Chet waited until he could see the boy was leaving, and then he turned and walked back to his office. He’d have to notify the sheriff’s department and the highway patrol. If she’d been involved in a wreck, or if she’d stolen the car outright, she could be anyplace by now. He had liability insurance, blanket coverage for anything on the lot, but his premiums would double the minute he made a claim. Money was already tight. He sat down in his swivel chair and reached for the phone.

“Daddy?” Kathy was in the doorway.

“What!”

“Mrs. Sullivan just pulled in.”

Through the glass he spotted the car and relief washed over him. The vehicle didn’t appear to be damaged, at least the parts he could see. He went out to the floor, knowing that in no way possible could she afford to buy the coupe. Violet turned as he approached, and he was startled by her vibrancy-the flaming hair, the creamy skin, her eyes a vivid green. He’d never seen her at close range because Livia made a point of crossing the street, tugging him by the arm, if she spotted Violet anywhere in town. She thought Violet was a tramp, wearing those sheer nylon blouses you could see right through. The sundress Violet wore today emphasized the suppleness of her arms, and the flowing skirt showed her legs to advantage. Livia was thick-waisted and narrow-minded, critical of others whose circumstances or beliefs or behaviors were an affront to her own. Chet was irritated by her scathing pronouncements, but he’d kept his mouth shut. From afar, he’d seen Violet’s flirtations with married men, and he’d wondered how it would feel to have her attentions lavished on him.

“Hello, Chet. Sorry I was gone so long.”

He circled the car until he was satisfied no harm had come to it. On impulse, he leaned in and checked the odometer: 257 miles. For a moment he was speechless. She’d turned this beautiful new Bel Air into a piece-of-shit used car. “Come into the office,” he snapped.

Violet caught up with him and tucked a hand through his arm, forcing him to slow his pace. “Are you mad at me, Chet? May I call you ‘Chet’?”

“You can call me ‘Mr. Cramer’ like everyone else. You put two hundred fifty-seven miles on that car? Where the fuck did you go?” He regretted the swear word the minute it was out of his mouth, but Violet didn’t seem to care. As he opened his office door, she passed in front of him and he could smell her cologne.

His heart gave another double thump, this time warming his blood. He moved away from her. “Take a seat.”

“Yes, sir.”