She ducked, her heart pounding, as a car roared down from the street level. It pulled in from her right and stopped. Two car doors slammed.
Brownley said, “Beautiful! Beautiful, Mac! We’ll keep this one out of sight down here until it’s time to move it. No way am I putting any paint on this baby. Wish I could keep it myself. But next time, remember—no daytime deliveries.”
Nancy lifted her head high enough to see. The dispatcher stood talking to a stranger and peeling bills off a wad of money in his hand.
“We’ll change the numbers on the engine block tonight, switch plates, and send it on to Freddie day after tomorrow. Here’s a thousand. You done good, Mac, boy.”
So that’s what this is about, Nancy mused. Stolen cars!
The man counted the bills and crammed them into his pocket. “Looks like you guys are behind schedule,” he said.
“A little. But we’ll be moving them in and out of here double-time until we’re caught up. We’ve got the paint, but we may have to buy another compressor so we can paint two at a time.”
“Good idea.”
“Mac, can you come back tonight and help us take some of these through the car wash?”
“Sure. One-thirty, okay?”
“Fine. Run them through twice,” Brownley said. “This new paint doesn’t wash off as easily.”
“If you say so. Let’s get back to the money-making business. What kind of car do you want next?” the man asked.
“Come on back up to the office and I’ll show you the list. Ever steal a Jaguar, Mac, boy?” With a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, he led him toward the exit ramp.
Once they were out of sight, Nancy stood up. The latest arrival was a beautiful white Mercedes. She tiptoed over to get a closer look. The ignition wires were dangling beneath the dashboard. I was right, Nancy thought. It had been stolen.
She checked the other passenger cars. None had license plates. Seventeen of the twenty had loose ignition wires. Brownley had a steal-to-order business going here!
At the opposite end of the garage, a Dodge, its windows, grille, and bumpers covered with paper, glistened under a bright light. Nancy touched a fender. The paint was still wet. And there was Mr. Tyler’s compressor. They used it to spray a stolen car Gold Star gold so it could be disguised until enough time had passed to sell it safely.
Nancy gazed at the row of cars now disguised as cabs. It was quite a collection—American cars, German, Japanese. The fourth from the end looked familiar. Nancy crossed to it, her heart tap-dancing in her chest. There was a slit in the back seat, and on the dashboard, a red, quarter-sized blob. Her nail polish. Ned’s car!
From behind her, Nancy heard a muffled groan. Startled, she whirled around. The sound had come from a wire enclosure beside the compressor.
She hurried over to it. At first all she saw in it were car batteries, Gold Star roof lights, a trash barrel, and stacked cans of motor oil.
The sound came again, but louder. Something rolled into view, and Nancy gasped. Ann Granger lay on her back, bound hand and foot, tape across her mouth. She stared at Nancy, her eyes unfocused.
“Shhh!” Nancy said. Ann blinked groggily.
The door of the enclosure was secured with a hefty padlock. Nancy took out her set of picks and went to work on it. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Time stretched. Nancy was in agony, working as fast as she could.
Just as the hasp pulled free with a click, Ann made an urgent sound deep in her throat. Too late Nancy realized that the click had not come from the lock, but from behind her. She turned around and found herself facing the business end of a silver-plated automatic pistol.
Chapter Sixteen
“That ought to hold you.” Brownley tightened the last knot around Nancy’s ankles, after tying her hands behind her back.
Reston, lips stretched in a slash of a smile, squatted beside her, the gun to her temple. With the other hand, he snatched the tape from Ann’s mouth. “So you finally woke up, Granger. Good. Let’s not waste each other’s time. Who’s the snitch in our organization?”