Believe me,” said Susanne, sitting behind her desk, “I’ve asked him.”
“Maybe he needs to be asked again.”
“You look rattled. Has something happened since you got back from Seattle?”
She had a right to know what had happened, but I didn’t want to get into it with her now.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Is he around?”
“He’s out back, in the garage, shining up a car, prepping it for delivery.”
I left the office without saying anything. I made it around to the back of the building, where Bob’s Motors had a secondary building, about the size of a double-car garage. Bob’s was strictly a sales operation. Once you bought a car from him, it was up to you to find a place to have it serviced. But he did need a place to do minor repairs, and get cars cleaned up before their new owners came to pick them up.
Evan had been put to work on a three-year-old Dodge Charger. He had all four doors open and didn’t hear me approach because he was leaning in, going at the rear carpets with a Shop-Vac.
“Evan!” I said.
When he didn’t respond, I flipped the switch on the top of the vacuum canister.
“Huh?” he said, whirling around. He didn’t look happy when he saw it was me. “Turn that back on,” he said.
“I want to talk to you,” I said.
“My dad says this car has to be ready in an hour.”
“You want to waste time arguing, or just help me out so I can get out of your hair as fast as possible?”
“What do you want?” He brushed some hair away from his eyes, but it fell back immediately.
“My place got broken into,” I said.