The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(58)
Instead, she drove to Panama City, her first road trip alone. She stuck to the speed limit and tried not to flinch at every car that passed, but it was nerve-racking nonetheless. Her breathing was labored and a thick knot stayed in her stomach, but she was determined to get there and back. At the salvage yard, she parked in a gravel lot between a tow truck and a battered pickup and asked an old man with a greasy shirt and even dirtier beard about the office. He nodded toward a metal building with dented walls and an open front door. She walked through it and entered a room with a long counter where mechanics purchased used auto parts. The walls were covered with an impressive collection of hubcaps, though one corner was reserved for calendars of seminude women. The presence of a pretty lady stopped all transactions. A man with the name Bo stenciled on his shirt smiled and said, “Well, hello, miss, what can we do for you?”
She smiled, stepped forward, and said, “I’m looking for my car. It was wrecked three weeks ago on the Tappacola reservation and brought here. I’d like to see it and retrieve some personal items.”
Bo stopped smiling and said, “Well, if it was brought here, then it’s not your car anymore. I’m assuming it was totaled.”
“Yes. I’ve talked to my insurance company and was told it was here.”
Bo stepped to a computer screen and asked, “Do you have the VIN?” She handed over a photocopy of her title. He punched some keys as his pal Fred joined him. Two mechanics watched closely from the other end of the counter. Bo and Fred frowned and mumbled and seemed confused. Bo said, “This way,” and left the counter. Lacy followed as they walked along a short hall and through a side entrance. Behind the building, and kept from view by a tall fence, was a field of mangled cars, trucks, and vans, hundreds of them. In the distance, a massive, clumsy machine was crushing a wrecked vehicle. Bo waved at another man and he eventually walked over. He wore a white shirt, one much cleaner than Bo’s or Fred’s, and without a name on it, and he seemed to be in charge. Bo handed him a sheet of paper and said, “She’s looking for that Prius that came from the Indian reservation. Says it was hers.”
The man frowned and shook his head. “It’s not here. Some guy showed up a few days ago and bought it for cash. Took it away on a flatbed hauler.”
Lacy, way out of her league, asked, “Who bought it?”
“Can’t say, ma’am, and really don’t know. Don’t think he ever gave a name, just wanted the car and had the cash. Happens all the time. These guys’ll buy a wreck and sell off the parts. Never seen this dude before.”
“And there are no records?”
Bo laughed and his boss grinned at her ignorance. The boss said, “No, ma’am. Once a car is totaled and the title is invalidated, no one cares what happens to it. Cash sales are not unusual in this business.”
She wasn’t sure what to ask next. She assumed they were telling the truth. She looked at the acres of wrecked vehicles and realized that a search would be fruitless.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the boss said and walked away.
—
The text from Verna read “You wanna talk?”
They exchanged a few more messages and agreed on a time.
Lacy arrived at the Hatch home after dinner. Verna was alone with the kids. The older two were doing homework at the kitchen table. Pippin and the toddler were asleep. Verna said the house had not been that quiet since before Hugo died. They sipped green tea on the patio and watched fireflies in the darkness. Verna was relieved that the relatives had finally cleared out, though her mother would be back tomorrow to help with Pippin. Verna was exhausted but sleeping more. She still awoke with the dream that Hugo was with her, but managed to work her way back to reality. With four kids she did not have the luxury of proper mourning. Life was not slowing down.
She said, “I got the life insurance check today, so the pressure is off, for now anyway.”
“That’s great, Verna.”
“We’ll be okay for a year or so, but I’ll have to find a job. Hugo made sixty thousand a year and we never saved a dime. I need to bury some of this money for the future, for the kids.”
She wanted to talk, and she wanted a listener who was not in the family. Her degree from FSU was in public health, and she’d been a social worker for a year or so before her first pregnancy. After the third, she put away any thoughts of a career. She said, “I like the thought of a job. I’ve been a full-time mother for a long time now and I’m ready for a change. Hugo and I talked about this often and we had decided that as soon as Pippin was in preschool I would go back to work. Maybe with two salaries we could swing a bigger house, maybe start saving for the kids. Hugo was so supportive, Lacy. He had the big ego and all that, he couldn’t help it, but he was not threatened by a working wife.”
Lacy listened and nodded. Verna had talked of a career a dozen times.
Verna took a sip of tea and closed her eyes for a moment. She snapped out of it with “Can you believe I’ve already had folks asking me for money? So far two of Hugo’s cousins hung around here long enough to ask for a loan. I said hell no and got rid of them, but they’ll be back. What is it about people that makes them do horrible things like that, Lacy?”
The question couldn’t be answered. Lacy responded with “I don’t know.”
Verna said, “I got way too many people giving me advice these days. Even before the funeral everybody knew I was getting a hundred thousand in life insurance and some of these leeches were already trying to worm their way in. I’m sick of them, really. Not my mom or my sisters, but some of these cousins, some of these folks Hugo and I have barely seen in the past five years.”