Page 26 of Play Our Song

“I could add them to the port watchlists,” Max said doubtfully. “I mean, a lot of cars get shipped out to Europe and then sold. But those are luxury vehicles, not the kind of cars that are being stolen around here.”

“No, you were right before,” said Tilly, warming to her theme. “They’re being stolen to be scrapped or for parts or whatever else. I doubt they’re going far afield. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that all the cars are staying pretty local. There’s no point wasting time and petrol money taking them anywhere, is there?”

“Fair enough,” said Max. He poured milk on his cereal. “So?”

“So, I think we need to start looking at local garages. Those seem the most likely places that the cars are going to end up. Not the chain places, but small, family-run, independent places. Have a look around, see what’s what, keep an eye on them. Ten to one, the cars are going to pass through somewhere like that.”

Max nodded, looking impressed. “Good thinking. Yeah, I like that.” He looked at Tilly, then grinned. “How about you take over the investigation, then?”

“As in, it’s my case?” Tilly asked, stomach flipping over.

“All yours,” said Max. “I’m here to consult when you need me, but this one can be yours. Give it a go and see what you find out.”

Tilly was smiling so hard her face might break in half. Only a constable and trusted with her own investigation? That was unthinkable. Except maybe in a small place like this. Which was why, she realized, her father had been so gung-ho about her taking the assignment. Unusual opportunities. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I won’t let you down.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” said Max. He sipped at some juice. “There are a few garages around town, though, so this won’t be easy.”

“Anyone in particular I should know about?”

Max shrugged. “There’s always the Farmers, over on the east side of main street.”

“Yeah?”

“They’ve danced on the wrong side of the law in the past, father and son out there, but nothing recent. Bit of a sad story, really. He, Paul, the father, was married to an Italian. Carmella, her name was. Good singer, by the way. She died young, ovarian cancer. They caught it when she was pregnant with their youngest and she refused treatment until the kid was born. Made it another handful of years then, well… Paul was left with two young kids to bring up and a business to run.”

“Which doesn’t excuse law breaking,” Tilly said tartly.

“It doesn’t,” agreed Max. “But it does put a human face on things. You can be as by the book as you like, but don’t forget that these are people that you’re dealing with.”

Tilly nodded. “I know. I got the message. I’ll look into these people. Farmer is the last name, right?”

Max nodded. “It’s only a tip, though. I haven’t seen anything to make me suspicious. If this is going on somewhere local, isn’t it more likely to be somewhere outside of town, more isolated, easier to hide things?”

“Good thinking,” Tilly said, nodding and mentally moving the Farmer garage down her priority list a couple of spots.

“Go on then,” Max said with a grin. “I know you’ll want to phone your dad with the news. Give him my regards and don’t be late to the station.”

Tilly jumped up from the table. “I won’t be,” she promised as she rushed upstairs to get her phone.

“Excellent work,” her father said when she told him. “I’m proud of you. Nothing less than what I expected, of course.”

“This is turning out better than I thought,” Tilly confessed.

Her father laughed. “Now you just need to run a clean investigation. I know you’ve got the knowledge, but you don’t have the experience yet. So don’t be afraid to ask for help. Make sure everything’s documented and don’t be tempted to cut corners or mess around in gray areas.”

“Right,” said Tilly, who knew all that but didn’t mind being reminded. “I’m on it.”

She was so pleased that when she put the phone down, she gave an uncharacteristic squeal of joy. Her very own investigation. She sat on the edge of her bed and tried to calm down. The same bed where she’d spent a sleepless night thinking about Sophie turning her down.

Maybe that had all been for the best, though. After all, there should be no gray areas, as her father said. Sophie could well be one of those. She had friends in town, she could forewarn people or hide information or any one of a number of complications. At the very least, she’d be a distraction, and Tilly didn’t need any of that.

So maybe it was better that Sophie had turned her down flat. Tilly tried very hard to believe that. But it didn’t take the sting out of what had happened. Enough so that she wondered if she really wanted to go back to choir. Maybe she should just concentrate on her new investigation.

Chapter Twelve

“Let me get this straight,” Jules said, leaning on the bar. “She asked you out, you said no, Billy interrupts everything, and you… You just stand there mouth opening and closing like a fish and don’t explain yourself?”

“Pretty much,” Sophie said miserably. “Well, except for the fish part. I don’t think I was particularly fishlike. More… more stunned, actually. Also, to be fair, I did attempt to explain, but every time I did, she just interrupted me.”

---