Free Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery by Amy Myers Page A

trouble around, Doubler’s not there, and the furore over Mike’s murder is just the kind of situation he avoids at all costs. The mere idea of murder hurts Doubler; it hurts him so much that he sends his hit men round rather than knifing you himself. Letting Doubler know that one is on his track is a risky business at the best of times and at the worst downright stupid.
    I had thanked Harry, of course, and after he had recovered from his paroxysm of mirth, I had belatedly tried to shut the stable door after the horse had undoubtedly galloped off to inform Doubler.
    â€˜That customer at Huptons can’t have been after Mike’s Porsche then,’ I’d said in the vain hope that my name wouldn’t reach him.
    Finding the car through other routes was therefore a priority before the winds of fate blew him my way. If it had been one of Doubler’s men who killed Mike the less I involved his boss at this stage the better. But would Mike ever have let one of Doubler’s men near the Crossley? This faint ray of hope vanished when I realized that there were at least a dozen volunteers around, each one of whom Mike would have trusted and any one of whom could have been a Doubler hit man.
    On the Wednesday morning I turned my attention back to the two first-time registrations at Swansea, one of which had been a 356 coming in from Ireland, the other from Spain. Dave’s team had initially passed these as genuine and for one of them I agreed. I wasn’t so sure about the other one, though. Now duly registered with British plates, it belonged to a Jennifer Ansty, who lived not a million miles away in Sussex. It all sounded above board but it was worth rechecking. If that failed then the Porsche must have left the country despite Dave Jennings’ vigilance, or was under heavy wraps until the fuss had died down and the insurance paid up. The latter might be a distinctly unsavoury possibility, and with Mike’s death and probate to sort out, it could take some time. Jennifer Ansty, I therefore decided, was first port of call.
    The best laid plans are sometimes rewarded by a touch of serendipity along the way. An hour later I had a call from the Porsche Club 356 Register to tell me that Mike’s car could be the one that had just been registered with them. The number plates did not match, of course, being newly allotted, nor did the engine and chassis numbers, but with the Carrera engine this was a rare car, and the engine number supplied did not match any ever built. The car was now owned by – guess who? – Mrs Jennifer Ansty.
    I put the receiver down to find a message from Dave Jennings ordering me to call him back pronto.
    â€˜We’re fairly sure we’ve found the Porsche,’ he told me with great satisfaction. ‘Spotted in Sussex.’
    â€˜Mrs Jennifer Ansty,’ I said. ‘She blithely signed up with the Porsche Club 356 Register, and the numbers don’t check out.’ I received no congratulations.
    â€˜Good. I’m picking you up at nine tomorrow. Not my idea,’ he told me again with great satisfaction. ‘Brandon wants you along with me in case there’s a link with his murder case – he doesn’t want to scare the birds by coming himself.’
    â€˜Is Mrs Ansty a possible killer bird?’
    â€˜Hard to see how. But that’s Brandon’s job. Tomorrow, ours is the Porsche.’
    And a dream of a job it was too, save that this poor women was going to be in for a rude awakening if, as was probable, she was entirely innocent. No one would clock in with the 356 Register if they knew the slightest thing about stolen cars. Nevertheless, I automatically distrusted anything in which Doubler was involved, even if (or because) the Mystery Cat wasn’t present himself. Any fish that cat had been pawing over stank.
    And then there was the Porsche itself, assuming that this wasn’t a fishy red herring. Great to know it was safe