The Stars Are Fire(54)

“A young woman bought this,” the man says, “used it to go back and forth to her mother’s in Kennebunkport, and inside of six months, turned it in when her daddy, competing for her attention, bought her a Lincoln. Hardly used at all.”

But what about the owners before the young woman, if she even exists? Grace wonders. The car has to be over a decade old. No mention of them. Grace needs someone who knows cars.


She knocks, then remembers the layout. She knocks again, harder. The doctor’s car is still in the lot, indicating that he hasn’t gone skiing yet. She knocks a third time, giving it everything she’s got.

He’s dressed but hasn’t combed his hair. “Grace, are you all right?”

“I am, I’m fine,” she says quickly, “and I’m sorry to intrude on your day off. But I need advice, and I can’t think of anyone else who could help me.”

“Come in, come in. Let’s go back and get some coffee.”

“I had half an idea that you’d already be off on your skiing trip,” Grace says as they walk the corridor to the kitchen.

“I begged off. I need sleep, and I have to catch up on my reading.”

In the kitchen, he puts the water and grounds on the stove to bring to a boil. Grace removes her gloves but not her coat. “I need to buy a car. I went to the used-car lot in the middle of Biddeford and just happened to overhear a conversation between a young couple and a salesman, and I could see that he was cheating them. I wanted to warn them but I was on the other side of the fence. And I suddenly realized that a woman alone in that car lot would be viewed as an instant sale. I know enough to have them take the car from its parking place and to walk around it. To get in and look around. Even to take a test-drive. But I ought to be able to have them lift the hood and look at the works and see if it’s in decent shape. That I can’t do. I’ve never seen under the hood of any car.”

“I could teach you everything you need to know out in the parking lot. But I’m intrigued. I’d like to get a look at this sleazy salesman. I think I’ll just turn off the coffee, and we’ll go.”

“I’ll buy you coffee afterward.”

“Deal.”

“I should tell you this before we go. I found a bracelet belonging to my mother-in-law and sold it last week. I needed the money to buy the car. I told myself a story in which Merle gave the bracelet to Gene to give to me so that rightfully it was mine.”

“That’s probably pretty close to the truth.”

“No, it isn’t. Merle hated me. She would never ever have given me a piece of her jewelry. I could make the argument Gene probably inherited the contents of the house, and he would want me to have a car in order to support his children, but even that isn’t true, technically. I have seven hundred dollars in my purse.”

“Cash?” he asks, surprised.

“Yes.”

“I thought you had a bank account.”

“What was the point of putting the money in the bank if I knew I was just going to take it out again?”

“If someone stole your purse, you’d be out a car. By the way, you’re going to be my sister, and you should call me John.”

“John?” she asks. “That sounds so strange to me.”

“I wasn’t born Dr. Lighthart.”


The gleam in the salesman’s eye is brighter, having seen the Packard drive in. “What can I do for you two?” he asks as soon as Grace and John are out of the car. “Ralph Eastman,” he says, putting out his hand.

“My sister needs a car. I’m thinking of a used Buick.”

“Buick,” the salesman muses, as if trying to remember his inventory. “I’ve got a sensational mustard yellow with a black convertible top, gorgeous car. Nineteen forty. Last convertible made by Buick prewar.” He waits. No response. “And I’ve got a green Super coupe that’s a stunner.”

“How many seats in the Super coupe?” John asks the salesman.

“Two, but the trunk is good-sized.”

Grace shakes her head.

“A sedan?” the doctor asks.

“Yes, one. A navy ’forty-one. The chrome is a little pitted, but that can’t be helped around here. The sea salt.”

“Why don’t you pull her out and we’ll take a look?”

“Yes, sir.” His bluster leaking like air from a balloon, Ralph all but runs into the showroom to get the keys. When he parks the Buick in front of John and Grace, the man seems even smaller in the driver’s seat.

Grace lets John do the walk-around, the inspection under the hood, the kicking of the tires. “What’s the story on this one?” he asks the salesman.

“Bought by a twenty-two-year-old guy, who used it only seven months before he enlisted. It was kept at his mother’s house in Biddeford Pool for the duration of the war. She didn’t have a garage. When the war ended, he drove it for a while, but he didn’t like the pitting. Brought it into our lot. Very little mileage. You can see for yourself.”

“I did,” says John. “I think it’s time for a test-drive, what do you think?”

“Yes, sir. You drive, I’ll get in, and your sister here can wait inside where it’s warm.”

“No, my sister will sit in the passenger seat,” says John, “and you’ll get in back if you don’t mind.”