Firefly Cove by Davis Bunn

Author:Davis Bunn [Bunn, Davis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-11-03T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 33

The idea came to Lucius while he was seated in the attorney’s waiting room. Sol Feinnes and his associates occupied a suite of offices in a new building meant to look old. The exterior resembled an oversized Spanish mission, and was located between the Old Town and the courthouse. Lucius gave his name to the guard by the entry and was directed to the fourth floor, where the receptionist apologized with professional smoothness that the attorney was running behind schedule.

The waiting area was a fine-enough place for reflection, done in the pastel colors of an early sunrise, with comfortable chairs and nice prints and a collection of interesting magazines and fresh coffee in a corner alcove. The receptionist was busy with her work, and people came and went, and nobody seemed overly interested in just another young man there to take the lawyer’s time. So Lucius poured himself a mug and seated himself and extracted the Sunday newspaper advertisement from his briefcase. He marveled at the power and wealth this four-page spread represented. The list of dealerships ran down the entire side of the first page, twenty-three in all. Lucius recognized several, of course, but the majority of them were in locations he had never even visited.

Lucius traced his way down the list to the final name. As had happened the previous day, just reading the address caused his breath to lock in his throat.

When he had recovered somewhat, Lucius took a careful look around the reception area. Four men and two women were hunched over spreadsheets. The receptionist was talking quietly into her headset. Lucius did not want to stand up just then. He was uncertain whether his legs could support him.

He took his phone from the briefcase and punched in the number below the address. He could feel his hand tremble as he listened to the rings.

“Quarterfield Classics.”

“Yes. I’d like to speak to someone about a restoration.”

“Hold, please. I’ll put you through to our service department.”

As he waited, Lucius tried to tell himself that he was just another client. Just another caller. Just another . . .

“Service.”

“Hi. I have a Jaguar Mark Ten that needs, well, quite a lot.”

“Do you, now?” The man’s voice brightened considerably. “Which year?”

“Sixty-nine.”

“What’s the mileage?”

“Three thousand seven hundred.”

“Say again.”

“Thirty-seven hundred. It’s been under wraps for decades by the looks of things.”

“You don’t know?”

“I . . . inherited it. Yesterday was the first time I ever saw the car. It hasn’t been driven in so long the tires have frayed.”

“So you can’t drive the car to us. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Right. The battery’s dead. And all the rubber fittings will need replacing.”

“But otherwise . . .”

“The car is in absolutely pristine condition.”

“Where are you located . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

He caught himself in the act of saying “Lucius Quarterfield.” The realization should not have hurt like it did. “Luke Benoit.”

“I’m Mike Alderson, assistant chief of this madhouse. Where are you located, Mr. Benoit?”

“San Luis Obispo.” Luke gave his address.

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