car in line—a purple PT Cruiser.
Clusters of men stood around chatting and gesturing at cars. Some were reviewing their printouts containing the vehicle history while others were preoccupied making notations, peering under hoods, inspecting paint jobs, and crawling inside to sit behind the wheel. Cooper couldn’t recall a time when she had seen so many men looking downright jubilant. With the roar of engines, the scent of gasoline and motor oil in the air, and a row of cars and trucks stretching for as far as the eye could see, the males and a scattering of females were in their element.
“You need help, young lady?” an older man wearing a red River City Auto Auction jacket inquired pleasantly.
“I’m looking for Felicia Hawkins,” Cooper answered.
The man appeared quizzical, but then he smiled. “We call her Fizzy! She’s just as bubbly as a soda pop. I forget right often that her mama christened her somethin’ else.” He gestured at the long counter visible through the open garage door. “She’s back there, helpin’ the buyers collect their tags and such. She’s made us so organized we can sell twice as many cars per sale as we used to.”
Cooper was surprised to hear that the sour woman she’d met back in January had changed so much that she was now referred to as “Fizzy” because of her perky personality. Still, it was wonderful to realize that unhappy people were capable of change if given the opportunity to do so.
“Thank you,” Cooper told the helpful gentleman, and he nodded and turned away to show a man in his early twenties the fancy chrome rims on an Escalade.
Felicia was in the middle of a conversation with a customer wearing a bright yellow sticker on his coat. The number fifty-seven was neatly printed on the sticker and Cooper inferred that it was his bidder number. A glance around the room confirmed this theory.
“If you need to register, you’re at the wrong counter,” a middle-aged man kindly offered. “You look like you’d be a great match for the five-series up next.” He pointed at the silver BMW sedan in front of them. “But you’d better hurry! Merv sells a car about every sixty seconds.”
“Wow.” Cooper was impressed. She listened, fascinated, as the auctioneer called out prices in increments of five hundred dollars and then one hundred as the bidding slowed. Men waved hands, baseball hats, coffee cups, and newspapers to indicate their bid and several teenage boys shouted as they kept track of the bids. Suddenly, Merv banged his gavel and the Jeep Liberty was driven out through the garage door on the opposite end of the building.
As Merv reviewed the assets of the silver BMW, Cooper felt a hand on her shoulder. She swung around, expecting to see Felicia standing before her, but her expectant smile fell upon Edward Crosby.
“Hello,” she said, feeling suddenly shy in his presence.
He dipped his head to acknowledge the greeting, but did not return her smile. “You turn up in some oddball places. Are you buying or selling?”
Cooper put a hand over her heart. “I could never part with my truck. Actually, I’m here to see that woman behind the counter.” She jerked her thumb at Felicia. “What about you? Is your taxi cab service expanding?”
“Don’t I wish,” he growled. “Nah. I’m selling the bike. The cold weather’s put a serious crimp in cab fares and we’re not making as many deliveries at the furniture store, either. Less tips all around.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I was freezing my tail off on that crotch rocket, anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” Cooper couldn’t help but remember how it felt to speed down the dark roads on the red-and-chrome Indian Chief with her arms wrapped around Edward as the wind whipped the ends of her hair and her blood surged through her body. She’d always felt so alive when Edward was near. It was as if his very presence heightened her senses.
A tinge of pink crept up her neck and she looked away from Edward’s piercing gray eyes and tried to focus on the car being sold.
“Are you friends with that woman?” Edward asked. “She go to your church or something?”
“No.” Cooper quickly explained how she’d met Felicia during a service call and hadn’t thought of her again until she’d come across the former administrative assistant’s photograph in the newspaper. “I didn’t even call her first, but I just need to find out from her if the car titles I’ve got with me are genuine.”
“Yeah?” Edward’s tone