Ben motioned her back inside, went to the phone, and dialed the sheriff.
Alessi chafed her numb fingers. It could be a small-town prank, someone taking a fancy car for a joyride. She could see that. They’d bring it back and she’d be on her way. That halo on the sun must not have meant Charity. Charity was not proving charitable.
Ben said, “Cooper? It’s Ben here. A lady’s car seems to be gone from the station.” He chewed his lip. “No, no sign of it at all.”
Alessi waited through the pause, forcing her panic to subside to something closer to concern. Concern was positive, constructive. Panic was helpless.
“Oh, it was here, all right. Couldn’t miss it. Shiny red convertible Mustang. GT package.”
Alessi reached for the phone. “Excuse me? Do you think you might come now? You see, my purse and everything are in the car.”
A heavy sigh came through the receiver. “Well, all right, then.”
“Thank you very much.” She hung up the phone and looked up at Ben. Standing five-feet-ten herself, there weren’t many men who towered over her, but he must be six-six at least.
His face was not unlike Dorothy’s faithful scarecrow in the picture at the back, and it pulled now into a sorrowful mien. “I sure am sorry about this.”
“Oh …” She looked from him to Dave. “I’m sure it’ll work out.” But her heart jumped around in her chest like a doughball in a blender.
“Maybe I should go look around again.” Do something productive.
Ben said, “Sheriff’ll be here shortly.”
She looked out. Having checked the immediate area already, and with the snow coming harder than ever, there wasn’t much to do but wait. What were the chances she’d chase down her Mustang on foot? If it was a joke, they’d have their spin and bring it back. If it wasn’t a joke …
A man came in and paid for his gas. “How’s it goin’, Ben?”
“All right.”
All right for Ben. All right for the man heading even now back to his car firmly in place where he’d left it.
Her stomach cinched itself into a knot.
Dave put a hand to her shoulder. “Look, Miss … Did you say your name?”
“Alessi. Some people call me Less, like not more.” She twisted her hands together. “It’s kind of funny, actually. My last name is Moore. Less Moore?”
“Alessi’s a real pretty name.” Ben motioned her to a high stool beside the counter.
She wanted to run out and search the streets, no matter how futile, but Dave and Ben showed little urgency; concern, but not panic. Exactly what she’d been telling herself to do. She’d take that for what it was worth. The sheriff was on his way. Panic would change nothing. She took the stool. Friends must come and sit there to pass the time with Dave and Ben. She’d pretend she was one of them. “So how long have you had this station, Ben?”
He pursed his lips to the side. “Oh, eight, nine years. Dave and I started working for the original Mr. Gas, James Beale, right out of high school.”
“We bought him out nine years ago.” Dave brought her a cup of hot chocolate from the machine.
“Thanks.” She took the steamy cup and sipped. “Is the sheriff far away?”
“Well, he has a little trouble getting around just now. Had a hip replaced.” Ben tore a strip from a roll of paper towels behind the register and handed it to her for the drip on her cup.
“Oh. No wonder he didn’t want to get up.” She looked out the window.
“He’ll be here shortly.” Dave offered her a package of peanuts.
She set the cup on the counter and tore the package open. “Just as soon as I get my purse back, I can pay you for these.” She popped in a handful and chewed.
“Don’t worry. It’s on the house.” A gap in place of Dave’s eyetooth gave him a youthful look, despite his prematurely balding crown.
“That’s really nice of you.”
She had finished the package of nuts and drained the cup by the time the police car pulled in, sporting a small red light attached to the roof, though it wasn’t flashing. The sheriff climbed out stiffly, his white hair catching in the breeze like a wisp of cotton candy. She stood and met him at the door. “I’m so sorry to get you up and out in this cold, especially with your hip.”
He looked from her to the men behind her. “It’s fine, young lady. You’re the one with the missing car?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Ben, you and Dave saw the car?” He pulled a pad from his pocket.
“I was in the garage,” Dave said. “Never saw it.”
“I watched her put in a full tank,” Ben said. “Red Mustang convertible, alloy wheels.”
“You left the keys in the ignition?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that.” Though she could not quite picture dropping them in the purse either. “I took money from my purse and went inside. My purse is in the car and, well, everything I own.” She’d been terribly careless. Charity had worked some spell, some … hypnotic trance.
“Registration?”
“In my wallet.”
“Title?”
“In my car.”
He stood eye to eye with her, his cheeks a little jowly, pink from the cold. “I’d say you have a problem, Miss …”
“Moore. Alessi Moore.”
“No driver’s license to prove it.”
“No, that would be in my purse. But I think … maybe if we started looking soon, we’d find the car.”
The sher iff raised his brows. “Hard to say. People passing through …”
She looked out into the nearly deserted street. “I haven’t seen too much traffic. I think someone in town is pulling a prank or—”
“Don’t know much about Charity if you think that, Miss Moore.” She met his blue eyes under shaggy brows. “Maybe not, Sheriff. But someone took my car, and I’d really like it back.”
He opened his pad. “License number?”
“It says Less. L-E-S-S. My uncle got me the plates with the car. They called me Less.”
“State?”
“Florida.”
He nodded. “I didn’t figure you for around here.”
“No, just passing through.” Even though at first glance, she’d thought Charity might be it. The more she’d seen, the more she’d liked—until someone took her car. This could not be the scene of a miracle. She’d taken a wrong turn, a—
“Description?”
“It’s a deep metallic red with a tan roof and leather seats. Like Ben said, alloy wheels and fairly new tires.” They had cost her, but she kept the car in good condition. Had to.
“You got insurance?”
She licked her lower lip. “Not … currently. I had some, but I changed jobs and … actually, the store I worked in became a Dippin’ Dots and Dogs, so I thought I’d find something else and started driving, and it’s been a little while since I worked because I wanted to find a place I could stay and settle in.” She swallowed.
The sheriff pursed his lips. “So no insurance.” She shook her head.
“Well.” He closed the pad. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He was not inspiring great confidence. Panic sank fresh claws into her throat. She had thought whatever smart aleck had pulled the prank would have it back by now. Charity didn’t seem like the sort of place you had to watch your back. Maybe she’d been lulled by false appearances, but even the sheriff had said no one in Charity would take her car.
Someone had, though.
Sheriff Roehr accepted the cup of coffee Dave brought him. “Where can I find you if I learn anything?”
If?
“You got friends around here?” He tightened the lid over the lip.
She shook her head. “No, I …”
“Maybe you ought to call your folks.”
“They’re dead.”
“Your uncle, then, who gave you the car.” He squinted one eye and scrutinized her.
She drew herself up, toppi
ng him by an inch, though he had her in girth. Alessi thought of her mother dying of cancer and how she hadn’t called Uncle Bob and Aunt Carrie. She had accepted their rejection, had not forced herself on people who didn’t want her in their lives. It would dishonor her mother’s memory to involve them now, if they even would help. Uncle Bob would be furious she’d lost the car. “No, I’m on my own.”
“Whereabouts, then?”
She swallowed hard. “Is there a motel?” Could she beg a room until they found her car, at which time she could pay? Provided, of course, they’d left money in her purse—though that possibility seemed slimmer and slimmer the longer the car was gone.
“Closed down two years ago.” The sheriff gave her a sour look as though it were her fault for not coming sooner.
“She can stay right here tonight,” Ben spoke up. “Steve’s gone after more books, so his room’s empty.”
Alessi looked up at him, seeing her scarecrow now. Was there ever a truer face?
The sheriff turned. “That all right with you, Dave?”
“Sure.” Dave threaded his fingers together. “We’ll hold on to her till you find her car.” His gap-toothed smile was quick and sincere. “Call her at the house soon as you have something.”
“Miss?”
“If they don’t mind having me.” Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but she had known more men like Ben and Dave than the sort who would take advantage of her. Three years of fending for herself had developed instincts for judging character. And what choice did she have? She was getting tossed about like a snowflake on an unexpected wind.
Sheriff Roehr set his cup on the counter and zipped up his coat. “Okay, then. I’ll be in touch.” He moved slowly for the door. He did not inspire great confidence.
Alessi looked from Ben to Dave. Their faces were carefully neutral. Her heart sank. What would she do if her car was gone for good? She’d landed in Oz, with no ruby slippers and no place like home.
Three
A LESSI AWOKE WITH A START. Voices outside her door had broken through the numbed sleep of comfort food from Moll’s, courtesy of Ben and Dave. The room was completely dark. It couldn’t be morning.
“So you put her in my room?”
She suddenly felt like Goldilocks, but that growl did not sound like Baby Bear.
“We didn’t know you’d be back tonight.” Ben’s voice.
“And where else could she go?” That was Dave.
She climbed out of bed and crept to the door. She pulled down the navy terry-cloth robe that hung there. Ben had offered her a T-shirt and drawstring sweats from the drawer, so adding the robe shouldn’t matter. Her height was a definite advantage when wearing men’s clothes.
“So where am I supposed to go?”
“You’ve got the cot over at the store.” Ben sounded reasonable, if a little fuzzy with sleep.
“Great. I’ve been on the road all day, unloaded an entire truck bed myself, and now I get the cot at the store.”
Alessi opened the door. The growl belonged to a man who split the difference in height between Ben and Dave. Dark hair in disarray, dark eyes annoyed, and a dark shadow covering his jaw. She pulled his robe closed at her throat. “I’m sorry I took your bed.”
He looked down her length, obviously noting the bed wasn’t all she had taken.
She said, “I’ll just dress and—”
“Forget it.” He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “I’ll sleep at the store.”
She pushed the door wider. “You shouldn’t have to do that. I can—”
“I said, forget it.” He hefted his travel bag and cocked an eyebrow. “Everything fit all right?”
She looked down her front, then back at him. “Close enough.”
“Good.” He almost smiled but caught it in time. He looked at Ben and Dave. “We’ll talk in the morning.” He turned and walked out.
She had felt safe in his room, sandwiched between Dave’s and Ben’s. Now she wasn’t so sure. He had that unruly, outdoorsy look, but then, she probably looked fairly unruly herself.
“Steve’s just tired,” Ben said.
“Sorry he woke you.” Dave ran a hand over his head.
She was sorry too. All the worry had rushed back in, and she wouldn’t sleep again soon.
“Good thing we caught him before he barged in.” Ben and Dave shared a glance.
Good thing! Alessi imagined opening her eyes to him in her … his room. “Is he okay at the store?”
Ben waved a hand. “Sure. He works late sometimes, so he keeps a cot there to crash on.”
“What kind of store is it?”
“Books.”
She thought back to Sherlock’s, where she’d worked in Miami. Those doors were closed up by six every night. “How does that keep him late?”
“Oh, tracking down leads and all.” Ben tugged his pajama shirt.
“Leads?”
“Lost books, out of print, rare titles.”
“Searching estate collections and such,” Dave put in. “That’s where he was. Someone whose collection he’s been watching died last Tuesday.”
Alessi nodded. “Oh. Well …”
“You get some sleep now.” Dave patted her shoulder.
“You’re sure it’s okay?”
“Sure,” Ben said. “We’ll work it all out in the morning.”
She nodded. In the morning, her car would be found, maybe even be returned to the gas pumps out front. She’d pay what she owed and head out, through the snow, away from Charity. “Good night.” She closed the door behind her and turned on the lamp.
The room was neat, the shelf along one wall holding books, of course. Framed black-and-white photos, mostly landscapes, covered the other walls: cliffs and waterfalls, desert formations, high mountain ridges, icy lakes. The photographer had an eye. Some shots were dramatic, others creative or simply beautiful. She walked from photo to photo, imagining the man she’d just seen behind the camera.
The only pictures of people were an older couple holding hands and a snapshot of a man with gray hair reminiscent of Steve’s tousle. Not the type of photography one expected from a young man. But his equipment was in the corner. He must be the cameraman.
Earlier, when Ben had rummaged about for something she could sleep in, she had noticed the clothes in his closet hung perfectly straight. Now she couldn’t resist just a little peek. She pulled open the top drawer of his bureau. Socks and boxers. She pushed it shut. What was she doing, snooping through some man’s dresser drawers? But the socks were paired and the boxers folded once. Steve was meticulous. Probably disliked surprises, wanted everything in order. Except his hair in that careless state that made him look vulnerable and appealing. Nothing appealing in his scowl, though his angular face had softened by the time he left.
It wasn’t personal. He’d been taken advantage of and reacted, probably because he was tired. Understandable. She wouldn’t like to find someone in her room and have to sleep somewhere else. He’d handled it generously, all things considered.
She turned off the lamp before she was tempted to snoop further. It was a terrible habit, but you learned so much from people’s things and the way they kept them. Maybe cleaning people’s houses as a child had fostered the curiosity. In any case, she resisted it now. She took the robe off, laid it across the foot of the bed, then picked it up and hung it back on the door. Lifting the covers, she slipped into his sheets. It hadn’t mattered before, when she didn’t know whose bed she was taking. It could have been any bed in any motel in any town. Now she had a dark-eyed face to put to it. She sighed.
It was only for the rest of the night. In the morning he’d have his room back, his bed back, his sweats and T-shirt. Closing her eyes, she remembered the feel of those first snowflakes landing on her skin, their swirling dance, the halo on the sun. Halos always meant something good. It might not look like it right now, but it would come. It had to.
Steve let himself into the store, wondering just what h
ad changed his mind: her rumpled blond hair on the shoulders of his robe, the freckles across the bridge of her nose, or the sleepy huskiness of her voice apologizing. He’d looked forward to a good night’s sleep in his own bed. He dropped the bag onto the foot of the cot in his storeroom, rummaged through, and found his toothbrush.
In the small bathroom he brushed, then scrubbed his face and hands with warm water. No hot shower. Paper towels. He swallowed his annoyance. The guys had meant well, had seen a person with a need and filled it … with his room. He turned off the light and went back to the cot. The room was chilly, and he would have liked his robe, but it was in use already.
He took off his sweater and jeans, folded them and put them into the bag, then took out a similar pair of sweats to the ones his guest had chosen and pulled them on. The cot was hard and cold. He considered changing his mind, then settled in and pulled the sheet and blanket up over his shoulder. The things Ben had told him started clicking through his head.
She stops for gas, leaves her keys and purse, gets wrapped up in Ben’s collection, and poof—her car is gone. Sheriff Roehr was looking into it. Um-hmm. He rolled to his other side. He was not going to get used to this cot. It was his emergency quarters, not for daily use. He never spent more than one night at a time. Never. He rubbed his face and pressed it deeper into the pillow. In the morning they’d settle it, car or no car.
Alessi woke, rumpled and confused, then suddenly too aware that she was sleeping in some man’s sweats and T-shirt in a room of the small house behind the garage where her car had disappeared. At the moment, it was hard to conjure hopeful thoughts of finding it waiting at the gas pump or even of the sheriff finding it. The Mustang was registered in the state of Florida. Their records would show it was hers as soon as it was found—unless of course it was stripped of serial numbers or whatever it was car thieves did.
Why hadn’t her uncle given her some old jalopy? No one would have stolen it, and at least she’d have transportation out of there. But she’d taken pride in the Mustang. Its beauty alone warmed something inside, and she understood the old Beach Boys song, “I’m in Love With My Car.”
Halos Page 2
