“I need to speak with Galen,” I said.

“I’m afraid he’s in a meeting,” the woman said.

I laughed. “That’s what he tells you to say no matter what, right? Look, it’s a friend of his. Tell him it’s Cal Weaver. It’s important.”

“Hold, please.”

There were several seconds of silence. Then, “Hello?”

“Galen Broadhurst?” I said.

“Yeah. This is Weaver?”

“That’s right.”

“The detective I met yesterday?”

“You got it.”

“What’s up? My secretary said this was important.”

“I might have made it sound a little more urgent than it actually is. But given why I’m calling, I thought you might want to take the call.”

“What?” He sounded wary.

I laughed. “It’s nothing bad. It’s about your car.”

“What about my car?”

“You said you were thinking of selling it.”

“Well, maybe.”

“You said it’d probably go for around fifty thousand. I just wondered how firm you were on that.”

“You’re seriously interested?”

“All my life I’ve wanted something like that, but I’ve always found a way to talk myself out of it. But you said it’s just had an overhaul, so I’m guessing it’s in good shape, although I’m sure you’d understand if I wanted to have a mechanic take a look at it.”

“Yeah, of course. That’s just smart.”

“Can you tell me a little more about the car again?”

“Well, it’s a 1978. It’s got just over forty thousand original miles on it. I’ve got all the receipts for the work that’s been done on it over the years. It’s a Targa, so it’s got the removable roof panels. All Porsche parts on any of the work that’s been done. Tires have almost no wear on them.”

“That sounds promising.”

“It’s immaculate. I guess I’m surprised you’d be in the market for it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” and now it was Broadhurst’s turn to laugh, “that shitbox you were driving didn’t exactly suggest to me that you’re a car nut.”

“Pretty hard to do surveillance work in a Porsche,” I said. “I know a sports car isn’t meant to be luxurious, but does it have air?”

“No A/C,” he said. “When it’s hot out, you take the roof off, turn it more or less into a convertible.”

“And it’s automatic transmission?” I asked.

A sharp intake of breath. “Are you kidding me? It’s a stick. You don’t want a car like that with an automatic.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Just asking. Wouldn’t want it any other way. Look, let me think about it, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay. You want to take it for a spin, have some guy check it out, let me know.”

“Got it. Take care.”

“So long.”