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“Let’s fire it up. You left the keys in the ignition.”
I get inside and crank the engine over. It catches, but sputters and hiccups, as if trying to die.
Dad comes around. “I think we have a bigger problem here.” He wipes his hands. “We’ll have to pull the spark plugs and do a compression test. But I’m fresh out of coffee and I’ll bet your mother’s cinnamon rolls are ready.”
I have a vague memory of those, and it’s enough for me to climb out of the car.
“We can tackle it after breakfast.” He turns to put his tools away. And for the first time I notice that he still has hair, blonde and thin, yes, but sticking out the back of his hat. Blue eyes, but they hold a peace that I don’t recognize.
“It’s a good thing you didn’t get one of those new fancy Lexus models. Toyota.” He shakes his head. “At least a Porsche has good bones.”
His automotive prejudices coming through. But I grin and nod.
His words from before, however, ping back to me. It’s terrible to wonder every night where your child is. As a father, you can’t ever give up. It’s in your bones. You can’t stop caring.
In my head, I’m getting out of the Camaro at HCMC, noticing a Lexus in the lot.
The one that belongs to Jeff and Karen Holmes.
And I’m remembering Jeff’s strange behavior at the morgue. Despair? Or something else?
Maybe a desire not to live in limbo anymore.
Enough to park his Lexus outside Lulu’s? Maybe force his daughter to come home?
“Dad. I gotta go.” I take him by the shoulders and give a quick squeeze. “I’m so sorry. Tell mom I’ll give her a call later.”
He stares at me, still holding the rag. “Thanks for coming by, son. We’ll get your car running, even if we have to take out the head, replace the valves, and rebuild it from the bones up. It’s just a matter of staying the course, reading the clues the car is giving you.”
What he said.
I stalk toward my car, pulling out my cell phone.
Burke picks up on the fifth ring, his voice groggy. That’s right, he had a gig last night.
“We need another go-round with Jeff Holmes. I think I know why he looked l
ike he wanted to murder someone.”
I just hope it wasn’t his own daughter.
16
I’ve not only figured out the case by the time Burke arrives at the Edina home of Jeff and Karen Holmes, but I’ve worked up a serious head of steam, too.
The Holmes’ place is nice. An older white colonial, with black shutters and a circle drive. The tall cedar trees flanking the yard suggest money.
In my time, we’d be looking at a 1.5 mil retro fixer upper. Now, it’s a cool million, and I’m wondering what went on inside to cause Gretta to run.
I have some ideas, and they’re dark, so I don’t want to entertain them. But a guy in my line of work can’t rule anything out.
So, I’m sitting in my car, my arms folded, just barely resisting the urge to stalk up the driveway and take Jeff Holmes apart.
Asia’s, Heat of the Moment isn’t helping. And yes, it’s the young, impetuous me inside roaring to life, but it’s the old me, too, the me who has lost a daughter.
The me who can’t imagine a father who would hurt his own child.
Burke has pulled up behind me. He gets out and walks over to me just as I get out, too. “What’s up?”
