Chapter 7: The Clue at the Car Lot

Susan, as it turned out, was not around when Frank and Nancy arrived home.  She’d gone down the street to play with a friend.  When she finally returned, around five thirty, she didn’t remember much.

“One of the books had a bunch of vehicles on the cover,” she said.  “I saw a helicopter, and a blimp!  I don’t know what it was called, though.”

The next step, then, was to call the Norman library.  However, Frank and Nancy didn’t have time for that right now.  They had to get ready to go to the game.  “We’ll call them tomorrow,” Frank promised.  “First thing in the morning.”

The 89er game was everything the kids could have asked for.  Clayton Kershaw, the multiple-time Cy Young Award winner, was rehabbing for Oklahoma City, and he pitched great—five innings, one run, eight strikeouts—a typical Kershaw outing.  It would have been an easy victory—if it weren’t for a man named Jake Kalish.  A 32^nd round draft pick by the Kansas City Royals, not a huge prospect in the organization, Kalish nonetheless managed to strike out eight batters himself—in seven innings—all without allowing a run.  The Omaha Storm Chasers beat the 89ers—a disappointment to the home fans, but Frank and Nancy still came away from the ballpark amazed at what they’d seen.

“Jake Kalish beats Clayton Kershaw?” Frank said.  “No one could have predicted that!”

They were at the Burger King off of Interstate 240, not too terribly far from the ballpark.  Since concessions at baseball games cost so much, Mr. Anderson had trained his kids to either eat before or wait until afterwards—except for drinks on abnormally hot days, or cotton candy as a treat.  This Burger King was a favorite stop for the Andersons, and even though it wasn’t right by the ballpark, they’d gone there anyway.  Taking the Interstates at night, it had only been a ten-minute drive.

“That’s the beauty of baseball,” Mr. Anderson said.  “It is so unpredictable.  The worst team in the world can play the best team and beat them, any given day.  Not every given day, but any given day.  In over 100 games, there’s a chance for anything to happen.”

“I wouldn’t have believed he could do it if I hadn’t seen it,” Nancy said.  “Before today, I didn’t even know Kalish existed!”

“He doesn’t,” said Frank.  “Figment of your imagination.  You’ve heard hitters can’t see the ball when a good pitcher throws it.  Well, today, they couldn’t even see the pitcher!”

Nancy narrowed her eyes.  “If you expected me to fall for that one, you’ve got to try harder.”

“Kalish exists, alright,” Mr. Anderson said, “but baseball does have its imaginary objects, as Kenneth Jenkins found out the hard way.”

“Kenneth Jenkins?” Frank said.  “Who was he?”

“The world will never know,” said Mr. Anderson.  “In 1958, he was signed by the Baltimore Orioles.  They were so excited about him, they assigned him to the Paris Orioles of the Sooner State League.”

“I thought the league folded after 1957,” Nancy said.

“It did,” replied Mr. Anderson, grinning.

“Then how could they assign him to the team in 1958?”

“They couldn’t,” said Mr. Anderson.  “That’s what the ex-GM had to tell them, when he got the guy’s contract in the mail.  Poor Jenkins never played for any affiliate after that.”

“Assigned to a team that didn’t exist,” Frank said, marveling.  “Reminds me of that 1994 Chicago Cubs schedule you gave me, Dad.  The one that has all the games which were cancelled because of the strike—”

“Your grandparents had gotten me tickets to one against the Cardinals!” Mr. Anderson said.  “Boy, was I sore!  Of course, the way the Cubs were playing that year, they probably would’ve lost anyway—though, come to think of it, the Cardinals weren’t much better—”

“Speaking of things that never existed,” said Nancy, “I learned that Alfred Hitchcock’s first movie ever directed was supposed to be a film from 1922 called Number 13.  He had some scenes filmed before he ran out of money, and the project was never finished.  In other words, some actors starred in a film that never existed!”

“That must be disappointing,” said Frank.  “Of course, I don’t know if I’d have wanted to watch it, anyway.  Those silent films are hard to follow.”

“They’re better when they’ve got music with them,” Mr. Anderson pointed out.  “Remember that time we saw the organist accompany Buster Keaton’s The Cameraman with a theater organ—”

“That was great,” said Frank.  “The sound effects were spot on.  I didn’t realize they could make all those siren and whistle noises with the organ.  Speaking of whistles and things that didn’t exist, that reminds me of the Santa Fe-Southern Pacific Railroad.  The Santa Fe and the Southern Pacific were so certain that they would merge in the 1980s, they started painting their engines with an SFSP design.  Then, the Interstate Commerce Commission denied the merger, leaving the engines painted in the colors of a railroad that never existed to begin with.”

“And yet, it did,” said Nancy.  “At least, part of it did—the paint scheme.  It’s—it’s—well, it’s strange.”

“Strange with a capital S,” agreed Mr. Anderson.  “There’s no better word for it—oh, hang on a second,” he said, as his cellphone rang.  “It’s—oh!”  Quickly, he answered the phone.

“Hi, Chief!”

“Joe?” Chief Jennings was the most important man in the Oklahoma City Police Department.  He didn’t call you while he was working unless it was serious.

“Can you get back to the office at once?” he said, in that deep, no-nonsense, military-general-style voice of his.  “We need you on a raid.”

“A raid?” said Mr. Anderson.  “Chief, I’m off duty—”

“I know that,” said Jennings, “but it’s the Harcourt gang.  You remember them—”

“Oh, those guys,” Mr. Anderson nodded.  “I see what you mean.  You want every officer there?”

“Not every officer,” said Chief Jennings, “but all the ones I know I can count on—you fall into that category, of course.  This’ll pay overtime.”

“Well…” Mr. Anderson stole a glance at his kids.  “I won’t—”

“We’ll have the usual guys on it—we just need you for backup.”

“Where is it?” Mr. Anderson asked.

“The old Hudson plant,” said Jennings.

“So that’s where they were,” muttered Mr. Anderson.  “Yes, I can make it.  Glad to help!”

“Thanks, Joe!  I’ll see you soon!” Chief Jennings hung up without waiting for a reply.  Mr. Anderson pulled the phone away from his ear, shook his head, and shoved it back in his pocket.  Then, he picked up his hat off the table.

“Got to go back to work?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, it’s a case we’ve been working on for a while,” said Mr. Anderson, reaching for his keys.  “A gang we’ve been looking for is holed up at the old Hudson plant, and they want me to help out on the raid.  I won’t be breaking in the building myself—I’ll just be in the background to stop anyone who looks like they’re getting away.  My part should be over in about an hour.  Do you two mind waiting here while I go?”

Nancy frowned.  “Can’t you take us with you?”

Mr. Anderson shook his head.  “I would, sweetheart, but they might have me take someone to jail, and you wouldn’t—”

“No, we certainly wouldn’t want to share the backseat.”  Frank grinned at his dad.  “Don’t worry!  I’ll keep Nancy out of trouble for you.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Mr. Anderson almost got the words out without losing a straight face.  “Stay in the building at all times, understand?”

“We will,” promised Frank.

“Unless it’s an emergency,” Nancy added.

Their father gave both his kids a hug, then headed out.  Less than thirty seconds later, the lights on his police car came on—including the flashers.  Soon, the squad car was whizzing out of sight—headed for action.

All at once, Frank and Nancy felt very lonely.

They weren’t the only ones at the restaurant, of course.  There was the staff—two sleepy-eyed clerks, the manager, and a cook—all of whom looked like they’d rather be home in bed, if you glanced carefully at their faces.  A rough-looking character in a fluorescent green shirt with ripped-off sleeves was arguing with a friend about how much to pay for a deck.  Finally, an elderly couple, both of whom were several pounds overweight (to put it mildly) were slowly chewing their Whoppers over on the other side of the restaurant.

The little fast food building, freshly renovated, sat in the middle of a bunch of mostly worn-out looking buildings along the May Avenue corridor.  Some restaurant called Perry’s stood across the street, and a Braum’s was visible on the next block.  Directly across the road from the Burger King were two sleazy-looking motels—a gas station and a used car dealer were on the north side of the Burger King.  Powerful glares from streetlights lit some areas but darkened others by the shadows they created, and the cars speeding by on 240 whined mournfully in the gloom.

“Cheery part of town, isn’t it?” Nancy commented.

Frank grinned.  “This is kind of fun, actually.  How often do we get to spend the night in Oklahoma City by ourselves?”

“I can’t remember the last time it happened—unless you count the time we broke out of that old school building,” Nancy said, referring to their first adventure.

“Yes,” agreed Frank, “but we were being chased that time.  Right now, we’re just sitting here, staring out the window at the other businesses.  I wonder how much those cars go for,” he said, staring out at the car lot.

Nancy glanced up at the sign for it, one of the bulbs for which had burned out.  “BB’s—only, it looks like there’s a space—”

“B B’s,” mused Frank.  “Bab’s, Beb’s, Bib’s, Bob’s—oh, no, don’t tell me—”

Nancy grinned at her brother.  “Hi, this is Bob, from Bob’s Auto Sales,” she chirruped, ducking the napkin Frank tossed her way (he didn’t have any worse ammo).

“I always wondered where those commercials were filmed,” said Frank.

“You think he’s there now?” Nancy asked.

“I doubt it,” said Frank.  “He’s probably got a house somewhere.  I wonder what he’d sound like if we met him off screen.”

“Want to find out?” Nancy said.

“Not particularly,” said Frank.  “Funny.  The cars always look newer on TV than they do in person.  Check out that one there—the Ford Taurus.”

“The one with its back to us?” Nancy asked.

“Correct,” said Frank.  “See those curvy, flat headlights?  That means it’s from the late nineties.”

“How do you know so much about cars?” Nancy asked, staring at the vehicle.

“I remember what I read.  Check out the Mustang next to it.  That fluorescent green looks nice, but it doesn’t hide those dents in the body.  I’d be ashamed to sell it if I was the car dealer.”

“I can’t see them that well, though,” Nancy said.  “But you’re right, it is a poor choice for display.  Especially with that bright color.  You barely notice that car next to it—that Ford—”

“It’s a Mercury, silly,” Frank said.  “Mercury Grand Marquis.  See those lights?  It’s the same year as the one Stephanie was driving when she was kidnapped.”

“Oh, I see,” said Nancy.  “You’re right, it does look like…”  Her voice trailed off, and she gazed at the car.  Then, she looked at her brother.  “Frank, you don’t think it’s—”

“It’s what?” Frank asked.

“Stephanie’s.  Do you think that’s hers?”

“Don’t be silly, Nancy.  Stephanie’s was maroon—this one’s white.  It probably used to be a police car…” Frank’s voice trailed off.  “Come to think of it,” he said, “they never use Mercuries as police cars.”

“It could be hers with a new coat of paint.”

“That would be a quick turnaround, though,” said Frank.  “They only had two days to do the job.”

Nancy nodded.  “I guess you’re right.  Plus, there are a lot of car dealerships in Oklahoma City.  What are the chances we’d see the right one-if it was even taken there?”

“One in a thousand,” said Frank.  “Besides, the Mercury Grand Marquis is strangely common in Oklahoma.  It’s very frequent that you see those on the road—though Stephanie’s is an older one.  Those don’t turn up as much.  Hmm, I wonder—”  He stared over at the car.

“You think it might be?” Nancy asked, looking at him.  “The one we’re looking for?”

“It—it—it seems too easy,” Frank said.  Then, he glanced at his watch.  “Dad’s only been gone about five minutes.  That probably gives us another fifty or so.  Tell you what, why don’t we go over and check it out.”

“Go check it out?” said Nancy.  “But Frank!  Dad said to stay put here, unless—”

“Unless there was an emergency,” said Frank, “and right now, this is an emergency.  Mercuries from that year aren’t very common.  If that is Stephanie’s car, whoever brought it there knows something about her whereabouts, and it’ll help us rescue her.  If it’s not,” Frank glanced at his watch again, “we’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Won’t Bob be suspicious?” Nancy asked, standing up.

“How could he be?” Frank asked, grabbing his trash.  As he dumped it in the nearest can, he said, “Bob’s probably at home sleeping right now.  He’ll never notice.”

Nancy shrugged.  “Well, it’s worth a try, I guess…”

The two detectives stepped out into the night.  Even though it was still summer, the temperature had dropped dramatically.  The night was cool to the point that the breeze caused Nancy to shiver.  Light from the streetlights cast strange shadows as the two walked, making Frank look ten feet tall and Nancy twelve.  Frank noticed this.

“Hey, no fair!” he said.  “I’m supposed to be the taller one.”

“What—oh, the shadow,” Nancy said.

“‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men,’” Frank quipped, in his best dramatic voice.  “‘The Shadow knows!’—sorry, old radio reference.”

“There’s a reason you never appeared on any of those shows,” Nancy said.

“I wasn’t born yet!”

“Besides that, I mean.”

The car stood idly by in the middle of the lot.  “$2K,” read the sign in the driver’s window, in big yellow letters.  A similar one graced the front window.  Frank wandered around the vehicle, studying it carefully in the dim glow from the streetlights that reflected off of it.

“Not a scratch on it,” he said.  “Perfect coat of paint.”

“I guess that means Bob takes good care of his cars,” Nancy said.

“It means this car was painted recently,” said Frank.  “No vehicle could hold up that long with its original coat and look this nice.  Not with 123,496 miles on it.”  He pointed to a paper in the window.

“How many did Stephanie’s have?” Nancy asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Frank, looking around.  “No license plate, of course.”

“If it was hers, it ought to have gray upholstery,” Nancy commented, looking through the window.  “No, this car has brown.”

“They could have changed that,” Frank said.  “They could have changed a lot of things about this car.  If it is hers, unless we could find what they swapped out, it’d be virtually unrecognizable—unless—unless—”

Suddenly, he scampered around to the right side of the car.

“What are you doing?” Nancy asked him.

Frank yanked the handle on the right rear.  A look of surprise came over his face as the door swung open.

“Well, how do you like that?” he said.  “I wasn’t expecting this to be unlocked.”

“Then why did you try it in the first place?” Nancy asked.

“Because, I need to check—ah-ha!”  Frank switched on his penlight and stared at something by the floor.  Just as quickly, he switched it back off, straightened up, and slammed the door.  “You were right, Nancy!  This IS Stephanie’s car!”

“It is?” Nancy said.  “How can you tell?”

“Remember that nickel Louis lost?” Frank said.

“The one that got stuck by the door—wait, you mean—”

“This car has one,” Frank said, “and it didn’t come from the manufacturer.”

He glanced towards the building, sister following his gaze.  The manager’s showroom was a small, cinderblock affair, with a lonely-looking fire door facing this side of the lot.  No lights came through the two square windows on either side of the door.  From all appearances, the place was completely abandoned.

Frank turned to Nancy.

“Get back inside the Burger King and wait for Dad,” he said.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Search the building, if I can.  If it’s locked, I’ll come back and join you.  Otherwise, I’ll see if I can find out what happened to Stephanie.”

“Can’t I look too—”

“No, that’d be a bad idea,” said Frank.  “If Bob should walk in on both of us, there’d be no one to tell Dad where we are.”

“Oh, gotcha,” said Nancy.  “Promise me you’ll be careful!”

“As much as possible,” said Frank.  He watched his sister wander back over the parking lot, not turning his gaze away until she was safely back inside the restaurant.  Then, he turned his eyes on the car dealership.

“Let’s hope there’s a way in,” he muttered to himself.  Resolutely, he started towards the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FIREWORKS IN ARKANSAS…

Nancy Anderson was thrilled when her friend Lacy Selke invited her on a trip to visit her great-aunt in Booneville, Arkansas.  Soon, however, she realized her services would be needed on another case.  Aunt Margaret was about to undergo a tough surgery—one that didn’t have a great success rate—which was bound to create trouble!

The three heirs couldn’t stand each other, but that was alright…until the lead started flying.  First a .45, then a .38 was used—but each had the same effect.  With no witnesses to the shooter’s identity, it could have been any of them.  Who was behind the scheme?  Could Nancy Anderson solve the case in time to prevent

MURDER IN THE BOONIES

With a plot as complex as an Agatha Christie tale, you’ll never guess who was responsible!

Available at https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Boonies-Anderson-Family-Mystery/dp/1981119779/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1517226138&sr=8-1 in print and on Kindle!