Tinkerbell on Walkabout Read Online Free PDF Page A

things—like what I’m going to do for a living.”
    “Any chance you can keep the lot open?” July asks.
    “Maybe. Not sure for how long, though. He might have
relatives somewhere . . .” He shrugs, then turns and starts to
reach for the empty peg by the office door. “Oh, dammit, they took my effing
jacket.” He stares at the empty peg as if his train of thought has derailed.
    “Perry,” I say, “how often did Bob update this chart?”
    “What?” He pulls his eyes from the coat peg.
    “The chart that shows all the cars in the lot. How often did
he update it?”
    “Every time something changed.”
    “Literally every time? Car comes in, you find a spot, and
Bob writes it in?”
    “Yeah, Bob was kind of maniacal about that. I think he had
OCD or something.”
    “So it’s accurate.”
    “Yeah, it’s accurate. Why?”
    “Because the car we found Bob’s body in isn’t on the chart.”
    I keep my eyes firmly on Perry’s face, looking for what, I’m
not sure. It’s hard to believe he’d kill Bob, racial bigotry notwithstanding.
What I see is a slight widening of the eyes, a flush of color to the neck and
ears.
    “You’re
kidding.”
    “No. Right color; wrong make and model. Did you put it
there?”
    “No,” he says, then: “I’ve gotta go home.”
    We watch him lock up, then stand in the soaked parking lot
like a couple of cows too dumb to get out of the rain. The whole thing feels so
unreal. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me of the lamb vindaloo I’d never
gotten for lunch.
    “I think it means something,” I say.
    July whistles the iconic five-note Close Encounters melody. “I’m not taking you
any place that serves mashed potatoes.”
    “I’m serious, Jules.”
    She looks up at the clouds. They shed tears in her face.
“Yeah. What do you think it means?”
    “It means Bob thought there was a different car in that
corner because he didn’t put the Chrysler there. Which could mean that Perry
was moving some of Bob’s inventory on the sly.”
    “Selling cars off the lot without Bob knowing? Why? I mean,
how much is a twisted pile of metal worth? Besides, that leads to the
conclusion that Perry killed him. Weak motive.”
    I glance over at the now padlocked gate. “How long do you
think the crime tape will stay up?”
    “Okay, Tink, what are you thinking?”
    I shrug. “I’d just like to take a look around back there.
There wasn’t much opportunity before, and my mind was on other things. One
thing I want to know is if any of the other cars have bullet holes in them.”
    “Ask.”
    “You think Dick Plainclothes would tell me?”
    She gives me a speculative look. “Maybe you should become a P.I. Then at least you indulge this morbid curiosity of yours
legally.”

    In Sacramento the next day, July and I and try to get into
the hunting/gathering spirit. I’m
unaware I’m even thinking
about Bob’s murder until
lunch. I open my mouth for a bite of vindaloo and blurt: “Perry can’t be selling cars off the lot.
Then the cars would be gone , not different .”
    “Maybe Cutlasses bring more on the black market,” July
answers without missing a bite.
    Despite the fact that we are sitting in an Indian restaurant
eating food that causes euphoria, and discussing China patterns, she makes a
seamless transition to murder and mayhem. I love that about July.
    “Even so,” I say, “it’s hard to imagine anybody committing
murder over an old wreck.”
    “Unless they got caught stealing it.”
    “Yeah, but murder?”
    “Or an accident. Maybe whoever killed Bob didn’t mean to do
it. But having done it . . .”
    “You think the dog was an accident, too?”
    “Maybe. Or maybe the perp was shooting at the dog and Bob
tried to stop him.”
    Her logic is appealing. Bob’s lot is being vandalized, the vandals go from taking pot shots at
the cars to taking pot shots at the dogs. Bob walks into the middle of it and
things go from mischief to murder.
    The Sheriff’s Department