Page 41 of Silent Deception
Something rustled past her shoes and she jumped back with a hand at her mouth, imagining snakes and rats. Mosquitoes swarmed about her face as she crossed a low damp spot, where a foul stench rose from rusted drums filled with stagnant rainwater, and an iridescent shimmer of discarded oil lay on the ground.
Batting at the persistent insects, she hurried to higher ground.
The fence was a good ten feet tall or more, constructed of solid wood planks, but it was an old one. She slowly moved up the hill, stopping wherever she found warped or broken boards that afforded a glimpse inside. She surveyed the first row of vehicles, then the next.
Many of the vehicles had been parted out down to the barest skeleton. Most looked as if they’d been there for eons and were becoming part of the landscape, with sagebrush and twisted cedars growing up through the gaping holes where engines and hoods were missing.
The sun-warmed smell of old oil and rubber made her eyes burn. She’d just reached the halfway point and had steadied herself with a hand on the fence when a dog burst out of the shadows barking furiously, its jaws snapping at the fence not inches away from her.
Startled, she cried out and fell back a step, breathing hard as a rush of adrenaline shot through her.
A second later, a middle-aged man in jeans, an oil-stained shirt, and a ball cap strode into view. He didn’t look friendly.
“Down, Rascal,” he commanded. Its tail wagging now, the black Lab backed away, though its eyes never left Kristin’s face.
“I...I was hoping to find a particular vehicle,” Kristin said faintly.
“Most people come during business hours,” he retorted. “Those who come out here alone are usually up to no good.”
“I—I’ve been trying to get here during your business hours, but I work at the clinic in town and you’re always closed after five.”
“The front door is closed,” he corrected her. “Most folks around here know that I’m usually in back, working till late.” He studied her. “What are you looking for?”
“My father’s pickup. An old Chevy that rolled over just about eighteen months ago. Sheriff Montgomery said it was towed here. Are you Buddy?”
“Yep.” The man visibly relaxed. “But it won’t do you no good to go looking, there wasn’t much of anything usable left on that truck. It got crushed and hauled a long time back.”
Kristin’s heart fell. “You’re sure.”
“Sorry, but that probably ain’t how you want to remember your daddy anyway, is it?”
She looked past him to the rows of vehicles she hadn’t searched yet. There might even be some vehicles she couldn’t see, from this side of the fence, and that thought gave her renewed hope. “But—”
“Come on down to the office.” He smiled kindly. “I got to keep bookwork on what comes and goes out of here, and everything gets tagged with a number. I’ll show you, so you don’t keep thinking that ole truck is here. I’ll meet you out front.”
She made her way back down the hill to the open door of the shop, where Buddy stood. “Just one more minute,” she called out to Cody as she passed.
He hopped out of the truck to join her. “This looks like a cool place. How come I couldn’t go see those cars with you?”
“There was nothing to see, really.” She hesitated before letting him come along into the cramped office. A badly crumpled vehicle might have raised frightening images for him, but documents would have much less emotional impact. She curved an arm around his shoulders for a quick hug. “I just wanted to find out about your grandfather Nate’s old truck.”
Obviously not yet in the computer age, Buddy lifted a big ledger from a shelf jammed with small auto parts, a well-stained coffee mug, and some old rags.
He flipped through the pages, then turned the book around for her to read an entry written in an awkward, looping scrawl.
She held her breath as she read it, then sighed with disappointment. “You’re right. I’m sorry to have bothered you like this.”
“And I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I knew Nate real well, and I kept that ole truck around longer than I should have just because it was his.” Buddy closed the book and rested his grease-stained hands on it, as if saying goodbye to his old friend. “I’m real sorry about your loss.”
