“I got time.”
“You ever see a black Porsche 911 Carrera around here?”
“Is that like…a convertible?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, now, that definitely is a weird question.”
I looked at her. “Why?”
“Because I literally saw a car just like that in the parking lot today. It was at the beginning of my shift. I went out for a smoke. There it was. We don’t get too many cars like that around here.”
“When was that?”
“Half an hour ago.”
“Really?”
“The driver pulls in. I noticed the car, obviously. It’s a wicked-hot car. I wanted to see who was driving it. I stayed out there for a while. Smoked a second cigarette. But I never got to see the driver because the top was up and they never opened the door.”
“Is that unusual?” I said. “People just hanging out in your parking lot?”
“Yes and no,” she said. “I figured maybe they were texting. A lot of people pull into our lot to text. But it seemed like a long time to be sitting in a convenience store parking lot. I decided they were probably meeting somebody, and I started feeling like a stalker. So I went back inside. Refilled the soda machine. Then I went outside again to smoke another cig and, guess what, the Porsche still hadn’t moved.”
“When did they leave?”
“Recently.”
“Meaning?”
“About five minutes before you showed up,” she said.
I frowned. “That’s weird,” I said.
“Hey, are you a cop or something?” the clerk said. “Was that, like, a criminal in the Porsche?”
“No to the first question. Maybe to the second.”
“Why are you asking questions if you’re not a cop?”
“I’m a private investigator,” I said.
“That sounds exciting.”
“Do you really think so?”
“You’d be surprised at what passes for exciting around here.”
I smiled. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Anytime,” she said. “I’m Violet, by the way.”
“Sunny.”
I gave her my card. She read it.
“Can you do me a favor?” I said. “Call me if you see the Porsche again?”
