Page 94 of Lost Lake
A guy with slicked back blond hair wearing greasy gray overalls and a stained T-shirt slid out.
She stepped in front of him and blocked his path. “Do you work for Safe Harbor?”
He cast her a quizzical look. “Nope, just a mechanic returning the van.”
“What was wrong with it?”
He crossed his arms. “Not sure that’s any of your business.”
She displayed her credentials.
“Why didn’t you say something?” He shook his head. “We had it in for an oil change and routine maintenance.”
“No body damage?” Gabe asked.
“Nope. They keep their vehicles pristine.”
If El was disappointed, her expression didn’t show it. “If they did incur any body damage, would they bring the van to you?”
He relaxed his arms. “We don’t do bodywork. Refer everybody out to Al’s Bodyshop.”
She jotted down the name in her notebook.
“Look.” The mechanic grabbed a piece of paper from the seat. “I gotta go. I got jammed up in traffic and my ride will be here in a minute.” He slammed the van door and started across the lot.
“One more question,” Gabe called after him. “Do you know how many vans they own?”
“Not sure, but we service three of them.”
“And they usually park them here in the lot?” Gabe asked.
He nodded. “Now, seriously, I gotta go, or I’m gonna get canned.” He took off jogging toward the home.
El looked at Gabe. “So where are the other two? We can’t go in and question Tinsley, or we’ll give him a heads-up that we’re looking for a damaged van, and it might disappear.”
“Guess we call Al’s Bodyshop,” Gabe said. “But odds are, the killer wouldn’t take it somewhere near here.”
“When we get back to the car, I’ll get the registration information for your team, and they can call around with this new information.”
He nodded, and they started across the lot to the New Tide office. He pulled the glass door open and held it for her. The foyer was even more posh than the group home. A professionally dressed woman with her hair twisted up in the back gave them a practiced smile from behind the wooden reception desk.
El held up her credentials. “We’re here to see Patrick Sloan.”
Her smile evaporated. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
“No,” El said.
Gabe assumed she hoped the one word would discourage additional conversation.
“Let me see if he’s available.” She punched a few buttons on her console and talked into the handset. “I will,” she said, then hung up and turned her attention to El. “Have a seat. He’ll be right down.”
El tilted her head. “I’m a little confused and maybe you can help me. Is this foundation related to the group home across the parking lot?”
“Yes.” The young woman’s broad smile returned. “Most of the money we raise goes to Safe Harbor, so we’re very connected.”
Gabe rested his elbow on the counter. “But not legally.”
She looked up at him, her smile broadening. “No. However, our chairman of the board is very involved with their director. So is Patrick.”
