A Cat to Kill For

by Greg Miller

  Gavin shook his head. “Emily. I don’t want you to buy it.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “I’m just trying to help you with your selling skills. You’re supposed to try to keep me from walking and close the sale.”

  “I don’t want help with my sales skills. I just wanted you to like it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Gavin shrugged. “Because I thought you would. And because I do.”

  “Well I wanted you not to like it,” she said.

  Gavin wrinkled his forehead. “Why’s that?”

  “Because it isn’t you. And I want you to feel the same way that I do dressed like this.”

  “Oh.” Gavin nodded, tongue in his cheek. They drove in silence for a few miles. Emily fidgeted with the zipper on her purse as Gavin smiled, taking the on-ramp, and accelerating around the long, sweeping curve that merged onto the highway.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Since you have this car now and are enjoying it so much, I was wondering if maybe you’d let me borrow the Morgan?”

  Gavin’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “I said, since you have this car now and are enjoying it so much, I was –”

  “Yes, yes. I heard what you said. And the answer’s no.”

  She frowned. “I’d be very careful with it, and –”

  “No!”

  Emily cringed and went back to fidgeting with the zipper on her purse.

  He glanced over at her. “Can you even drive a stick?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You know that sounds extremely sexist and condescending, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing back at her.

  She turned away, looking out the side window. “It’s got an extra pedal. You push it down when you want to change gears. I mean, how hard could it possibly be?”

  Gavin’s eyes widened. “There’s a little more to it than that! You’ve got to get the feel of it, and practice.”

  She turned back to him. “Will you teach me?”

  Gavin exhaled a long breath. “Yes. Of course.”

  A wide smile grew on Emily’s face.

  “But not on the Morgan!”

  She frowned. “Please?”

  Gavin’s eyes opened wide. “Look. No one drives my Morgan. Not Gus, not Daryl, and not you.”

  Emily turned back to the window. “No one drives my Morgan,” she echoed in a deep voice, imitating him. “Not Gus, not Daryl, and not you.”

  Gavin gritted his teeth as they passed a sign for Syracuse and I-81 North. Emily covered her mouth with her hand, snickering.

  CHAPTER 8

  They drove through the park entrance in Sackets Harbor, beneath a banner flanked by Union Jacks declaring it ‘British Car Day.’ As Gavin and Emily rounded a bend, the expansive bay, opening into Lake Ontario, came into view. Sailboats could be seen dotting the water which was sparkling in the late morning sun. Descending the hill, they saw countless cars spread out over the parking lot and lawn. Grouped according to make, there were MGs and Triumphs, Austin Healeys and Lotuses, and, in the far distance, the Jaguars.

  Gavin parked on the outskirts. They unbuckled their seatbelts and got out. The muffled sound of The Beatles’ ‘Penny Lane’ was playing over the PA system, with the smell of fish and chips on the breeze.

  Emily reached back into the car, taking her hat from the ledge behind the passenger seat. She turned, looking from the long picket fence and row of historic colonial buildings, down to the low stone wall and the water below. “What a beautiful place.”

  “It certainly is,” Gavin said, coming around from the other side.

  “I was reading up last night. Did you know this was the site of two major battles in the war of 1812?”

  Gavin shook his head.

  “The first was on July 19th. It was the opening battle in the war, and the British had apparently underestimated the American defenses when they sailed in because –”

  “That’s very interesting,” Gavin said. “But let’s not forget why we’re here.”

  Emily adjusted the brim of her hat to hide some of her face. “Since you mentioned it – why exactly are we here? You still haven’t told me what your plan is.”

  Gavin lifted his eyebrows. “Well, whoever Al is may not recognize you, but he’ll almost certainly recognize me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “My picture’s on our website. He’s bound to have checked it out.”

  “That’s a disturbing thought.” She looked at the ground. “That’s a very disturbing thought.”

  “I’m hoping he gives himself away when he sees me. So we want to watch them very carefully for any reactions of surprise.”

  Emily looked up. “And then what?”

  Gavin shrugged. “And then … we’ll know who it is.”

  “That’s your plan? Just hope that you notice one of them acting surprised to see you? I hate to say this, but I’m rapidly losing confidence in your abilities as a private investigator.”

  “That’s because I’m not a private investigator – I’m just a car guy.” He shook his head. “Look. He broke into my shop. I don’t want to just sit back waiting for him to make another move. I want to invade his territory, and put him on the defensive.”

  “Alright, General Custer. I just hope this plan of yours works out.”

  Gavin threw up his hands. “We don’t have any leads. What would you have me do?”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked me that.” She smiled, taking a folded piece of paper from her purse. “In accordance with your original theory that the engine could have been in one of Peter’s cars, I’ve reviewed all the photos of older Jaguars belonging to the club’s officers and who Andrew may have shown his pictures to. I’ve compiled a list of the cars that the missing engine might be in.”

  “Oh.” Gavin nodded. “That was a good idea. Maybe I’ll be able to check out a few of them while we’re here.”

  Emily slowly tipped her head. “Yuh think?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  She squinted at her list. “Armando, the club’s Secretary, has a green Series 1 E-Type and an XK-8. Bonnie and Jay, the Events Directors, have a pair of E-Types – both series 2s – a white one and a yellow one. The club’s President, Bill Aldridge, sure has a lot of old Jaguars but they all seem to be show cars. So it turns out that there are only three suspect cars between them. Bill actually has a car that I really like.” She smiled. “It’s one of those sporty ones from the 1930s and looks kind of like the Morgan.”

  “An SS100?”

  “That’s it.” Emily nodded. “But I know the missing engine wouldn’t be in that one because it’s too old, and that they used different engines before 1949.”

  Gavin bit his lip. “Unless it’s a replica. The real ones go for a fortune, and all the better replicas use XK engines. I’d actually be very suspicious of that car.”

  “Hmm.” She rooted through her purse for a pen. “I’ll add it to the list.”

  “What about the Treasurer,” Gavin asked. “He doesn’t have any?”

  Emily shook her head. “Dennis just has an F-Pace and an XJ-S.”

  Gavin clicked the button on his fob and locked the car.

  Emily’s eyes narrowed and she reached out her hand. “Can I see that? Hmph. I hate these coded remotes. They don’t even give you a real key anymore.” She wrinkled her nose giving it back to him.

  A dapper looking man in his late seventies tottered by, twisting his head around to continue staring at Emily.

  “Well that was quite weird, don’t you think?” she said, as the man disappeared from sight. “He didn’t look familiar from any of the pictures on the website.”

  Gavin chuckled. “He was just ogling you.”

  “What? Ew. He was old enough to be my grandfather.”

  “I
t was probably one of the Jag club members, though,” Gavin said. “They’re a bunch of old cads.”

  Emily frowned. “Andrew wasn’t a cad.”

  “I’m generalizing, of course. Andrew was an exception.”

  She nodded, accepting Gavin’s backtracking. “So who aren’t cads in general? Morgan owners?”

  Gavin thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Morgan owner who seemed like a cad. Some of them might be a little eccentric, perhaps, but they’re not cads.”

  She gazed at him, nodding her head.

  “What? Do you think I’m eccentric?”

  “Just a little.” She laughed.

  “I don’t think I am. What’s so eccentric about me?”

  “Hmm, let me see,” she said. “Your yard looks like a jungle, you live in a garage and have a china cabinet full of old car parts, and your hair makes you look like a seedy musician but you behave like some uptight insurance salesman. You’re right. There’s nothing eccentric about any of that.”

  “Uptight insurance salesman?” Gavin cringed. “And what about you? I hope you don’t think you’re normal, with your fixation on keys.”

  “More normal than you.” She snorted. “And there’s nothing at all odd about collecting keys. Penelope Cruz collects coat hangers, and Angelina Jolie has an extensive collection of antique knives.”

  Gavin furrowed his brow. “And you don’t think that makes them a little odd? Or that it’s weird you would even know that?”

  “What exactly is your point?”

  Gavin closed his eyes, making a pained face. “Come on,” he chuckled, “let’s see if we can find some of those guys from the club.”

  He glanced at her as they made their way through the parking lot. “I can’t believe that you think I’m eccentric.”

  “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” She smiled. “I only like people who are a little bit different.”

  Gavin stopped walking. “Why do I find your saying that even more unsettling?”

  They continued on and approached an assortment of lesser known British makes.

  “That’s a TVR Tasmin.” Gavin smiled. “I haven’t seen one of those in years. Oh, and look, a Jensen Healey. Now that’s a very under-appreciated and undervalued car. I wouldn’t mind getting one of those to restore.”

  “What are those?” Emily asked, pointing to some very small cars on the grass.

  “They’re original Mini Coopers.”

  She scrunched her face. “They look like clown cars.”

  “No, they don’t.” Gavin snapped. He shook his head. “Let’s cut through here. I think we’ll be able to get a better view of things from the top of the hill.”

  Emily looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they trudged up the slope. “You don’t like clowns, do you?”

  Gavin frowned. “No. Why?”

  “Just wondering,” she said.

  Reaching the top, they scanned the crowded parking lot and field, a palette of countless, richly-colored cars that were gleaming beneath the noonday sun.

  Below, Gavin spotted a crowd gathered around an exotic silver sports car. “That’s a new McLaren! I can’t believe somebody brought one here.”

  “Jeez,” Emily said. “You’re worse than a kid in a candy store. And you didn’t notice Peter over there. He could have seen you first and been shocked.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Peter’s already met us so he probably will be surprised to see me here. It will be a lot more suspicious if he isn’t.” He turned to her. “And there’s nothing dumb about the idea of looking for suspicious reactions to try to figure out who the culprit is. It’s a logical course of action.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Emily sighed. “I just find it disturbing that we don’t know who he is, but that he might know who we are.”

  Gavin exhaled a long breath. “And you’re right that I need to stay focused on why we’re here.”

  They watched Peter in a clearing in the distance. He had a clipboard in hand, and was inspecting a vintage Aston Martin.

  “I’m not very good at reading people’s faces, though,” Emily said. “Unless one of them reacts in a really obvious way I probably won’t be of much help.”

  “That’s alright,” Gavin replied. “You seem to be quicker at spotting them so keep pointing them out to me.” He scanned the field below. “I’m not recognizing anyone else. Are you?”

  “No. The Jaguars are too far away to make anyone out. Especially with these old contact lenses.”

  They looked to their right where a canopy was set up at the edge of the parking lot, across from a red fish-fry truck that had a line of waiting customers.

  “I think that’s the registration tent,” Gavin said. “Since the club’s hosting this we’ll probably find one of them there.”

  Emily squinted. “That looks to be Armando’s car parked behind it.”

  “The white XK-8?” Gavin wrinkled his forehead. “What else does he have again?”

  “A green E-type – a Series 1 convertible.”

  “I’m just wondering why Armando didn’t bring that one today. An XK-8 isn’t all that special and, for an event like this, I’d think he’d want to take the E-type out.” Gavin bit his lip. “He was Andrew’s friend, right? You met him once?”

  Emily nodded.

  “And he didn’t contact you after Andrew’s death, not even a sympathy card?”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “That would be a hell of a thing if it turned out to be him.”

  “We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, but we can’t trust him.” He glanced beneath the hat at Emily’s face, which looked so different with makeup instead of glasses. “I’m going to introduce myself as a new member. I don’t think he will, but if Armando recognizes you, we’ll have to tell him what we’re doing.”

  Emily nodded. “I suppose we’ll just have to see how it goes.” They descended the hill and cut across the lawn toward the canopy. As they approached, they saw the ‘Registration’ sign, and Armando sitting behind a folding table, with a laptop and several ledgers. He was a thin, middle-aged man with sharp features and stylish, graying, wavy hair; he stared sadly out at the bay. They stopped walking and looked at each other for a moment.

  Emily took a deep breath. “You’ll do all of the talking, right?”

  Gavin nodded. “Just don’t forget your name is Gwen.” They proceeded toward him.

  “I’m sorry, registration for the concours closed a while ago,” Armando said, turning as they got near.

  “That’s okay,” Gavin replied. “I’m a new member and just wanted to introduce myself.”

  “Oh, welcome,” he said. “Armando Carella. I’m the club Secretary.”

  “I’m Gavin Campbell, and this is Gwen.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, flashing Emily a brief smile. “I remember processing your application. I’ll be sending out your membership packet in a day or two. I’ve been so busy with all this that I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “That’s alright.” Gavin studied his face for a moment. “We were actually hoping to jump right in, maybe volunteer to help out.”

  “Oh, that’s great.” He smiled. “We can always use some extra help. People like coming to these things but not many want to do any of the work.” He stood, shaking Gavin’s hand, and gave Emily another smile. “Let me introduce you to some of the guys. I’m sure we can get you involved with something.”

  Emily shrugged her shoulders at Gavin as Armando led them through the field of cars. They passed Peter and two other concours judges who were now examining a red and white, two-tone Lotus Elan. Peter looked up from his clipboard, watching them with raised eyebrows as they walked by. They approached two men who were sitting on lawn chairs in front of a few Jaguars that were parked beneath the shade of some trees.

>   “I think that’s Bill and Dennis – the club’s President and Treasurer,” Emily whispered to Gavin. He nodded.

  Dennis, a portly, balding man in his fifties, fixed eyes on them. He said something to Bill who twisted around to look at them.

  “Hey, guys,” Armando said as they arrived. “This is Gavin and Gwen. They’re new members, looking to get involved.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Bill said, standing to greet them.

  Bill was in his late sixties but still had an athletic physique and a full head of brown hair, which gave him a dashing, albeit antiquated, appearance – much like the blue, whitewall-tyred XK150 behind him.

  “I’m Bill,” he said, shaking Gavin’s hand. “Welcome to our club. I can see that you’re a man of fine taste.” His eyes focused on Emily, accompanied by a saccharine smile. “And welcome to you, Gwen. I really like that dress you’re wearing. You look stunning.”

  Gavin winced and Emily grimaced, turning away.

  Armando stepped forward. “This is Dennis, our club’s Treasurer.”

  Dennis remained seated, and gave them only a disinterested nod.

  “Have you introduced them to Bonnie and Jay, yet?” Bill asked.

  “Not yet,” Armando replied. “I was going to look for them next.”

  “They’re our Events Directors,” Bill said. “They organized this whole gathering today. Well, together with Peter – he handles the concours part.”

  Gavin fixed eyes with him. “It’s very impressive.”

  “What kind of Jag do you have?” Dennis asked, barely looking up from his lawn chair.

  “An F-Type,” Gavin replied.

  “Oh, nice,” Dennis said with a pained smile. “I’d skip the introductions with Peter, then. Unless you have something pristine and primeval, Peter won’t be interested in you, and it’s always best to steer clear of him when he’s in concours mode.”

  Armando nodded. “Let’s go find Bonnie and Jay.”

  “Nice meeting you both,” Gavin said, as Armando led them away.

  “Bill’s a nice guy when you get to know him,” Armando said as they continued walking. “But he’s always a bit of a loose cannon when his wife, Nicole, isn’t around. And Dennis, well, he’s never very sociable, but he’s alright too. I think you’ll really like Jay and Bonnie, though. They’re very down to earth.” Armando stopped and looked around. “That’s their car over there, but I wonder where they’ve gone?”