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Peter stood a bit taller under the compliment. Vince was proud of him. Vince Galbini, the man who’d taught him how to measure and cut two pieces of wood so they joined without a gap. Peter had learned how to plane and sand and finish from him. Most of all, he’d learned to respect each piece of wood, to feel the flow of the grain and use that to make the perfect cut.
Vince had sure changed in four years. He’d been a hard-luck carpenter from the neighborhood who liked to help out at the orphanage. His trousers were always patched. His stained shirts looked more gray than white. His cap had hidden a mop of wiry hair that rarely saw soap and water, but he’d always had time for the kids, especially Peter.
A couple months before the orphan society plunked Peter on that train, Vince had stopped by to tell them he was leaving.
“I got a real good job,” he’d said with a grin. “They’ll be throwin’ buckets of money at me.”
Vince loved to exaggerate. No one believed he’d really get that kind of money. Except Peter. When Vince promised to come back for Peter after making his stake, Peter clung to that promise. He waited at mail call. He prayed for a telephone call. He sat in the front window and watched the street. No letter, no call, no Vince. Then Mr. Isaacs put Peter on the train, and he figured he’d never see his friend again.
Yet here Vince was, and it sure looked like the company had thrown those buckets of money at him after all. A new Pierce-Arrow cost more than Peter could earn in a decade. Its quiet, powerful engine was the envy of every man who longed to show others he’d made it big. Vince had done just what he’d promised.
“Hop in, kid,” Vince said. “Passenger seat’s empty.”
As he rounded the car, Peter’s pulse accelerated. Maybe Vince hadn’t just shown up to keep a promise. Maybe he was gonna spread a little of his good fortune around. That sure would get Minnie’s attention.
By the time they reached the garage, Peter and Vince were chatting as if it was old times.
Vince whistled when he pulled up in front of the garage. “Nice place. You’re doin’ good for yourself, kid. How many cars can you work on at once?”
“Two inside. Three if they’re small. Let me show you around.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” Vince pushed open his door.
Peter hopped out, taking care to close his door without slamming it, and then hustled to pull open the big doors to the work bay.
His friend moseyed forward. “Looks like you do a good business.”
“Good ’nuff.” Peter dug his hands into his pockets and kicked an ice ball toward the gasoline pump. It banged against the metal case and stopped. Compared to Vince, he’d come plumb against a brick wall. No gal. No fancy car. No car at all. He’d been reduced to fetching female tonic for his sister-in-law.
Vince took a gold cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket. He flipped it open, removed a cigarette and offered it to Peter.
“No thanks. Don’t smoke. Yet.” Peter was too embarrassed to say he found the habit disgusting. His uncle Max smoked, and he wouldn’t do anything that rotten man did.
“Give it a try.”
Peter shook his head and toed the ground. “Maybe some other time.”
Vince snapped the case shut, slipped a lighter from another pocket and lit the cigarette. After a couple draws, he pointed to the garage. “Let’s take a look.”
Once they got inside and Peter started showing off the machine shop and all his tools, the old Vince came back. Excitement lit his eyes, and he asked dozens of questions. He got especially excited when he saw Peter’s wood shop and heard how Peter made the shelving and counter at the bookstore.
“Sounds like you can build anything.”
Maybe it was the lighting, but Peter thought he saw a gleam in Vince’s eye. “Most anything. Can’t make a spark plug, of course.”
Vince laughed and ran his hand over the fender of Mr. Kensington’s Packard. “Have you ever done custom work on the body of the car?”
Peter thought back to the luggage rack Mariah had insisted they make for her Overland after returning from Montana. “Some.”
“Think you could redo an interior?”
Peter wasn’t sure what his friend was getting at. “Not the upholstery.”
“But anything in metal or wood?”
“Sure.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt.
Vince’s grin broadened, and he clapped Peter on the back. “Then I’ve come to the right man. I told the boss that I knew someone that could do the job.”
“What job?”
“It’s more like an opportunity, old sport, a chance to get yourself some of this.” Vince flicked his gold cuff links. “My boss is lookin’ to get his car customized to his particular needs.”
“What kind of needs?”
“He needs room for...er, luggage.”
“I made a luggage rack for an Overland.” Though many touring car manufacturers offered luggage racks with a trunk, Peter figured the car in question must not have that option.
Vince shook his head. “My boss don’t want a trunk outside, where his stuff might get wet. Do ya know what I mean? He wants storage inside the car.”
“There’s storage under the rear seat if it’s a sedan.”
“But it’s not quite the right size. And he wants a place for his valuables, say underneath the main luggage compartment. Is that something you can do?”
“You mean a hidden compartment?”
“That’s it,” Vince said with a grin. “Glad we understand each other.”
Peter supposed a man rich enough to run a company that paid Vince high wages would want to hide his valuables. “Depends on the car. What make we talking about?”
Vince motioned to the Pierce-Arrow. “How about that one?”
Peter ambled over and peered inside. The rear seat was spacious and had decent depth. He popped his head out and wiped his fingerprints off the polished door. “I can do it, but it wouldn’t fit a full steamer trunk.”
Vince waved that off. “The boss wouldn’t bring anything that big. I’m thinking about like this.” He demonstrated something almost twice the size of a vegetable crate.
“That’d fit, but I might have to raise the seat a bit depending on the size of the hidden compartment. How big do you need it?”
Vince explained the dimensions. They even pulled out the seat cushion, and Peter measured the space. He penciled the figures on a piece of paper and sketched a rough design.
“Look all right?” Peter asked.
“Perfect! Just what the boss wants.”
For some reason, Peter got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe because Vince never said who he was working for. “Your boss?”
“An up-and-comer out of Brooklyn. He moved to Chicago a few years ago and set up shop. Furniture. Antiques. That sort of thing. Since coming to these parts, business took off, and he’s setting up other locations.” Vince wandered around while he talked, seeming too fidgety to stand still.
That made sense, but the strange feeling wouldn’t go away. “Is this a paying job?”
“Of course.” Vince laughed. “Would I ever cut you short?”
Peter thought back to those long days waiting for Vince to come back to the orphanage. “I guess not.”
“Tell ya what, kid. Do a good job, and the boss’ll make it worth your while.” Vince pulled out a money clip fat with bills. “Maybe he’ll even have more work for you.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. The outside bill was a hundred. There had to be fifty of them in the wad.
Vince grinned. “That’s right, kid. I seen the way you worked with your hands back in New York. Figured you still had the talent, but I had no idea you got a shop like this.” He whistled. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re the man for the job.” He pulled one bill off the clip and slipped the rest back into his pocket. “Is this enough to start?” He waved the bill before Peter and then snatched it back. “One question. What about the upholstery? You got anyone who can handle that if you gotta change the seat?”
Minnie’s face flashed into Peter’s head. She did sewing at the dress shop, and her family could sure use the extra money with her pa sick and all. Maybe if he got Minnie some work, she’d be so grateful she’d see him as more than a friend.
“I know someone who could do it.”
“Good.” Vince grinned and handed him the hundred-dollar bill. “We got a deal, then, Stringbean?” He extended his hand.
Peter hesitated. Something still didn’t feel quite right, but it was a lot of money. It would help at the orphanage, and Minnie’s family could use a little extra. Maybe she’d even stop chasing after no-account swells and notice him. Besides, Vince was a good guy. Peter had known him for years.
He grasped Vince’s hand and shook. “Deal.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_952335c1-bd14-54d3-b73f-3012cdcff560)
Minnie didn’t spot the sleek new car again until they reached the dress shop. From there she could see it parked half a block ahead in front of Simmons Motor Garage. The driver leaned against it, his back to her, as he talked to Peter. The man wore a slick wool suit in the latest fashion. The cold didn’t seem to bother him. No overcoat. No gloves. No scarf. Just a black fedora. His cuff links flashed in the sun. Could they be gold?
Her pulse quickened. Had her unspoken prayer been answered that quickly? A wealthy stranger in Pearlman. In February. That simply didn’t happen. Now, if he was a bachelor who happened to be looking for a wife...
“I wonder who he is,” she mused.
Jen paused at the dress-shop door. “Who are you talking about?”
“The man driving that fancy car. He’s talking to Peter. Either they know each other or the man has car trouble. Must be the car. How would someone like that know Peter?”
“I don’t know.” Jen opened the door. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute.” Minnie couldn’t let this opportunity pass. “Will you start closing up? I promise to be back just as soon as I find out who he is. Please?”
Jen relented. “All right, but hurry.”
“I will,” Minnie called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the garage.
When she reached the end of the block, she lingered on the corner, pretending to wait for an opportunity to cross Main Street. A quick glance revealed nothing had changed. The man still stood with his back to her. He gestured with his arms as he talked. A few heavily accented words drifted her way. To her disappointment, he was shorter and stockier than Peter. But that suit! Even Hutton’s Department Store didn’t carry one that fine.
A cloud of steam rose above his head, and he lifted a cupped hand to his lips. Oh, dear. That wasn’t steam. He was smoking a cigarette. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She hated their stench, but they were growing more and more popular thanks to the movies.
Peter looked her way, and she darted behind a nearby maple. Peeking around the trunk, she noted that the two men continued their conversation. Neatly trimmed dark hair peeked from under the brim of the driver’s hat. From the way the hair gleamed, he must use a treatment. One of those nice-smelling ones, she imagined. She hugged her gloved hands to her chest, torn between wishing he would turn around so she could see his face and terrified that he’d turn around and see her spying on him.
She chewed on the fingertip of her glove.
The man acted as if he knew Peter. The two laughed, and then the man clapped Peter on the back. They shook hands, and the man climbed into his car. He was leaving? Then he couldn’t have car trouble, at least not bad enough to leave the vehicle at the garage.
As the man backed the car away from the building, the sun reflected off a thick gold band on his finger. Minnie squinted. A ring! Oh, no. Worse, it was his left hand. The car turned, and she saw his hand clearly. What a relief. The ring was on the pinkie, not the ring finger.
Minnie slid around the tree as the man drove down the side street. She didn’t get a good look at his face, so she couldn’t tell if he was handsome or not, but he didn’t seem terribly old. The car turned left on State Road and headed out of town. He was leaving, and she would never know who he was or why he’d come to Pearlman.
She pressed a cheek to the prickly bark. Why did every opportunity elude her? For ages she’d pined after Reggie Landers, although he not only wasn’t interested in her, but he’d also gone and gotten engaged to that nasty Sally Neidecker, who bossed Minnie around as if she was the mistress of the house. Mrs. Neidecker was much kinder and even gave Minnie a little extra money at Christmastime. Still, Minnie longed for the day when she wouldn’t have to clean houses.
This man could have been her chance.
She bit her lip. Maybe he still could be. If he knew Peter, he might come back. Moreover, Peter could tell her if he was married or not. A smile settled in place. Peter liked her. With a little encouragement, she could get him to tell her anything.
She flounced across the street, passed by the fueling pump and stepped into the office of the motor garage. The nasty smell nearly sent her right back out. Grease. Exhaust. She fought the urge to press a handkerchief over her nose.
No one was in the office area, if it could be called that. The tiny room had lots of shelves and hooks filled with automobile parts, like belts and hoses and stuff that Jen would love but Minnie didn’t recognize. A single desk with a small cash register and a messy pile of papers dominated the room. To the left, an open doorway led to the work area. A couple of cars filled the dirty space, but Minnie couldn’t see Peter. He must be underneath or inside a car.
Should she wait or call out for him? As she nibbled on the glove and debated what to do, she happened to notice that the papers on the desk were work orders and bills. If the man needed work on his car, then one of these might have his name on it. She turned the top piece of paper around. No, that wasn’t it. Mr. Kensington’s name was at the top.
“Can I help you?” Peter said.
“Oh!” Minnie jumped away from the desk, paper still in hand. “I was just...” She didn’t have a good explanation, but maybe a smile would distract him from the fact she’d been snooping. She slipped the paper behind her skirt and gave him her biggest smile. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
“About what?” Peter stood in the open doorway between the office and the work area, rubbing his hands on a filthy old rag.
“That rag must be putting more dirt on your hands than taking it off.”
“You came all the way here to tell me that?”
“No.” She gave him another smile, swished in front of the desk and covertly replaced the invoice on the desktop. “I wondered what kind of car that was.”
“What car?”
“The one your friend just drove away in.”
“A Pierce-Arrow.”
“Ah.” Minnie noted that he didn’t contradict her assumption that the driver was a friend of his. “It looks expensive.”
“It is.”
“Your friend owns it?”
Peter looked suspicious. “Why do you want to know?”
“No particular reason. Just making conversation.” Out of the corner of her eye, Minnie saw the invoice slip off the stack. Before it slid to the floor, she nudged it toward the center of the desk. Though Peter hadn’t answered her question, he hadn’t contradicted her assumption, either. That was good enough for her. Now all she needed to know was his marital status. “Is your friend staying long?”
“Just the night. Why?”
“I just figured you would want to talk with him. You know, catch up on family and all.”
