His right arm emerged from the engine compartment, and he wiggled his fingers. “Pass me the long-handled flat-head, and we can talk about lawsuits later.”
Sin smiled as she reached back to Charlie’s tool chest. Without looking, she felt down to the second drawer, opened it and grabbed the second screwdriver from the left. Handing it to Charlie, she knew it was the right one. That little exercise reminded Sin why she was worried about her friend. He was a man of patterns and schedules, yet he seemed to veer off his vacation schedule by a long shot, or, he had lied to her. She wasn’t sure which one bothered her more.
He reached back, handed her the screwdriver, and asked for a rag. The transfer was performed as it had been ever since Sin was fourteen. Her pulse quickened as she watched her closest friend.
When he straightened up, she knew. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she knew. She smiled, hoping her true emotions didn’t show, and hugged Charlie tight. “It’s been too long, old man.”
“That’s usually my line,” Charlie said, hugging her back. “What do you say we have a seat and you can fill me in on what really happened in Iowa.”
“What really happened? What does that mean?” Sin said, ending the embrace.
“Well, I’ve heard from Raul. From his rendition, I don’t think he’s sure if you’re an angel or a demon.” Charlie walked, a little slower than usual, behind his desk where he poured them both a cup of coffee. Taking a seat, he continued, “And then I heard from Frank.”
He stopped to pass a mug to Sin.
“And?” she said. “What was his skew on the case?”
Charlie lifted his mug to his lips and sipped the hot brew.
Sin couldn’t help but notice how thin and patchy his beard was.
“Frank is Frank,” Charlie said. “He talked to Raul, he talked to Fletcher and Garcia, and he talked to the local office in the Quad Cities. He’s holding out on his opinion until you call him.” Charlie leaned across his desk putting his weight on his elbows. “Call him. He deserves to hear it from you.”
“I needed to talk to a few people first. I want to have all the facts before I talk to Frank.”
Charlie sat back and crossed his left leg over his right. He drummed his fingers on the steel chair and stared at Sin, as if studying her. The drumming stopped and he leaned forward. “You don’t think this case is over, do you?”
Sin curled a leg up under her butt and lit another cigarette. Charlie grabbed the pack, lighting one for himself.
“What are you doing? You haven’t smoked in thirty years. Since way before I even met you.”
Charlie inhaled deep and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “It wasn’t way before we met.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
“In my condition it doesn’t really matter now, does it,” he replied.
Sin brought her own cigarette to her lips and inhaled. Anything to stall. She would have eaten it if she thought it would have put off this conversation.
She decided to ignore the elephant in the room for the time being. “You want to know how it went in Iowa?”
“Yeah,” Charlie smiled. “I do.”
Sin gave him a blow-by-blow of everything that occurred from the time they landed to the time they left the Quad Cities Airport. He stubbed out his cigarette and nodded from time to time, but he never spoke. In fact, the only time Sin saw any type of emotional response was when she mentioned Trudy.
“What,” Sin exclaimed, “did you have a thing for Trudy? My god, no wonder it took you two years to solve the Ash case.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Sinclair. We were just friends.”
Sin rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Back to the case,” Charlie said. “From what everyone told me, and especially from what you’ve told me, you played it right.”
“Then why don’t I feel the satisfaction I get when a job is over?”
“You said it yourself,” Charlie said, standing up behind the desk. “Because it’s not over. You still don’t know where George is or if he’s alive, and you don’t know if Ashley was a part of all of this, although I doubt it.”
Charlie’s words stunned Sin. “Why would you say that? It seems the odds are stacked against her.”
“I’m not saying she’s innocent. I’m just saying that I don’t think she was part of the Painted Beauty killings. I think she was as blindsided as everyone else to find out Miranda was still alive.”
Sin sat forward and pushed her hair from her face. She closed her eyes and breathed out through puffed cheeks. “I need a fucking break when this case is over,” she said, rubbing her tired eyes.
“I agree,” Charlie said, “and I know exactly what you are going to do on that break.”
“Oh? And what would that be Obi-Wan?”
“Well, if you had ever come over here like I asked you to in your birthday card, you might have figured it out by now.”
“I’m not spending my time off working on a 1942 Bobcat.”
“You’re such a wiseass.” Charlie led Sin to a garage that was attached to the hangar. A garage Charlie had once converted to a spare room. A room Sin would crash in when she didn’t want to go home to her father, or just when she needed time alone. On the door was a small Happy Birthday, Sinclair sign.
Sin looked up at Charlie and was about to say something sarcastic when, instead, she excitedly grabbed the door knob and yanked it open.
The room was lit in a soft white light that seemed to radiate an even more heavenly glow than when she last set eyes on it.
Sin brought her hands to her mouth in shock. “No fucking way,” she breathed.
Charlie was grinning from ear-to-ear. “I had her fully restored. She’s all yours. Happy Birthday, Sinclair.”
Sin ogled the 1968 metallic-turquoise Plymouth Barracuda convertible with white leather seats and top. “It’s just like the car you
