Page 6 of The Woman in the Garage

But for the past two months, the shop had been open odd hours, if at all. I hadn’t been able to collect our money in all that time.

As a whole, I liked to give people a little grace. Everyone had shit going on. And, clearly, if the place was only open for odd hours here and there, something had to be going on. Sickness or a family emergency.

Still, I could only let it slide for so long. It set a bad precedent for the other businesses that paid us and did so on time each month.

I’d passed by the night before to find it bustling like it used to be, so I figured that whatever had been going on was over with.

The owner’s busted old red-and-white pick-up was nowhere to be seen. Parked in its place was an equally old and busted little orange hatchback with faded paint on the hood and cherry-printed seat covers.

So… not Phil.

But maybe new office staff.

Lord knew the place needed a little feminine energy.

I was all for authenticity, but just because Phil and his crew were old-school mechanics didn’t mean the place couldn’t benefit from a smiling face. And maybe some softer touches in the waiting room.

When I climbed out of the car and made my way inside, though, it wasn’t a woman I was met with. It was the same old shop manager I’d seen a dozen times before.

He was in the middle of handing keys back to a client, assuring them that there was nothing wrong with the brakes in such a strained way that I couldn’t help but think the owner of the car brought it in frequently to get checked out.

I waited for them to shuffle out before moving up.

“I’m here to see Phil,” I told him when I didn’t see recognition on his face.

“Phil’s dead,” he said, point-blank, no tiptoeing into it.

“What?”

“Dead,” he confirmed. “Had a heart attack sitting in his car at work a couple months back.”

So that was why the hours had been so wonky.

I probably should have known that. But it wasn’t like anyone thought to call the local mob when their loved one died.

“Right. But you’re still open, so…”

“Got a new owner. Relative,” David said, looking like he wanted to be rid of me already, so he could get back to work. And to be fair, there looked to be a lot of cars waiting to be worked on.

“Right. Well, can you take me to him?”

That, for some reason, got the man’s lips twitching for a second before he pressed them into a straight line.

“Why the fuck not?” he said, pushing through the door to the garage.

I was familiar enough with this place. Sometimes, Phil came out to my car to pay me. Other times, he was too busy to remember the schedule, and I had to be led into the back where the office sat tucked to the side of the garage.

It was a partly glass room, but Phil almost always had the blinds drawn to get some privacy.

The same was true now, only the door was also closed. Which wasn’t normal. Phil had been a bit of a control freak, always wanting to hear what was going on.

David rapped a fist against the door three times.

“Company,” he called, then turned and pushed open the door.

Which was rude as fuck.

And I couldn’t imagine why he’d done it.

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