The form looked like the carbon copy of a repair bil. The writing was almost ilegible, but a header identified the garage as P & T Auto Repair, and gave an address and phone number in Bryson City. I tried to make out the customer signature, but the ink was too smeary.

When I turned on my cel, the screen told me I had missed eleven cals. Scroling through, I recognized none of the numbers. I dialed the auto repair shop.

When the phone was answered I explained my situation and asked for towing.

How would I be paying?

Visa.

Where are you?

I gave the location.

Can you find transportation?

Yes.

Come on in and leave the car. They'd send a truck within the hour.

I told the voice at the other end that P & T had been recommended by a passerby, and that I would be riding to the garage with this man. Then I read off the bil number, hoping that P or T was writing it down.

With that cal completed, I lowered the window, smiled at Johnny Cash, and dialed again. Speaking loudly, I left Lieutenant-Detective Ryan a message, detailing my intended whereabouts. Then I looked at Boyd. He was looking at the man in the dark suit.

Closing the window, I grabbed my purse and the grocery bag.

'How could things possibly get worse?'

Boyd did the eyebrow thing but said nothing.

===OO=OOO=OO===

Dropping the bag behind the seat, I took the middle position and gave Boyd the window. When our Samaritan slammed the door, the dog stuck his head out and tracked his movement to the driver's side. Then a pickup truck whizzed by with a pair of weimaraners in the bed, and Boyd's interest shifted. When he tried to rise, I pushed down on his haunches.

'That's a fine dog, ma'am.'

'Yes.'

'No one's going to bother you with that big fela around.'

'He can be vicious when he's being protective.'

We drove in silence. The phone rang. I checked the number, ignored the cal. After a while, my rescuer spoke.

'I saw you on TV, didn't I?'

'Did you?'

'I've got trouble with stilness, turn the set on when I'm home alone. I don't pay it much mind, just look up now and again. It's kind of like having company.'

He grinned, acknowledging his own foolishness.

'But I do have a knack for faces. It's mighty useful in my line of work.'

He pointed in my direction. I noticed that the hand was gray and unnaturaly smooth, as though the flesh had balooned, then contracted with only a vague memory of its original form.

'I'm sure I saw you today.' The hand returned to the steering wheel. The hawk eyes shifted from the road to me and back again. 'You're with the air crash investigation.'

I smiled. Either he hadn't listened to the story, or he was being polite.