Just as Sal was Italian, and the restaurant was, too. And Nick, for that matter. There was clearly an Italian element here. Too much of one to be a coincidence.
“Fair point,” Greg conceded. “All right, then. Theory four: Nick is running some kind of side business out of the shop. Stolen car parts, maybe, or VIN swapping. Megan is helping him cover it up. But Sal is starting to suspect something, and is talking to the mystery-man about it. He’s a lawyer, or some sort of government agent, and that’s why Nick and Megan are nervous.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said approvingly. “Although if that’s the case, Nick is most likely doing it on his own. Megan hasn’t been working at the Body Shop for more than a month or so. I don’t think that’s long enough for Sal to catch wind of what’s going on and involve the government.”
Greg nodded thoughtfully. “How about this? What if Megan is the government?”
Megan? “What do you mean?”
“Well, she doesn’t have to be the government. But listen to this, Gina: Nick is doing something to jeopardize Sal’s business, like skimming off the top or ‘forgetting’ to enter repairs into the system so he can pocket the money. Sal realizes that something’s wrong, and brings in Megan to go over the books. Nick realizes that Sal and Megan are on to him, and that’s why he’s nervous.”
“Why doesn’t he just quit? If he’s afraid of being fired?” Or worse, arrested? “And who’s the mystery man in this scenario?”
“Government agent,” Greg suggested, “if Nick’s crimes reach that level. There are some that do.”
Of course some did. However— “Have you ever met a government agent who drives a vintage Porsche worth at least seventy-five thousand dollars?”
I hadn’t had a lot of experience with government agents, admittedly, but Mendoza, who was the closest thing to it that I knew of, drove a line of government-registered economy cars, none of them over twenty-five thousand dollars, and none of them new.
“Can’t say I have,” Greg said cheerfully, “but that doesn’t make it impossible.”
No, of course it didn’t. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.”
“Happy to help.” He grinned. “In all seriousness, though, Gina, it definitely sounds like something weird is going on. Normal body shops don’t get visits from guys in thousand-dollar suits carrying briefcases full of money.”
No, they didn’t. Even if?—
“I don’t know that the briefcase was full of money,” I cautioned. Just because Sal and Megan went to the bank with a fat deposit bag just after the guy’s visit, didn’t mean that the money had been in the briefcase. It probably hadn’t. The deposit likely was just a week’s worth of income for the Body Shop, in the bank in time to cover that week’s paychecks, and paperwork made more sense for the contents of the briefcase than money. If the briefcase had been full when Porsche-guy left, Greg’s idea about protection money might work, but it hadn’t been. Porsche-guy had walked in with a full briefcase and out with an empty one.
I made a face. “It’s probably nothing. Or you’re right and it’s personal. Something to do with Nick and Megan and the kid. The mystery-man is a lawyer, and he was delivering a custody agreement or a subpoena for a paternity test for the kid or something like that.”
Based on coloring, any one of the men could have been the kid’s father. Nick, Sal, or the mystery-man.
And to go with the most likely scenario: if Nick had just discovered, since Megan came to work at the Body Shop, that he had a child he hadn’t known about, it was probably something he would want to keep from Jacquie, at least until he’d figured out what to do about it.
“So what happens now?” Greg wanted to know.
“To the case?”
He nodded.
“More of the same, I guess. Jacquie didn’t pay me to worry about a guy with a briefcase. All she wants to know is if Nick’s cheating on her. So I’ll do my job and find out.”
“Let me know if you want company. It’s been a while since I did any surveillance.”
“That’s very generous of you,” I said, even as I wondered whether surveillance usually was a part of thriller-writing. Maybe he did it for fun, just to see what it felt like, so he could describe it.
“I’m a generous man.” His smile was warm, and so was his hand when he reached out and covered mine. “And I like spending time with you, Gina. Even if it’s just sitting next to you while we’re watching a body shop.”
He gave my hand a meaningful squeeze. I smiled back, and tried to look like I meant it.
When the waiter reappeared to clear our plates, I was able to retract my hand. I declined dessert—the Branzino had been more than enough—but Greg ordered tiramisu for us to share, along with two espressos.
“I’m going to freshen up,” I said, standing, “if you don’t mind.”
Greg started to stand as well, but I waved him back down. “Sit, finish your wine. I’ll only be a minute.”
I headed toward the back of the restaurant, ignoring the way he tried to get my attention to tell me I was going the wrong way.
