Page 108 of A Dead End Wedding

"Right."

As she walked down the hall, I started after her. "Bet you don't know his middle name!"

"Percival."

I stopped dead. "Percival? Oh, I'm so gonna torture him the next time he tells me a lawyer joke."

Max crossed our small lobby, which seemed strangely empty without a couple of dozen senior citizens eating casserole, andlooked out the window. "Holy fudge. I think your car just pulled up."

"Why is my car pulling up holy fudge worthy?"

I looked out the window next to her. "Holy fudge."

We both stared at the beautiful red BMW convertible as it parked in my spot in front of the building. "Nah. Somebody's just lost," I said, shaking off my momentary "they peeled off the ugly Honda paint, and it turned into a beautiful convertible" fantasy.

Max sucked in a breath. "No, that's Wrench. He doesn't get lost, trust me."

We watched in silence as Wrench climbed out of the car. Then I realized I was missing a prime opportunity. "Just who is Wrench and who is he to you?"

"Long story. Tell you later," she said, ducking away and running for the bathroom. "Don't tell him I'm here."

"Chicken!" I yelled after her, but with little conviction, after I'd hidden from Jake earlier. One of those "the chicken calling the fowl feathery" moments.

"That was just sad, Vaughn," I muttered, then unlocked the door and opened it before Wrench knocked. "Hey, Wrench. What's up? And whose car is that? And where is my car?"

He blinked. He was wearing another Brody Investigations shirt and jeans, and he was actually kind of cute in an "I just got out of the Navy and still have a crewcut" way.

"Whoa. Slow down. Okay, this is your car. Your other car is kind of history."

"What? How can my car be history? All it needed was a paint job!" I walked outside and joined him on the sidewalk, and we both stared at the Beemer. I took a deep breath. "Will you please explain why my car is 'kind of history'?"

He didn't look at me. "Well, turns out that whoever did the job on your car used some kind of acid on it first. Some wordswere, ah, etched in the metal. Pretty permanent, if you know what I mean. So the paint place is loaning you this one until they can figure out what to do. Or until your insurance kicks in, whatever. Jake figured you didn't want to drive around with those words on your car."

"Jake likes to take charge, doesn't he?" I asked.

"Hmmmm," he said, not committing to anything.

I heaved a sigh. "Fine. I called my insurance agent this morning, and they said I have rental insurance. So what do I owe?"

"Oh, no. This is on the house. Part of the paint service." He still wouldn't look at me.

"Now, wait a minute—" I began, but my cell phone started ringing. I pulled it off the clip on my shorts and answered. "Vaughn here."

Wrench stepped back toward the wall, as if to give me privacy.

"This is Emily. Are you busy? I didn't want to bother you, but are you still coming to poker night with me? I'm getting ready to go, but you could meet me there."

"Oh, I forgot all about it, to be honest. It's been a crazy couple of days," I said.

"That's okay, if you can't make it?—"

"No, I'd love to do poker night with you. Sounds like just the thing to take my mind off my troubles. Let me just finish one conversation; can you hold on a sec?"

I turned back toward the wall, but Wrench was gone. I grabbed the office door handle, but the door was locked, and anyway, I would have noticed the door opening. He was just gone. I looked up and down the sidewalk in front of my office neighbors' doors.

Nothing. Shrugging, I put the phone back to my ear. "Emily?"

"I'm here."

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