Boo Who (17 page)

Martin looked up at her from his own distant thoughts. “You do?”

“But you must promise not to tell anyone who told you this.”

Martin seemed to focus. “Okay.”

“There’s a new therapist in town. He just moved here. I went to see him because I’m having some … some … nightmares. Anyway, he’s really good, and maybe Mayor Wullisworth could use that kind of help. I would imagine one’s claim to have seen dead people would pretty much be reason to go see a shrink.”

“Yeah … right.”

She wrote down Dr. Hass’s address and gave it to Martin. “Listen, Martin. This is just between you and me, okay?”

Martin nodded, thanked her, and left. Melb, however, still had the task of deciding whether or not to eat her sandwich.

CHAPTER 15

W
OLFE WAS JUST ABOUT
to go to the bathroom to take off his thermal underwear that was doing nothing more than making him sweat in his cozy and warm office, when Oliver appeared with an enormous grin. “Well, today’s your big day.”

“Big day?”

“Just saw a car pull up. A woman is getting out. Think you’re up to the task?”

Wolfe looked out and saw the top of her head bobbing through the lot. “Sure.”

“Remember, the first twenty seconds are critical. That’s when you sell the car. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember the Road to the Sale. Remember the points?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Now grin real big, offer the correct handshake, and go sell me a car!”

Wolfe stood. His heart was actually pumping dramatically considering he was just going out to speak to this woman. Taking a deep breath, he tried to muster up some confidence as he walked to where she was looking at a four-door sedan. “Hello!”

She looked up at him, gave him a smile indicative of annoyance, and looked back down at the car. “Hi.”

“Looking for a car today?”

“No, I’m here because I’m shopping for shoes.”

He swallowed. Ten seconds down the drain. He was just about to ask his next question when the woman suddenly started sneezing. Ten times. When she finally got ahold of herself, twenty seconds had already passed, and all he knew was that she was annoyed and apparently contagious.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’ve had this for weeks.”

“That’s okay,” Wolfe smiled, and then realized he needed to shake her hand, which had just managed to catch a million germs. He feebly stuck out his arm. “I’m Wolfe.”

“Barbara.”

“What can I help you with today?” No, that wasn’t right. He should have said, “I can help you today.” Good grief, this was falling apart by the second.

“My car broke down. It’s going to cost a ton to fix. So I decided I should probably buy a new one.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Something reasonable, but I don’t want compact.”

He tried to size the woman up. She didn’t seem to be the type concerned with image, and since she didn’t want compact, perhaps safety was on her mind. “Well, I’ve got a nice Mercury Sable over here—”

“Don’t bother,” the woman said curtly. And then she pulled out a folder from the large handbag hanging off her shoulder.

He tried not to gasp. A folder.
A Folder!
On his first try!

She handed him a sheet of paper. “Here is a list of features I want, the color I want, and the make I want. Do you have this car on your lot?”

He looked at the sheet. “Well, we’ve got this car with all these features, but we only have it in maroon.”

The woman scowled. “Maroon.”

He was getting cold, and this woman’s personality wasn’t warming things up. He handed her back the sheet of paper. “I’m willing to bet you already know the price we bought this car for.”

A smug smile was the only bright feature on this woman’s face.

“Tell you what,” Wolfe said. “It’s cold out here. Let’s save us both a
lot of time. Why don’t you come inside, tell me what you’re willing to pay for this car, and we’ll go from there.”

The woman moved past him. “I like your style.”

“What?!” Oliver sat in his office, his face red with anger. “Did I not teach you anything?”

Wolfe rocked on his heels. “But she’s a Folder.”

“So what? You’ve still got to go through all the steps. Now we don’t have a snowball’s chance of making a dime off this lady!” Oliver glanced through the glass window in his office to the lady sitting in the “negotiation” room. “Look at her! Her shoulders are back. Her head is high. She’s got all the confidence in the world.”

“But you said Folders are impossible. And she had already done her research. What was I supposed to do?”

“Steps
One through Ten!”
Oliver stood, pacing behind his desk. “Now she’s got the edge. She knows we’re desperate. I guarantee she’s going to offer to pay a hundred bucks over invoice. A hundred bucks. Oliver lamented.

Wolfe’s gut swelled with desperation. “Let me work on her,” he said, hoping Oliver would settle down a bit. The last time he remembered anyone being so mad at him was six years ago when he’d missed a deadline three times. Alfred finally called and yelled at him. Rushing back into the office, he closed the door and tried to offer a professional demeanor.

“What took you so long?” the woman snapped. “I don’t have all day.”

“Sorry. Just going over some paperwork.” Wolfe sat down on the other side of the desk. “Now, whose name is the car going to be under?”

“Mine.”

“Okay.” He managed to find hope in that simple statement. “Well, let me do some figuring here.”

She slid another piece of paper over to him. “I’ve already done that for you. Just to save you the time and effort. I broke everything down
by feature, and at the bottom you’ll see exactly what I am going to pay for this car.”

He took the paper. “Fifty-four dollars over invoice?” Dread washed over Wolfe for many reasons, not the least of which was the realization he’d spoken first.

Ainsley followed Alfred closely through the large Indiana Convention Center. Her nostrils began to fill with every delicious aroma she could think of as soon as they entered what was called the Sagamore Ballroom. In one corner of the building was the Casserole Bake-Off. In another was a contest for fried chicken. On the west end of the room was the cookie contest. With glee on their drive up, he had realized that she was going to be able to enter five different contests: chocolate chip, cookie with a nut, five-ingredient cookie, fifteen-ingredient cookie, and most original cookie, which was something she’d created years ago: Raspberry Orange White Chocolate with a Sprinkle of Ginger.

Alfred was also high on sugar, as he’d managed to eat the equivalent of an entire batch of cookies while driving. He was practically skipping along the convention floor as Ainsley briskly walked to keep up with him.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before!” she mused.

He slowed his pace and walked beside her. “Look at these women, Ainsley. Study them … their demeanor.”

“What for?”

“This is your competition. Don’t you think all these women want their own television show? Isn’t that the dream of every woman in this building?”

A tall and thin woman caught her eye as they walked past her booth. She wore a thinly striped blue apron, her hair in a perfect bob. She looked up at Ainsley as they passed. A kind smile warmed her eyes. Ainsley grinned. But then the woman’s eyes looked at the identification card around Ainsley’s neck, the one that read
COOKIE BAKE-OFF
#101. The smile faded, and her eyes flashed an equal measure of elite
showmanship and severe competitiveness. A disapproving eyebrow rose while her eyes quickly scanned Ainsley’s outfit. Then she smirked and went on about her business.

“Alfred!” she said. “Did you see that? That woman gave me a dirty look!”

His attention was on finding where they were supposed to be, but he glanced down at her. “Get used to it. When you win this thing, you will be the most hated woman in Indiana.”

“Why?”

“Don’t all women want to be the object of envy for other women?”

She was just about to retort when he pointed. “There! It’s our booth! Come on.” They toted the cookies over to the booth. She looked around. All the other booths were elaborately decorated. One woman’s actually looked like a real kitchen! Another woman had music playing.

Alfred seemed to read her mind. “We’re going simplistic,” he announced. “Everyone has a theme. Your theme will be you. It will catch everyone’s attention. Believe me.” He lowered his voice. “Trust me.”

“Okay.” She smiled weakly at the woman next to her, who had a carousel of cookies spinning around on the counter. The woman didn’t bother to smile back, glancing at her as though she were as important as a fleeting bug. “Alfred, this place … it’s not me.”

“I know. This is the big time. You’re not used to the big time. But honey, you’re going to have to get used to it. And I didn’t tell you this before, because I didn’t want to scare you, but we’ll have company soon.”

“Company?”

“Remember that TV exec I was telling you about? Harper Jones is his name. And he’s due to arrive in about thirty minutes.”

Wolfe stared at the woman. Never had he seen such cold eyes. The lady wasn’t going to pay a dime above fifty-four dollars over invoice. Breaking the news to Oliver hadn’t been pleasant. After five minutes of ranting, Oliver said he had to go back in there and get more money out of her.

Now Wolfe sat behind the desk, shaking hands folded together, stomach sour with stress. The woman looked quite relaxed, her purse sitting delicately in her lap, her eyelids slightly lowered. She looked like a lioness deciding whether the rabbit in the bush was worth the effort to get up and go mangle.

“Ma’am,” Wolfe began, “I understand your thriftiness. It’s natural to want a good deal. I can truly appreciate that.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“But what you’re offering to pay here would barely cover processing the paperwork.”

“Since when did filling out forms cost money?”

Was that a growl he’d just heard from her throat? “Ma’am, the people working here need money. They need to make a living. Oliver works very hard at running a reputable car dealership.”