Free The Yellow Packard by Ace Collins

look like you’ve been through a fight with Jack Dempsey, and judging by your nose, I don’t think you lasted the first round.”
    George felt too stupid to acknowledge the joke, but his shame did provoke a need to explain why it happened. “I just nodded off. I haven’t had much sleep, and the car’s seats are so comfortable….”
    “No reason to go into that,” Johns cut in. “For the moment, why don’t you just sit on the running board and lay your head back until the bleeding stops.”
    Sensing that was his only recourse, George eased down on the very thing that had caused his injury. “Maybe it is cursed,” he muttered bringing the white cloth up to his nose.
    Johns shrugged. “I still doubt it, but I’m not the one with the battered face.”
    The bleeding stopped about the same time the last piece of auctioned furniture found a new home. The new father had just risen to his feet when Janie Timmons arrived for a closer inspection.
    “You sure you’re okay?”
    “Yes. I’m just a little clumsy at times.”
    “Well that’s good.” Grinning, the woman added, “I mean that you’re all right is good, not that you’re clumsy.” Turning toward Johns, she grabbed his right hand and announced, “Well about the Packard, I guess it belongs to—”
    The lawyer cut her off, “Yep, you’re right, it belongs to Mr. Hall here. He can bring that new daughter home from the hospital in style. I can witness the paperwork. Let’s get this deal made so he can be on his way to see his little girl and wife.”
    A mystified Timmons dropped her hand along with her jaw, looking first to the lawyer and then over to George as if to ask, “What just happened?”

Chapter 9
    T he car’s new owner had backed the Packard out of the barn and was a half a mile down the road before Timmons finally looked toward the attorney. Her expression was a mixture of confusion and frustration.
    “You outbid that young man by two hundred dollars. Did you suddenly get cold feet? Are you now believing the sedan is cursed?”
    “No,” he quickly assured her. “Not even his tumble got me to believe any such thing.”
    “Give me a hand closing these doors,” she moaned, her displeasure evident in her tone.
    After the pair had pulled the large wooden doors shut and latched them, she poked a finger into Johns’s stomach. “You and your urging bidders to be generous! You cost that children’s home some money today, and I doubt Abigale would have liked that. She told me two weeks ago that when it came the time for me to sell her estate I was to squeeze every nickel out of each sale. There are a lot of nickels in that two hundred dollars you just cost me!”
    He smiled, pushed her finger back from his gut, reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a money clip. As she looked on, Johns peeled off eleven twenties from the roll and handed it to the woman.
    “You gave me one too many,” she noted.
    “Consider it a donation to the cause. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m either superstitious or cheap.”
    After stuffing the cash into her front dress pocket, she said, “I don’t understand. You wanted that car.”
    “Yeah, I wanted it, but I didn’t need it. The young man did. Sometimes needs are a lot more important than wants.”
    “Sam, you sound like your wife has been dragging you to church again. But I’m sure I haven’t seen you there. I can’t even remember the last time you darkened those doors.”
    “No,” he laughed, “and I figure the next time I’ll see the inside of a church will be at my funeral. But that doesn’t mean I don’t read the Bible.”
    “Well, Mr. Johns, that might surprise me even more than your paying for that young man to win the auction.”
    “It is what Abbi would have wanted,” he modestly replied. “Most days I look in that mirror, I don’t like what I see. I let Abbi down. But today I feel a little better about who I am.”
    She ran her right hand through her red hair. “Now I’m