Page 56 of Remember Her Name

His feet jerked when Josie said, “Edgar Garcia?”

There was the loud clank of metal, a muttered curse, and Garcia began to emerge, dark blue pants and then a lighter blue shirt, both splotched with stains. A slick of grease ran down one of his forearms as he slid completely out from beneath the car on his creeper. Dark eyes glittered with suspicion as he eyed them. Josie watched his gaze catch on their pistols for a beat longer than necessary.

“I already talked with someone earlier this week. I told him my prints were in that car because I work here. Just because I got a record don’t give you the right to keep harassing me.” His face twisted in disgust. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s us,” Josie said. “Occupational hazard.”

He waved a hand in front of his face. “Damn.”

Gretchen said, “We’re not here about that car or your prints.”

He sat up, keeping the creeper still using the heels of his boots. He produced a rag from one of his pockets and wiped the grease from his arm. “I know you ain’t here for my sparkling personality.”

A new song filled the bays, up-tempo with a heavy bass. “A car was stolen from your lot last night,” Josie said. “You know anything about that?”

He rested his forearms across his knees, the rag dangling from his fingers. “Sure. I usually lock up at the end of the day. You see out back?”

“The fence,” Gretchen said. “Yeah. Chains and padlocks?”

“Old-school, yeah, but my boss isn’t trying to afford something more high-tech than that. Asshole cut right through the chain. I told my boss. He said he was handling it, so why are you here talking to me?”

Edgar’s boss had made a report while they were pulling the pulpit off Jared Rowe. It just hadn’t made its way up the chain to the investigative team.

Instead of answering his question, Josie walked around to the front of the Pontiac, trailing a finger along its hood. “How old is this thing?”

Edgar laughed softly. He knew what she was doing. “It’s a 2003 GTO. What do you really want to know?”

“You guys work on a lot of these kinds of cars,” she said, pressing her index finger into the red Pontiac symbol in the center of the grille.

“Older cars, yeah. I got a few on the lot right now. You wanna hear something crazy? Cars from the nineties are considered classic now.”

Changing the subject, just like Josie.

Gretchen laughed. “Were you even alive in the nineties?”

He arched a brow at her and used the rag to swipe at a stain between his knuckles. “Like you didn’t check my sheet before you came in here. Yeah, I was alive in the nineties.”

“Barely,” Josie said. “Whose car is this?”

“No one’s,” Edgar said. “My boss buys old junkers and I restore them so he can sell them. He gives me a cut. As long as I get the regular work done on time.”

“You stay late to work on these,” Gretchen said.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Yeah. Or I work during my lunch, which is now. I only got another half hour, so whatever you got to say, just say it. I don’t think I can stand that smell much longer.”

“You’re a single dad, aren’t you?” Josie asked.

“Yeah, and it ain’t easy. Never thought I’d be having tea parties with stuffed unicorns and shit, but I do what I gotta do.”

“Including taking on after-hours projects to make extra money,” said Gretchen.

Edgar hauled himself to his feet and took a step back, likely trying to avoid their odor. “Yeah. I’d do anything for my kid. I ain’t ashamed of that. What do you want to ask me?”

Josie walked back over to him. “You said you lock up at night. Are you the only one with the key to the lot? Besides your boss?”

He didn’t answer.

“Do you ever leave the padlock open? In case someone needs to borrow a car?”

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