“Oh.” Blair fished around in his hip pocket, pulled out his crocodile wallet, and handed the license to Rick.
“Blair, do you have any idea how fast you were moving?”
“Uh—yes, I do.”
“Uh-huh. You know, of course, that the speed limit in the great state of Virginia is fifty-five miles per hour. Now I don’t think that’s the smartest law on the books, but I have to enforce it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did you get this vehicle?”
“This morning.”
“Uh-huh. Why don’t you get out of the car a minute.”
In a show of sympathy, Harry unfastened her seat belt and got out, too.
“Lemme see the engine.”
Rick popped up the back, revealing a giant turbo covering the engine.
“That’s a pain in the ass,” the sheriff grumbled.
“It’s the turbo, chief, it forces air back in here,”—Blair pointed to the inlet side—“which boosts the horsepower to four hundred. Here’s the delivery side.”
“Four hundred horsepower?” Rick whispered reverently.
Blair smiled, knowing the sheriff was hooked. “The intake, or flow, is split toward the left and right exhaust turbochargers. The air gets reunited, flows past the throttle, and goes into the cylinder heads in virtually direct sequence.” He paused, realizing he was getting too technical. “The pollution level falls below government requirements, which is a good thing. Drive a turbo and be environmentally responsible.”
“Uh-huh.” Rick ran his hand over the rear fender, which slightly resembled a horse’s hindquarters, then ducked his head inside the driver’s side. “Not much room in the back.”
“Big enough for Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter.” Harry finally said something.
“I’m surprised they aren’t with you.” Rick pushed his hat back on his head. “Now in order to be fair here, I need to know a little more about this car. Can we all fit in?”
“Sure,” Blair said.
“Tell you what, guys, I’ll stay with the squad car. You two roll on,” Harry said.
Rick furtively looked around. “Well—”
“No one will know a thing. If anyone stops, I’ll say you’re investigating a rustling call and I came along for the ride. You’re out in the pasture.”
“Well—all right,” Rick agreed. “If H. Vane-Tempest happens to come by, don’t say a word.”
“Got his nose out of joint again?” Harry casually asked.
Rick grunted. “He’s a little different.”
“Different!”
Harry giggled. “He’s got more money than God and he acts like he
“He and Archie Ingram pester me with more calls than anyone else in the county, and this is a county full of nutcases.”
Archie Ingram, one of the county commissioners, a handsome man, courtly to women, was so violently opposed to most development schemes that he had attracted radical detractors and equally radical supporters.
“H. Vane is a big noise in the environmental group. I guess he and Archie have to work closely together.”
“Ideas are one thing. Temperament’s another.” Rick hooked his thumb in his gun belt. “I predict those two can’t stay on the same team for long.”
“Sheriff, would you like to drive?” Blair asked.
“Well—”
“Go on.”
Rick slipped behind the wheel.
Blair winked at Harry, then folded his six-foot-four-inch frame into the passenger side. “That button will push the seat back or forward. There you go. And you can raise or lower the seat, too.”
“Isn’t that something?” Rick’s seduction would be complete once he touched the accelerator. He reached to the right for the key.
“On the left.”
“That’s weird.”
“A leftover from the great racing days when drivers had to sprint to their cars. If the ignition was on the left it gave them a split-second advantage. The driver could start the car and shift into gear simultaneously.”
“I’ll be damned.” Rick turned the key. The pistons awakened like Sleeping Beauty.
Rick stalled out.
“Takes a while to get used to the clutch. Everything is much more sensitive than you or I are accustomed to—it’s not so much about technology, it’s about feel.”
“Yeah.” Rick engaged the clutch and touched the gas, then shot down the road.
Harry folded her arms across her chest, watching the car lurch into second. It would take Rick a few more tries.
She walked back to the squad car, sat down, and clicked on the two-way radio.
Milden Hall, the estate of Sir H. Vane-Tempest, was immediately behind her. The overlarge sign, emblazoned with a gold griffin on a bloodred field, swung slightly in the breeze.
Harry turned off the radio, swung her legs out, and closed the door. The day was too pleasant for sitting in the car. She walked back toward the sign. A car cruised around the corner, having turned off 250.
Harry waved and Susan Tucker pulled her Audi to the side of the road.
“What are you doing out here?”
Harry walked over to her best friend. “Joyriding. Blair bought a Porsche Turbo and as luck would have it, Rick Shaw came out of H. Vane’s driveway just as we slowed down to eighty-something.”
“Where’s Blair now? In jail?”
“No. He’s letting Rick drive the Turbo.”
Susan laughed. “That’s a good one.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“On my way to drop off books for Chris Middleton. I want to persuade him to give a talk at the high school for career day.”
