“Well, not exactly.” Nancy stopped, and then said, “I asked for it. I need to make some extra money fast.”
“I know what you mean. I’m in between semesters from college now, and I’m doing this to pick up some fast cash myself,” he said. “Oh, my name’s Jim Dayton.”
“Nancy Nickerson. Nice to meet you.”
“Same here. They don’t have too many female drivers around here, you know.”
Nancy quickly glanced at her watch. “And they’ll have one less if I don’t get out of here,” she said smiling. “I’ll be seeing you around.”
“I hope so,” Jim answered. Nancy noticed that his incredibly blue eyes sparkled even in the harsh light of the garage.
Nancy got into the car and started the engine. Too bad this guy’s only temporary, she thought. He’s friendly, and he might know something.
By ten o’clock Nancy had driven over two hundred miles. Her money bag was full, her back was stiff, and her rear end was numb from sitting. But if Brownley was away from his desk, she wouldn’t be sitting much longer.
Turning onto McConnell, she made a pass by the garage to see if the office was empty. It was. Unfortunately, Brownley was standing just outside of it talking to a tall, thin man, who turned just then and glanced out into the street.
“Oh, no!” Nancy whispered.
It was Philip Reston. If he got a close look at her, her life wouldn’t be worth a ten-cent tip.
Chapter Twelve
Nancy eased past the garage so the sound of the motor wouldn’t attract the attention of either man. What should she do? She wasn’t sure whether Brownley had seen her.
Grabbing the mike, she called in. After a second, Brownley answered. “Hey, kid, did you just pass here?”
“Sure, on the way to twenty-five-twelve Bennett. Is something wrong with the radio? I called you three times before you answered.”
“Guess I didn’t hear you,” he said. “I was talking to somebody.”
“Oh. Sorry. Want me to call back?”
“No, I’m finished.” Just what Nancy wanted to hear. “Why don’t you knock off early? Call it a night. Come on in when you’ve finished this run. Nothing’s happening tonight.”
“Will do. One-six-one out.”
She drove a couple of blocks farther and parked long enough to put in the money her imaginary fare would have paid. Then she doubled back, edging around the corner onto McConnell again. Reston was standing by a late-model Buick parked on the street just beyond the garage. It was a dead ringer for the car that had tried to run her over the day before.
To kill more time, Nancy ran the cab through the car wash next door, sitting in the vehicle as it glided through the cycles. It seemed to take much too short a time. Reston was still out front, but she couldn’t put off going in any longer.
The Gold Star sign—a brightly lit rectangle above the broad rollup door—spilled its gaudy light into the cab as she drove under it. From the corner of her eye, Nancy saw Reston staring at her with a puzzled expression.
After a moment’s hesitation, he got in the Buick and started the engine. Nancy’s hand shook slightly as she opened the cab door. But Reston was gone. She’d survived her first shift as a Gold Star cabbie.
“Not bad, Nickerson,” Brownley said, counting her money. “Lay off that gum, and you’ll do even better.”
“I’ll think about it.” Nancy removed the cushion she’d brought from the front seat of the cab. “Where can I leave this?”
He nodded toward a bank of lockers just beyond his office. “Snag one for yourself. You have to supply your own lock, though.”
Nancy walked along the row of lockers, hoping for an empty one as close to the back of the garage as possible. The second and third from the end were available.
She crammed the cushion into one and hunted for a pen to scratch “Ellison” off the strip of adhesive tape that served as the name tag on the locker door. After squeezing “Nickerson” on it, she glanced at the names on either side—Eastman, which had a monster combination lock on the door, and Tyler, with no lock at all.