Half Past Mourning (32 page)

“I mean our thief knows what his buyer wants. Somehow he’s locating his customer first and then finding the car that fits the bill. Now, how would a man who steals cars for a living go about locating the customer who wants a red ’Vette or a white MG? What’s his source of information, Nina? When the sheriff figures that out, he’ll be halfway to knowing who is stealing the cars.”

Nina let his words sink in. The ones he hadn’t said, the connection he hadn’t spelled out, shot home. “You’re thinking of Danny’s car, that somehow...”

“I’m thinking that we may have missed the mark on Danny. Andrews wanted a T-Bird. He got one. Danny had it first. I’m betting that somewhere there’s a customer waiting for the delivery of a red Corvette, one that vanished from a wedding last week. In any business you have to have a buyer and a seller. That’s all this is, Nina, a business to somebody. Maybe Danny got caught in the crosshairs somehow.”

“A garden variety car theft? You’re thinking that’s what happened to Danny? He came out to the car and caught someone trying to take the T-Bird? A coincidence?” Nina shook her head. “That doesn’t explain Davis or his connection to Danny and Ed Andrews.”

Peter shrugged. “I thought I saw a connection. A less complicated answer. You don’t think so?”

Chapter 19

As the road unwound before her, Nina considered Peter’s idea. The more she thought about it, the more appeal it had. Danny might have simply been the victim of an aggressive car thief, one who had a customer interested in a yellow T-Bird and Danny’s car would fill the order.

“So if Danny never sold the car after all,” Nina mused, then stopped short. “It doesn’t wash, Peter. I like the idea, but it’s not possible. Jeff Davis had the title, and not a forged one, either, ready to transfer to Mr. Andrews at the time of the sale. He couldn’t have done that unless Danny really had sold him the car earlier.” She slowed for a sharp curve. “You may be right about the way the thief is getting rid of the other cars, but not about Danny’s. Davis had the title, and there’s no getting around that.”

Peter was silent, then agreed. “That’s a point. But there’s something to the idea of the thief having a customer before he takes a car. That’s the only way this thing could be profitable.” He turned his attention to the list of rally directions. “We’re looking for a flock of geese as our next landmark. Now how do you suppose our devious directors planned to keep geese in one place long enough for a dozen or so cars to spot them? Geese are known to wander.”

Nina nibbled her lip in thought. “I can’t imagine, but keep a sharp eye for a trick. This group of planners went out of their way to make the rally a challenge. There will be geese, but not in the way you expect to find them.”

“Hope they pop up soon. We’re getting close to the last checkpoint, and so far our time is really good. That is, it’s good if we don’t have to waste minutes on a wild goose chase.”

Nina flinched at the terrible pun. “Just navigate, and leave the jokes alone,” she insisted. She saw the road ran straight for a little distance ahead and picked up her speed by a couple of miles per hour. “We can save a little time here,” she suggested. “Then if we can’t find the geese first thing, we have a cushion of a minute or two. A half a minute can be crucial in the final assessment. People win by seconds, or even fractions of seconds, sometimes.”

While Peter scanned both sides of the road, Nina tried to use every bit of peripheral vision she possessed. With all her experience she still missed the landmark. Peter startled her with an abrupt gesture.

“There they are, Nina. The geese!” He waved to a small farmhouse set back from the road.

She took a quick look. “I told you they were conniving. I wouldn’t ever have seen that collection of plaster geese, even if they are a little oversized.”

“That’s the last thing on the list. From here on we just stick to the road till we see a final gate. Looks like we’re about a minute ahead of time. You can take it easy for a couple of miles to even things up.”

Nina reduced her speed a little. “You won’t be too disappointed if we don’t take first place, will you, Peter? I mean, this is our first attempt, and we’re up against some good teams. This outing is mostly to check out the car, really.”

“Not win?” Peter sounded skeptical. “Of course we’ll win, sweetheart. The Princess deserves a matched set of trophies. We can’t let her down.”

“We’ll find out at the party this evening, and I hope you’re right. I see the flagman up the road. Our big adventure is just about over.” Nina slowed as she approached the man waving the brilliant orange flag. He dodged her question about how the standings looked with an amused grin as he took the timesheet from her.

“Now, you know the rules, hon. I can’t go passing on unverified information. I just record the time you rolled in and file the report. You hold your horses till the announcement’s made.” He flicked a two-fingered salute. “Turn in at that gate and drive on down the way a bit. There’s a golf club down there that’s letting us use their parking lot till everybody gets in. Party’s in the ballroom in the back. You can get cold drinks and a snack now, but we’ll be serving dinner as soon as the last calf is in the corral. Have real good time, now.”

Following the flagman’s directions, Nina drove down the tree-lined drive and pulled into a parking place at the end of the lot beyond a dozen other classic cars already there.

“Looks like we aren’t the first in.” Peter sounded disappointed.

“We don’t want to be,” Nina reminded him. “Ten cars left ahead of us, and even if they had another set of directions they should have checked in before we did.” She grimaced as she slipped out of her driving shoes and put the neat blue heels on. “It’s not a race to be first, remember, it’s a rally. Following directions and sticking to the time limits is the goal, not coming in ahead of the pack.” She shook her skirts loose and checked the band in her hair. “I’m in full costume again; let’s go.”

Once inside the clubhouse, Nina and Peter found themselves with a group of people dressed for every period from the turn of the century to the years of the Great Depression. Nina couldn’t keep from comparing Peter’s comfortable attire and her own airy dress to the cartwheel hats, Gibson girl gowns, and boiled shirts of their companions. Most of the group were interested in the cold drinks and a place to cool down. An air-conditioned ballroom was a welcome change from the grueling heat of the road. By clusters of two and four the remaining contestants trickled in, most showing signs of relief to have the challenging hot drive behind them. While waiting for the final teams, Nina heard every driver and navigator with incidents to share. Her guess that more than one set of directions was given out proved true. Those who had searched for the elusive flock of geese missed out on the hunt for a toreador, which turned out to be an advertisement painted on the windmill at a breeding farm. The group took the odd cues in good form, even laughing over their mistakes and the confusion that sometimes cost time and mileage along the way.

“The buffet is set up in the dining room next door,” Nina reported to Peter. “Interested in eating?”

“I’d try one of those plaster geese if it came my way.” He glanced around at the surging crowd. “Looks like everyone else feels the same. It might be a stampede.”

Dinner, typical Texas fare of good bar-be-cue, potato salad, and red beans, was welcome after a hard afternoon of driving. Nina found places beside an older couple, the man with a long duster coat over modern Bermuda shorts and a polo shirt and his wife in a white lawn shirtwaist top and green twill walking skirt. She learned they had been the couple in the Model T that passed by as she and Peter were having lunch.

“It was really a good rally,” the woman agreed, “but I’m not sorry to come to the end. I forget how hot these heavy clothes are and how much I prefer my own good Buick to the old buggy.”

The evening was pleasant, but the undercurrent of excitement was rising as dinner progressed. At last a man in a well-worn cowboy shirt and saddle pants took the podium at the front of the room.

“That’s Mayor Teagarden,” Nina explained to Peter. “I think he’s a charter member of the club. That’s probably why the rally ended here. He could get the place for them. Looks like he’s going to make the announcements.”

Tall, thin, with a weathered look that suggested he’d spent most of his life outdoors, Ace Teagarden placed a stack of pages on the speaker’s stand and waited as the room grew quiet. With a few words he introduced himself and made brief remarks about how glad all of Santa Rita was to host the classic car show and rally each year. Turning to the stack of pages, he pulled one form loose and glanced at it.

“Looks like we have three trophies to award, one special certificate to hand out, and an extra prize to announce, so I’d better get to it.” He picked up a framed document and held it for the crowd to see. “Seems like there’s always somebody in one of these events that has to go off and pioneer a trail that’s not on the map. To keep them with the herd, we hand out the Maverick Award. This year’s Maverick goes to Tully Aimes, driver, and Milly Aimes, navigator, with the 1923 Daimler Drophead Coupe. Tully, you and Milly came in forty-five minutes behind the last team. There’s gotta be a story in that. Come up and get your award.”

The couple accepted with good grace, faced a lot of well-meant joking, and posed for the obligatory picture. Then the mayor resumed his place. “Third place goes to the Brandt brothers, Will and Davis, driving a 1930 Model A. Don’t know which twin drove and which one navigated, but you fellas did a great job coming in just five minutes off the exact time.”

Two balding, middle-aged men, identical and dressed in matching zoot suits, accepted the gleaming trophy and grinned like schoolboys as the photographer stopped them for a quick picture.

“Second place goes to a team three minutes behind the time, Mary Jo Banks, driver, and her son Cassidy, navigator, in the 1936 Morgan F4 open touring car known around here as the Green Hornet. Come on up here, Mary Jo.”

The mother-and-son team pushed through the tables at the back of the room to take the silver cup the mayor held. A storm of applause met them when the audience realized the boy couldn’t be more than ten and was barely tall enough to see over the dashboard.

“Quite an accomplishment, Mary Jo.” The mayor passed the trophy to the beaming woman, but she immediately handed it on to her son.

“It’s really Cassidy’s win, Mayor. All I did was follow instructions. Just wait till he’s old enough to drive! We’ll show you how it’s done!”

As soon as the photographer finished recording the moment, the mayor returned to the business at hand. “We have an outstanding team taking first place. All of you did a fine job following directions and locating those obscure markers, but this team managed to come in exactly one minute off the perfect time.”

Tension drew a tight line between Nina’s shoulders. She wanted to take the first place trophy back to Uncle Eldon so badly. She barely breathed as the mayor lifted up the gold cup and put it on the podium.

“The course was pretty challenging this year, wasn’t it, folks? And coming in one minute ahead of schedule is a pretty fair accomplishment. Wonder who did that?” The mayor made a show of putting on his glasses and looking over the sheet in his hands. “My goodness, that time belongs to the Kirby family, father and daughter. Ed Kirby driving and Miss Ellen Kirby, navigator, in Ed’s 1915 Stanley Steamer. Congratulations, Ed and Ellen.”

Nina’s heart sank. She wouldn’t be taking anything home to Uncle Eldon after all. She’d been certain their time was good, at least good enough to place, but there must have been something they’d missed. One of the markers they checked could have been wrong, she supposed. The descriptions were intentionally misleading. She and Peter must have misunderstood one of them. She had started to speak to Peter, blunt the edge of the disappointment she knew he must feel, when the mayor spoke again.

“We’ve awarded the usual prizes, my friends, but we have one more piece of business.” His words stopped the rumble of applause and chatter. “Most of you know we have what is called the Rambler’s Trophy. We’ve had occasion to give it out three times in the history of the classic car club. It’s given only if a rally contestant presents a perfect score with the exact time while driving a car that stands apart from the competition. We’ve got the chance to award the Rambler’s Trophy tonight for only the fourth time ever. And it goes to...” With a fine sense of drama, the mayor paused and let silent excitement fill the room. “The Rambler goes to the Lassiter team, Miss Nina Kirkland, driver, and Dr. Peter Shayne, navigator, in Eldon Lassiter’s glorious queen of the road, the 1924 Isotta-Fraschini. Come up here and collect your trophy, Miss Kirkland. It’s an honor to be here to present it and to have witnessed a superb performance by both car and driving team.”

For a moment Nina couldn’t move, then feeling Peter’s hand at her elbow, she stood. The rest of the rally contestants stood as she did and applauded her all the way to the speaker’s podium. She looked back to see if Peter had followed, and when he hesitated, she motioned him forward. Her driving was good and the car was all she could have asked, but she’d never have made a perfect run if Peter hadn’t been the best of navigators. At first he seemed reluctant, but the crowd urged him forward, and he joined Nina at the front of the room.

The mayor left the podium to cross the room to a side table. An irregular shape, hidden by a white drape, covered much of the small top. The mayor stood to one side of the table, waiting till he had all eyes focused on the spot.

“You know, we bring the Rambler to this event every year, hoping that this will be the year somebody actually scores the perfect performance. And most years, we take it back to the clubhouse. This year, we’ll be sending it to visit the Lassiter Car Museum for about twelve months. It’s a fine finish to a real good day.” He lifted the drape. A many-faceted octagon of brilliant crystal, held by a swirl of shimmering silver, sparkled under a well-placed light. A small silver plaque mounted on the base listed the previous winners.