to lift the hood and make her situation even more visible to the traffic passing on the busy street. After that, all she could do was plop down on the stiff brown grass to wait for someone to come along and offer to help as there was no place around from which to make a telephone call. Looked like she might be trying out those coupons from Cutler Automotive sooner rather than later. Provided someone with a telephone stopped.
More than half an hour had passed and her toe had stopped aching before a Fort Worth traffic cop pulled up behind her aged coupe, lights flashing. Traffic moved into the inside lane to accommodate him as he opened his door and got out. He strolled over to Jolie, a beefy African-American with one hand on his holster and the other on his night stick.
“Ma’am,” he said pleasantly, “you can’t leave your car here like this.”
“Sir,” Jolie replied with saccharine sweetness, “I can’t get the thing to move.”
He rubbed his chin and asked, “Anyone you can call?”
“Could if I had a phone.”
He removed a cell phone from his belt and showed it to her. Heaving herself to her feet, she walked over to the car to take her wallet from the center console. Pulling out the coupon from Cutler Automotive, she handed it to him. Nodding, he punched in the number and passed her the phone.
The number rang just twice before a voice answered.
“Cutler Automotive. This is Vince. How can I help you?”
Vince. She swallowed and shifted her weight. “This is Jolie Wheeler.”
“Well, hello, Jolie Wheeler. Have you got mail for me?”
“Nope. I’ve got a coupon for a free tow.”
“A free tow?”
“That’s what it says. Any problem with that?”
“No, ma’am. Where are you?”
She told him, and he said he’d be right there before hanging up. She handed the phone back to the officer and thanked him. He nodded and turned to watch the passing traffic, trying to make small talk. They’d covered how the car had been acting and where she was going and where she’d been and the state of disrepair of the Fort Worth streets by the time the white wrecker, lights flashing, swung to the curb in front of her crippled car.
Vince bailed out with hardly a pause, and Jolie’s heart did a strange little kick inside her chest. Then he walked straight to the grinning cop, ignoring her completely.
“Jacob,” he said, shaking the other man’s hand.
The policeman smiled broadly and clapped Vince on the shoulder. “How you doing, my man?”
“Staying busy. How’re you?”
“Likewise, only with very little sleep.”
“New baby keeping you up nights?” Vince asked, flashing his dimples.
It was at this point that Jolie folded her arms, feeling very much on the outside looking in.
“Oh, man, is he ever!” came the ardent reply. “Rascal’s got a set of lungs on him, too, let me tell you.”
“Well, he sure didn’t get those from his soft-spoken mama,” Vince said with a grin.
“Soft-spoken?” Jacob the cop echoed disbelievingly. “Soft-spoken? My Callie? Man, you know better than that. You’ve sat in front of her at a football game.”
Vince just grinned wider. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”
“Not unless you want to attend my funeral.” Both men laughed and back-slapped each other before Jacob moved off toward his patrol car. “You’re in good hands now, ma’am,” he called jovially to Jolie as he sauntered back to his vehicle.
Vince shook his head, still chuckling, and parked his hands at his waist, striking a nonchalant pose before finally turning to Jolie.
“Well, I’m glad you got a nice visit out of this,” she said sarcastically.
Vince Cutler arched his brows, but his smile stayed firmly in place. “Jacob and I attend the same church, but because of his schedule we don’t often get to the same service, so I’m glad to have seen him. Now, what’s the problem with your car?”
She threw up her hands, disliking the fact that he’d made her feel glad, jealous and petty all in the space of a few minutes.
“How would I know? The hateful thing quit, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” He stepped up to the bumper and looked over the engine. Gingerly, he wiped a forefinger across one surface and rubbed it against his thumb. “No oily emission.”
“Is that good?” she asked anxiously, her concern about her transportation momentarily overcoming all else.
“It’s not bad.”
Whatever that meant.
She flattened her lips and tried to see what he saw as he leaned forward and fingered first one part and then another, poking and prodding at hoses and wires and other unnameable organs. Finally he turned to lean a hip against the fender.
“So what happened, exactly, before it quit running?”
She pushed a hand through her bangs, tugged at her ponytail and sucked in a deep breath, trying to remember exactly. Finally she began to talk about how the car had been coughing and sputtering by fits and starts lately and how the dash lights had blinked off from time to time.
He listened with obvious attention, then asked, “Any backfiring?”
She considered. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay.” Pushing away from the car, he moved toward the driver’s door. “Keys in the ignition?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door and folded himself into the seat behind the wheel. The starter clicked for several seconds then stopped.
Vince spent a few moments looking at the gauges on the dashboard, then he got out and walked back to the wrecker, returning quickly with a small tool box and a thick, quilted cloth, which he spread on the fender before placing the tool box atop it. He opened the box and extracted a strange gizmo that resembled a calculator with wires attached, which he carried back into the car with him.
Jolie walked around to the passenger window and looked in while he wedged himself under the dash and began pulling down wires. He separated several little plastic clips and attached leads from the gizmo to them, then he studied the tiny screen before turning the ignition key on and off several times in rapid succession.
“What is that thing?” Jolie asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“I call it my truth-teller.”
“Oh, they sell truth at mechanic’s school, do they?”
“They
