“At least he’s starting to regain consciousness,” Gertie said. “That’s good news.”
“Excellent news,” I said. “Maybe we’ll find out what he was wanting to warn Ida Belle about.”
“I guess that means you didn’t get anything from Carter,” Gertie said. “We really need to work on your womanly charms game.”
Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “Carter is not silly enough to be fooled by womanly charms.”
“Even if he’s hot for the woman doing the charming?” Gertie asked.
“Even if he’s on fire,” Ida Belle said.
“I have to agree with her,” I said. “Carter’s not going to tell me anything because he doesn’t want me in police business. But I did get one thing out of him.”
They both perked up.
“He thinks whoever cracked Hot Rod on the head meant to kill him and likely thought he was dead when he left.”
Ida Belle frowned. “Why would he think that?”
“Because of the severity of the blow and the fact that Hot Rod was completely unconscious,” I said. “At least, that’s what he told me.”
“You don’t believe him?” Gertie asked.
“Yes, but I think there’s more to it than what he said,” I said. “I think whatever is going on is serious business, and he’s trying to warn us off.”
Ida Belle nodded. “He knows more but he’s not telling you. That makes sense on Carter’s part. He’s trying to protect you and us. But it doesn’t make sense overall. Who kills someone to steal cars? Why add murder to the charges?”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” I said. “But when I asked Carter who would want to hurt Hot Rod, he just told me to stay out of it.”
“Did he tell you what cars were stolen?” Gertie asked.
I shook my head. “He didn’t admit to any of the cars being stolen. I tried to sneak some info out of him by claiming I was interested in buying the DeLorean and hoping it wasn’t one of the ones stolen, but all I got out of him was a lot of dismay that I was interested in the car and that it didn’t look like Hot Rod had started working on it yet.”
“The DeLorean isn’t really worth a lot of money,” Ida Belle said. “He’s got a Ferrari in there that would bring a good haul but nothing else even close to a hundred thousand.”
“Small-time car thieves,” I suggested, “but mean as hell?”
“Maybe,” Ida Belle said. “People are getting meaner, but still, seems like a lot of risk for a small amount. If I’m looking at the death penalty, it would be for something bigger than one exotic.” She shook her head. “I don’t like it. It all feels wrong.”
“What can we do?” Gertie asked. “Until Hot Rod wakes up and has any kind of decent recall, we won’t know what happened or if his cryptic statement about warning Ida Belle had anything to do with this or was about something else completely.”
“We need to know what was stolen,” I said. “If we knew what the thief or thieves were after, we’d know where to start tracking them. This level of violence doesn’t happen in a vacuum.”
“You think he’s done it before,” Gertie said.
I nodded. “And car thieves usually have a particular type of car they work. Knowing what he took could help us track down other thefts of similar nature.”
“I agree,” Ida Belle said, “but how do you propose we do that? Carter changed all his computer passwords, and so far, Myrtle hasn’t been able to figure them out. He’s started making all his notes on the computer, so no handy pad of paper with case information lying around, and once he assembles a paper file, he’s locking active cases in a safe in his office.”
“I think he’s officially gotten our number,” Gertie said.
“Yeah, I think our days of data gathering with a simple breakin at the sheriff’s department are over,” Ida Belle said.
Even though I had yet to be present for one of those “simple” breakins, I didn’t bother to argue. The end result was the same. None of us thought it was worth the risk to try again. We’d barely gotten away with it before.
“Well,” Gertie said, “since we can’t get to Carter’s files, I guess we’ll just have to break into Hot Rod’s shop and check the cars there against his inventory.”
There were so many things wrong with Gertie’s plan that I wasn’t sure where to begin, but I took a deep breath and made a stab at it.
“The shop is now a crime scene,” I said. “We’d be breaking a million laws just stepping past the tape. And I’d bet money that Carter called for backup and someone armed is sitting guard there until he figures out what’s going on. Then there’s the huge assumption that Hot Rod even keeps an inventory that we could check stock against.”
“You’re right on all the first statements,” Ida Belle said, “but I’m not so sure on the last. I signed a bill of sale and all the other pertinent paperwork when I bought my Blazer, and Hot Rod gave me an envelope with copies of everything, including all the receipts for parts and anything he subbed out. I know he doesn’t come across as highly organized, but I bet he’s got folders on every car that moves through his shop.”
“Cool,” Gertie said. “So if he has a file with receipts and stuff for every vehicle, then the ones that have been sold would have a bill of sale in them, right? Anything that didn’t we would assume should be in the shop.”
“Or out to a sub for other work,” I said.
“But he’d probably have an estimate in the file if that was the case,” Ida Belle said.
“Then it’s settled,” Gertie said. “We break into Hot Rod’s shop.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Nothing about this is settled. Did you miss all the beginning of my statement about crime scene and armed guards and all that? Do you plan on strolling up and asking politely to go inside?”
“Of course not,” Gertie said. “I said ‘break in.’ I thought that was clear.”
“Okay, I may be crazy here,” I said, “but I’m clearly not the most insane. When I went to Hot Rod’s with Ida Belle, I noticed it was at the end of a dead-end road. One road in. One road out. Short of going on foot or dropping in by plane, we can’t get there without being seen.”
“The plane idea is interesting,” Gertie said, “but I was thinking more of an invasion by water.”
“She’s right,” Ida Belle said. “There’s a bayou about a hundred feet behind the shop. Unless someone’s watching the back, we could probably get in and out without being seen.”
“And leave our DNA all over a crime scene,” I said.
“Technically,” Ida Belle said to me, “our DNA is already there. Gertie’s is the only one missing.”
Gertie huffed. “Which means I get stuck playing lookout again. I always get stuck playing lookout.”
“And I always get stuck playing the floozy,” I said.
“I keep offering to play the floozy,” Gertie pointed out.
“The point of undercover work is to go unnoticed,” Ida Belle said. “You’re a good century past your prime floozy time.”