Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(16)

“I don’t think these are normal knacks,” Lon said. “I’ve never seen anyone lift anything that heavy.”

Andrew grunted an acknowledgment as I squatted near the splintered countertop, inspecting the damage. “Korea, huh? Ever been?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, that. No. Just liked the dragon.”

Andrew nodded as a strange look pinched his face.

“Not a dragon fan?” Lon squinted at him with his Emotion Detective face, like he sometimes does when he’s trying to suss out the source of my bad mood.

“No, it’s not that.” Andrew shook his head. “It’s probably nothing.”

“You sure?” I said, suddenly interested in what Lon was sensing.

“It’s silly.”

“Maybe not,” I encouraged.

“It’s just . . .” Andrew scratched his ear. “The blond boy dressed like a frog . . . it’s hard to be sure, but he sounded like . . .” Andrew shook his head. “Ah, never mind. My wife says old age is ruining my hearing. Have to turn up the TV to hear the news.”

“Go on,” I encouraged. “The blond boy sounded like what?”

“Not a ‘what.’ A who.” Andrew squinted one eye shut as he studied my face, then looked away. “I didn’t realize this until now, but he sounded like a boy who used to come in here after school. Been a few months since I last saw him. Think he might’ve started college. Don’t know his name. Only know that his father drives a beautiful old Plymouth Road Runner.”

I gave him a blank look, but Lon was grunting in appreciation.

“An old racing car from the seventies,” Andrew explained. “Prettiest shade of sky blue you’ve ever seen with a black stripe down the center of the hood. The kid sometimes drove it here—parked it outside by the curb. Had a dragon bumper sticker on the fender. The dragon on your jacket reminded me.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong.”

“And you don’t know his name?” Lon asked.

“Sorry.” Andrew said.

I looked at Lon. “Unusual car. Can’t be that many of them in the city.”

“I don’t know,” Lon said. “A lot of car collectors in Morella.”

“Especially the old muscle cars,” Andrew agreed. “They race them every month.”

“Where?”

“Speed Demon Rally. Down at the Morella Racetrack, on the highway going out toward La Sirena. I go sometimes. Next one’s tomorrow night.”

“Have you ever seen that boy there?” Lon asked.

“Saw the car there a few weeks ago, but not the boy.”

Couldn’t hurt to check it out. At the very least, one of the collectors might know the name of the kid’s father.

I thanked Andrew and told him I’d let him know if I found out anything. On my way out, I paused at the door. A dark sedan was parked across the street where we’d seen Davey through the window. The driver was staring at the corner store, but ducked when he saw me through the glass. Huh.

“Hold on,” Andrew called out from behind me.

I pulled my attention away from the car and watched him hurry down the candy aisle. He returned with a white plastic tub that fit inside my palm and rattled when he handed it to me. “For the Chinese girl,” he said.

I looked at the label. It was the cantaloupe gum from Hong Kong that Kar Yee loved.

“On the house,” he said. “Tell her Mr. Andrew says to get better. And if you find that boy and it was him who robbed us, you bring him here to me.” He lifted the hem of his pink panama shirt to reveal a giant jeweled belt buckle shaped like a cobra head. “My kids are too old to get a whipping, but he’s not.”

I grinned. “Sure, I’ll let you have him, but I want the telekinetic boy.”

Lon and I exited the corner shop. As we discussed tracking down the Road Runner at the racetrack, I glanced across the street. The dark sedan was gone.

“This place is bananas!” Jupe shouted over the rumble and roar of muscle car engines. His spiral-curled, bushy dark hair was limned in both the lime-green of his halo and the megawatt halide lamps lighting up the night sky inside the Morella Racetrack.

Jupe was tall for his age, only a few inches shorter than his dad, and though he was skinny as hell—all legs and arms and slender fingers—a masculine build was blooming beneath his lankiness. He had Lon’s green eyes and his African-American mother’s alluring mouth—well, as best as I could tell from photos; I hadn’t actually met the woman. Yvonne used to be a model when she was younger. And though she’d pretty much given up her visitation rights (it had been a couple of years since she’d bothered coming to see Jupe), her mother and sister remained close—they were the ones coming to spend Christmas with Jupe and Lon.

Jupe, Lon, and I made our way past half-empty grandstands and a massive warehouse-like building that housed a retail shop and a long aisle lined with food vendors. There, we stood for a moment, watching the track. Old, rusted muscle cars sat near the starting line.

“So they don’t race the restored cars?” Jupe asked.

“Too much money and time in the restorations to risk wrecking them. The race cars are beaters with souped-up engines,” Lon said. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not here to watch races. We’re here to find the ass who robbed Cady.”