“Has Bob got that Beetle ready?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “New tires, new headlight.”
“Oil leak?”
“I’m not a miracle worker, Tim.”
“I need a lift.”
“You had to give the car back already?” she asked.
“It’s gone,” I said. But it was the police who had it, not Laura Cantrell.
“I’m on it,” Susanne said.
I hoped she would come pick me up herself. I thought it was unlikely she’d send Bob.
I was surprised to see Evan drive down my street in the Beetle. There was an ominous rattling sound coming from under the hood. The short wheelbase allowed him to do a tight U-turn in the street, bringing the passenger door right to me.
I got in and he said, “What’s with the police tape around your house?”
I said, “Are you going to be able to pay those guys when they come back for the rest of their money?”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing back at my house as we pulled away.
“From your dad?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks for that yesterday.”
“I considered letting them have a go at you,” I said.
“Why?”
“Maybe you need to have the shit beat out of you. It might smarten you up.”
He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Maybe,” he said.
“You do drugs, you steal, you’re addicted to online gambling,” I said. “And you slept with my daughter.”
He shot me a look. “Maybe she saw something in me that you don’t.”
“She must have,” I said. I didn’t know whether Evan was trying to be on his best behavior because he had me in the car, but he signaled all his turns, kept to the speed limit, and made no improper lane changes.
I said, “Have you seen Syd’s friend Patty in the last couple of days?”
“Huh?” he said. “No. Why?”
I shook my head, not interested in answering his questions since I had more of my own. “You used a fake credit card,” I said. “To pay for some of your gambling.”
“Yeah.”
“How does that work? If you win, doesn’t the money go back to the account of the guy whose card number you’ve ripped off?”
“I hadn’t really thought it through. It’s the playing that matters, not whether there’s money coming in.”
Once you put yourself in the head of a gambler, that actually made some sense. “Where’d you get the card?”
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” he said.
“It was Jeff Bluestein, wasn’t it?” I said.
Evan glanced over. “How did you—” And then he cut himself off.
“I didn’t,” I said. “Not until now.” I leaned back into my seat. “He’s my first visit today.”
Evan seemed to break out almost instantly into a sweat. “Don’t tell him I said anything.”
I said nothing for a moment. I was listening. Finally, I said, “Does the engine sound funny to you?”
I SLIPPED IN BEHIND THE WHEEL of the Beetle after we pulled into Bob’s Motors. Susanne, still on the cane, came out of the office as Evan slunk away.
“What’d you say to him?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. I told her, as I always did, that if I found out anything, I’d be in touch. Even though, sometimes, there were things I chose not to tell her. Like what had happened last night at my home.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Be here,” I said.
“What are you going to do?”
“Poke around,” I said.
As I’d told Evan moments earlier, I planned to start with Jeff Bluestein. I knew where he lived. I’d dropped Sydney off there the odd time before either of them had a driver’s license.
I parked the Beetle out front, strode up to the front door, and leaned on the bell. Jeff’s mother appeared at the door and smiled.
“Good morning,” she said. Her smile seemed forced, like she really didn’t want to see me. I don’t think she’d liked it, from the very beginning, that her son had been helping me. I was a man with problems, and nothing good could come from letting your son associate with a man like that.
“Hi,” I said.
“Jeff’s still sleeping.”
“Wake him up, if you don’t mind. He knows I wanted to see him this morning.”
Still standing in the doorway, Mrs. Bluestein said, “If this is just about some technical questions about the website, can’t it wait until later?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“Just a moment,” she said, letting the storm door close. It was a one-story house, and I watched her cross the living room, go down a hall, and tentatively enter a door on the right side. She was in there about half a minute, then came back.
“Just another half hour? He’s very sleepy.”
I moved past her and went down the hall, Mrs. Bluestein trailing after me, saying, “Excuse me! Excuse me!”
I pushed open the boy’s door, saw Jeff huddled under his covers, and said, making no effort to keep my voice down, “Jeff.”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s talk.”
He blinked his eyes several times, getting me in focus. “It’s really early,” he said, hunkering down.