Free "T" is for Trespass by Sue Grafton Page A

listening to him.
    No response.
    I knocked one more time, and after a minute I went back to my car. I sat and stared at the house. To my surprise, Vest opened the front door and peered out at me. I reached over and busied myself in the glove compartment as though searching for the service manual. Would a seventeen-year-old Mustang even have a service manual? When I looked back again, he had come down the porch steps and was heading in my direction. Oh shit.
    Forties, gray at the temples, blue eyes. His face was marked by a series of tight lines—a grimace of perpetual discontent. He didn’t seem to be armed, which I found encouraging. Once he was in range, I lowered the window and said, “Hi. How’re you?”
    â€œWas that you knocking on my door?”
    â€œUh-hun. I was hoping to use the phone.”
    â€œWhat’s the problem?”
    â€œI can’t get the engine to turn over.”
    â€œWant me to give it a try?”
    â€œSure.”
    I saw his gaze shift to the summons on the front seat beside me, but he must not have registered the reference to Superior Court and all the talk of Plaintive versus the Defendant because he didn’t gasp or recoil in dismay. I folded the document and shoved it in my shoulder bag as I emerged from the car.
    He took my place in the driver’s seat, but instead of turning the key, he put his hands on the steering wheel and shook his head with admiration. “I used to own one of these babies. Jesus, the Boss 429, king of all muscle cars and I sold mine. Sold, hell. I as good as gave it away. I’m still kicking myself. I don’t even remember what I needed the money for—probably something dumb. Where’d you find it?”
    â€œIn a used-car lot on lower Chapel. I bought it on a whim. The dealer hadn’t had it half a day. He told me there weren’t many made.”
    â€œFour hundred ninety-nine total in 1970,” he said. “Ford developed the 429 engine in 1968 after Petty started eating up NASCAR wins with his 426 Hemi Belvedere. Remember Bunkie Knudsen?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œYeah, well right around that same time, he left GM and took over as the new boss at Ford. He’s the one talked ’em into using the 429 engine in the Mustang and Cougar lines. Sucker’s so big the suspension had to be relocated and they had to stick the battery in the trunk. Turned out to be money losers, but the Boss 302 and the 429 are still the hottest cars ever made. What’d you pay for it?”
    â€œFive grand.”
    I thought he’d bang his head on the steering wheel, but he shook it instead, one of those slow wags denoting copious regret. “I never should have asked.” With that, he turned the key in the ignition and the engine fired right up. “You must have flooded the engine.”
    â€œSilly me. I appreciate the help.”
    â€œNo biggie,” he said. “You ever want to sell the car, you know where I am.” He got out and stood aside to let me into the car.
    I pulled the papers from my bag. “You’re not Bob Vest by any chance?”
    â€œI am. Have we met?”
    I held out the summons, which he took automatically when I tapped him on the arm. “Nope. Sorry to have to say this, but you’re served,” I said, as I slid under the steering wheel.
    â€œI’m what?” He looked down at the papers and when he saw what he had, he said, “Well, shit.”
    â€œAnd by the way. You ought to take better care of your cat.”
    Â 
    When I got back to the office, I put in a second call to Gus’s niece. With the three-hour time difference, I was hoping she’d be home from work. The phone rang so long that I was startled when she finally picked up. I repeated my original report in an abbreviated form. She seemed to draw a blank, like she didn’t have any idea what I was talking about. I went through my spiel again in a more elaborate