“1972 blue Buick Skylark. Two suspects in bandanas. The car was last seen headed for Lyons, but proceed to dealership, over.”
“En route, over.” She slowed down, disappointed. Not that she wanted to have a car chase through the little town, but she hated the idea that they would get away. What good would it be to stop and take a report when she could actually recover the car and arrest the little assholes before they trashed it? This happened at least once a year. Some jerks, usually drunk or high, often teenagers, would steal a car from Glass’s lot right off the highway and go for a joyride, though it was usually at night, not the middle of the day. That made this one a little more unusual.
Carla must have picked up on that right away, too, by the way she shook her head. “Idiots. This doesn’t bode well for the festival.”
“No, it doesn’t.” They pulled into the car dealership where a salesman waited and waved them over.
“Maybe he wants us to dust the parking spot for fingerprints,” Carla said and Sylvie snorted.
“Who knows? They probably dropped their DNA-covered energy drink cans.”
“True.”
Sylvie parked just as the radio crackled back to life. “Attempted hit and run in Lyons by the alleged stolen vehicle, twelve-oh-five. Victims are Rachael Collins and Brianna Taylor.”
“Oh holy shit!” Now Sylvie was pissed. She waved at the salesman and was about to speed off, when another car answered the call. Frank and Tom’s.
“Cool it, Cookie, we’re already here.”
Sylvie growled as she got out of the car.
The salesman was helpful at least. He gave them a description of the two men and provided security camera footage. They checked the area for anything the assholes might have dropped but saw nothing.
“Is Jerold Glass here?” Sylvie asked.
The guy flinched like she’d just said Voldemort. “He’s up at the workshop all week, then the festival.”
Oh, of course. The guy fancied himself a professional musician on top of being Tom Cruise. “So he’s in the contest?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He flinched again when his cell phone rang. When he saw the name on the screen, she watched his skin go two shades paler. “Yes, sir? Yes, the police are here—yes.” He held the phone out to Sylvie. “He wants to talk to you.”
Sylvie took the phone. “Mr. Glass, this is Officer Sylvie Madden—”
“I don’t care if you’re fucking Barney Fife, why was my car stolen? Why now? Why today?”
Sylvie actually pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it, then at the salesman. Carla pulled a face; Jerold’s voice was coming out of the phone loud and clear. She slowly brought it back to her ear.
“—did your jobs and actually fought crime around here, things like this wouldn’t happen. I want to file a report against one of the other contestants right now, because I know she’s behind it.”
“Excuse me, sir, did you say one of thefemalecontestants is behind it? It was stolen by two men—”
“What, are you fucking deaf or just stupid? Brianna Taylor is trying to sabotage me!”
Oh, shit. “Okay, where are you right now, sir?”So that I can send Frank and Tom your way to cool your ass downshe added silently.
“I’m on Main Street in Lyons.”
“Really? There was an attempted hit and run—”
“No shit, Sherlock. I saw it.”
Okay, now Sylvie wasreallypissed. “There should be two officers on scene shortly.”
Glass made some sort of indignant sound. “Oh, they’re here, but there is no way in hell I’m talking tothem. I’m talking to you, right now!”
“Sir, they’re the ones you need to speak to.”
Glass huffed. “They’re talking to the criminal without arresting her.”
