“That would be great,” Rose says. Sunshine. Used cars. Nice man. Questions answered. Help freely offered. This is what sanity looks like. Commuting at night, by bicycle express, to teepees, and having drinks with hit men—that is the aberration. Of course, Rose knows there are people who live and die in the shadow of lies, betrayals, violence, and crime.

It has to be exhausting.

People should love one another right now.

Buy the world a Coke and keep it company.

The Age of Aquarius was way too short as far as Rose is concerned.

Carter’s office, though the traditional glass-walled fishbowl, is as refreshing as he. A cheap Mexican rug lights up the floor. A Boston fern on the sill softens the square of the window overlooking the lot. Two acrylic paintings, one of a truck in the desert, broken down, hood open, and one of a fog-shrouded winter beach, a classic VW Bug up to its doors in the tide, do the same favor for the walls.

“History of my life,” Carter says.

“You did these?” Rose is impressed.

“I did. Good looks and talent. You don’t find guys like me hanging on trees.” Turning to a filing cabinet, he opens the top drawer. “Let’s see what we got here on your Silverado.”

Rose studies the truck painting, admiring the way Carter has managed the rust and dust on the metallic curves of the hood. “Do you do your own framing?” Both pictures have frames made from car parts. The frame of the truck painting looks as if it had once been a grille.

“That I do,” Carter says. “Here we go.” He lifts out several sheets of paper stapled together at the corner.

“No computer?” Rose asks, taking the leather sling chair opposite the desk.

“Can’t do business without it.” Sitting down, he brushes a pile of shiny brochures off a paper-thin laptop. “However, car dealers still cling to hard copy, signatures, pink slips. Probably will for at least a couple of years. Okay, here we go.” He peruses the pages one at a time. “Local guy, Gastonia—not too far from here, next county over. We’ve moved a couple of cars for him. Name is Jack Gaines. Good mechanic on older models—less computer control. Fixes them up, then sells them on the internet. Does great bodywork.

“Are you in the market for a vintage?” He flashes a grin at Rose. “That’s what we call vehicles not quite old enough to be marketed as antiques. I’ve got a couple of other trucks I could show you.”

“Not today.”

“What’s special about this truck?”

“I think it might have been used in the commission of a crime,” she says.

“You don’t smell like a cop.”

“More a Miss Marple.”