Winning Amelia. Ingrid Weaver
“Can you hack into the Ministry of Transport database?”
He shook his head. “Hacking the MOT would be illegal. Besides, I do have another approach I could take. I heard there was an antique car show at the fairgrounds on the weekend.”
“Last weekend? That couldn’t be a coincidence.”
“Probably not. Collectors tend to baby their cars, so they don’t use them for everyday errands. I’m guessing the owner of that yellow car your neighbor saw brought it out for the show.”
“Then you can contact the group who organized the show!”
“That’s the first step. Odds are good that the person we’re after is a member, or that I’ll find someone who knows him.”
Amelia closed her eyes briefly. She exhaled on a sigh. “Hank, this is wonderful. Thank you so much for helping me.”
“I haven’t found anything yet, Amelia.”
“I know, but at least you’ve given me hope.”
Her anxiety over the painting appeared as genuine as it had when they’d met in his office. Now that he’d seen for himself how she’d been living, he could understand how she might be feeling emotionally raw. That made it more difficult for him to broach the next subject. “Do you believe that Ruth’s observations are reliable?”
“For sure. And with all the gardening she does, she likely knows everything that goes on in the neighborhood.”
“Then I hope you could explain something to me. She was certain she saw your family celebrating on Sunday afternoon.”
“What?”
“She said you had just gotten home.”
Amelia wiped her palms on her knees. “Sunday?”
“In the afternoon. Ruth saw you hugging Jenny and Will. She said the boys joined in, too.”
“That was before I found out the painting was missing.”
“What was going on?”
“Jenny made more than five hundred dollars at the yard sale.”
“Was that what you were celebrating?”
“Five hundred dollars is a lot of money.”
“From what Ruth described, you appeared very excited. I just wondered whether there was more to it. Was there?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You seem nervous, and you’re not looking at me.”
She rubbed her knees once more, then folded her hands in her lap. “Money’s a sensitive subject for me.”
“Sorry.”
“And I don’t appreciate being given the third degree. If I had a dollar for every time people have given me attitude about the fortune I lost, I’d be halfway to getting it back by now.”
“I wasn’t giving you attitude, Amelia, or the third degree. I was just trying to make sense of what I heard. That’s how I work.”
“Well, what Ruth observed had nothing to do with the painting. It wasn’t until we came inside that I saw it was gone.”
“I see.”
“Good. Then let’s concentrate on that. What happens next?”
“Hmm?”
“Once you find out who owns that yellow car.”
“Then I go and talk to him.”
“In person?”
“That’s right. I prefer to speak with people face-to-face whenever possible. It gets better results. It’s too easy to say no over the phone.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Why?”
“I could help. He might be more willing to talk to a couple than to a man on his own.”
“I do have some experience conducting interviews.”
“Why wouldn’t you want me along? We both want the same thing, don’t we?”
Hank always worked alone. It was one of the aspects of his profession that he truly enjoyed. He had never allowed a client to interfere with his methods, much less accompany him on an investigation. “What about your own job at Mae B’s?” he asked. “Won’t you be too busy?”
“They let me go.”
“What? When?”
“Yesterday. They gave my job to the owner’s niece.”
“Amelia, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I’ll find something else, but at the moment I have plenty of spare time so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t help you. It’s only fair, since you’re waiving your fee. And besides...” She smiled. “It would be more efficient if we work together. You wouldn’t need to waste time giving me updates.”
Her smile set off another flash from the past. It was the first full smile Amelia had given him in more than a decade, and like everything else she did, she put herself into it one hundred percent. Eagerness shone from her face. Her lips curved, her cheeks dimpled and her eyes gleamed the familiar, unique blue-green that made his brain shut down.
He’d never had any defense against that smile. His reasons for refusing her seemed trivial when weighed against the prospect of spending more time in her company. Sure, he normally worked alone, yet he’d known this case would be anything but normal from the moment Amelia had shown up at his office. It wasn’t merely curiosity that had convinced him to help her. He would have gone along with whatever she’d asked, regardless of how slim the chances of success, because his knee-jerk reaction had been to make her happy.
It still was.
Terrific. Obviously, nothing had truly changed in the past fifteen years. Amelia was still smart enough to talk circles around him. She still had the ability to wrap him around her little freckled finger.
And apparently, when it came to Amelia, Hank was still a fool.
CHAPTER FIVE
A ROW OF ragged spireas grew along the side of the garage and partially blocked the only window. Amelia lifted her arms to keep them from getting scratched, twisted around and used her back to push her way between the bushes. Once she reached the wall, she discovered that the window was coated with several years’ worth of grime. She cleared a peephole with the heel of her hand and leaned close to the glass. Although there was an hour to go before sunset, an ominously dark bank of clouds towered in the west, bringing an early dusk. “I can’t see anything, Hank,” she said. She cupped her hands around her eyes. “It’s too dim.”
“Hang on.” Branches rustled as Hank joined her. He took a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and expanded the circle she’d cleaned, then clicked on a small flashlight and angled it against the window. The narrow beam slanted through the shadows inside the garage to reveal a dull, flat expanse of pale blue fabric.
“That doesn’t look like a car,” she said.
Hank passed her the handkerchief, waited while she wiped off her palm, then folded the cloth dirty-side-in and returned it to his pocket. He continued his inspection of the garage. “It’s a tarp. There’s a car underneath.”
She squinted. He was right. The fabric was draped over a large, bulky shape that could only be a car. “That’s got to be it.”
Hank continued to play his light over the tarp until he reached the lower edge. There was a sudden glint from a chrome bumper and the gleam of a highly polished fender. A yellow fender. “It’s the right color, and the shape does correspond to a