Page 71 of Her Only Hero

“I divulged nothing. I said I was just wondering if Stan Fulthorpe was still out of town.”

“It was nice of Dr. Crawford to follow up.” I backed away from the monitor. “And I think this information about David Moreno will be helpful. Thank you for searching for the results.”

“Of course, June. That’s what I’m here for.”

“I’m going to update Patrick,” I said.

“You definitely should do that.” He bowed his head. “So, June, you and the officer, you’re getting along well?”

Why had Aram asked about my relationship with Patrick? Was it out of curiosity? Or was Aram showing interest in something else? With us? A rekindling? Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t change a thing with Patrick and me.

“Yes, we’re getting along well.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he said with what sounded like sincerity.

But was hereallyhappy?

Chapter Thirty-Two

I closed my locker and called Patrick. It went to voicemail.

“Hi, I’m just letting you know I’m taking the rest of the day off. I should have listened to you earlier. Talk to you soon.”

I phoned for a taxi and waited outside at the curb. I pulled on the hood of my jacket, but no matter which way I turned, the wind blew in my face. Traffic whooshed by as I watched for my cab and took glimpses of my phone.

Patrick. Call. Make sense of all this for me. Please.

If David was shot from behind, why was he bleeding from the front? Could the report have had an error?

My phone vibrated, and I quickly answered. “Hello?”

“This is Larry’s Garage. I’m looking for June Harber.”

Traffic whizzed by, and I put my free hand to my ear. “Yes, speaking.”

“Your car is ready for pickup. Do you know when you’ll be here? We’re open ’til five.”

“That is great news,” I said. “I will be there soon.”

A taxi slowed in front of me. I waved and climbed in.

“Larry’s Garage on Main Street, please,” I said to the unshaven driver.

The pine deodorizer hanging from the rearview mirror failed to mask the odor of either a skunk or cannabis. I cracked open the window and hoped the driver wasn’t high. Along the way, I clutched my cell phone in my hand. The cabbie pulled into the car repair lot, and I paid him. I entered the shop’s compact front office. Dank smells of engine oil hung in the air. A mechanic in blue coveralls came over to the counter.

“Hi, I’m June Harber. Here to pick up my car.”

He grabbed the paperwork from a file folder and read the report. “Oh, yes. We found sludge in the gas tank and in the engine. It was a royal mess.”

“Really?” I didn’t know what to have expected, but it wasn’t that.

“We had to do a complete engine check, flushed the intakes, and replaced the gas tank. Sorry about the delay, but the tank took a long time getting here. Your total with tax is at the bottom.” He turned the paper around and slid it toward me.

I gulped and fished a credit card from my wallet. “What could have caused all this damage?”

The guy scratched his weathered forehead with a black thumb. “Something caustic and sugary was poured into the gas tank. Perhaps you should get a locking gas cap. Should run fine now. Come back if you have any problems.” He handed me the key.

“Thank you,” I said and went outside.

---