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Sam aimed his gun toward the office door, signaling for Remi to cover his back and Oliver to remain behind while he checked the shop. Standing to one side of the threshold, he listened a moment, not hearing a sound.
Two steps in he saw the shop’s office had been ransacked. A desk chair was turned over, the drawers opened, and file cabinets emptied. Another door led to the garage, where a late-model blue BMW was parked, driver?
?s door ajar. Other than that, the car looked relatively untouched. Not so the rolling tool chest, with all its drawers opened; same with the doors of the metal cabinets along one wall.
The place, however, was empty, and he returned outside. “Someone was looking for something,” he said, stepping aside so they could see.
“Oh no . . .” Oliver stood in the doorway, shaking his head. “He’s not—”
“Here,” Sam finished for him.
“Thank goodness,” he replied.
“You don’t happen to know what car he drives?”
It took a moment for Oliver to draw his attention from the ransacked office. “Sorry?”
“Car?”
“Oh, right. When he drove out to Payton Manor, he was in a yellow Renault. But he also drives a lorry for the cars.”
Sam walked up to Remi, saying quietly, “Call the police. I’m going to take a look and see if the car is parked anywhere nearby.”
He walked around to the front, then back through the alley. The flatbed tow truck was there, but the car wasn’t. “What about this carriage house you said he uses?”
Oliver’s expression brightened. “Of course he’d be there. Why didn’t I think of that?”
He led them down the street, stopping in front of a driveway that led to a garage behind a two-story house, both half-timbered, with high-peaked thatched roofs. “Chad’s aunt lives here,” he said. “She doesn’t drive, so lets him use the carriage house.”
“The police are on their way,” Remi said, joining them.
Sam tugged on the lock hanging from the hasp on the garage doors. “Oliver, maybe you should wait by the shop. Let me know when the police arrive.”
Remi eyed the lock, turned to Oliver, smiled. “I’ll meet you there in just a minute.” She waited until he was gone, then stood guard while Sam picked the lock and slid open the door. He did a double take when he turned on the light switch, saw the antique gray Rolls-Royce parked inside.
Remi stepped in after him. “Is it . . . ?”
When his eyes adjusted to the interior light and he saw the weld marks and color differences of the body, he shook his head. “Too short. Maybe an early twenty–twenty-five.”
Remi found a clipboard filled with papers on the workbench. She lifted a page, followed by several more, saying, “Franken-Rolls. Pieced together, apparently. The rebuilt engine’s from one car, the body another, and the chassis . . . Well, if I’m reading this receipt correctly, it’s a replica.”
“I guess we know his specialty,” he said, looking around at all the various body parts stacked in the corners and hanging on the walls, along with engine parts. “Could probably cannibalize everything in here and put together a fairly decent car.”
He returned his attention to the rebuilt car. Not exactly a prime specimen. There was some rust on the body, and the seats were clearly in need of reupholstering. The body was similar to that of the Gray Ghost, even down to the color of the torn leather upholstery, and he wondered if it had also been built by Barker Coachworks.
Remi lowered the clipboard and looked around. “You get the feeling that whoever was here meant to come back?”
“Definitely,” he said. The vehicle’s engine was exposed, the tool chest rolled up right next to it. And sitting on top of the chest was a full mug of coffee and an ashtray, where a cigarette had burned into one long ash. He walked Remi out. “Do me a favor. Stay with Oliver until the police arrive. Make sure he’s on the same page as us. I’d rather keep our involvement low-key.”
“Easy enough. What’re you planning on doing?”
“Have a better look around. Whatever happened, the guy left in a hurry. It’d be nice to know why.”
He looked at the house, saw a white-haired woman peering out the window at them. The curtain dropped, and, a moment later, she opened the back door, waved. “Over here!” she said. The woman’s smile faded as Sam and Remi approached. “Oh, you’re not the plumber . . . ?”
“Actually,” Remi said, “my husband is very handy with a wrench, just show him what you need done.” She looked over at Sam, her green eyes twinkling. “I’ll go check on Oliver.”
With no other choice, he smiled at the woman. “What is it you need help with?”