A Cat to Kill For Read online

  First printed in paperback format in 2019.

  First published in ebook format 2019 by Veloce Publishing Limited, Veloce House, Parkway Farm Business Park, Middle Farm Way, Poundbury, Dorchester, Dorset, DT1 3AR, England – Fax 01305 250479 – e-mail [email protected] – web www.veloce.co.uk or digital.veloce.co.uk.

  Ebook edition ISBN: 978-1-787114-77-7

  Paperback edition ISBN: 978-1-787114-09-8

  © Greg Miller and Veloce Publishing 2019. All rights reserved. With the exception of quoting brief passages for the purpose of review, no part of this publication may be recorded, reproduced or transmitted by any means, including photocopying, without the written permission of Veloce Publishing Ltd. Throughout this book logos, model names and designations, etc, have been used for the purposes of identification, illustration and decoration. Such names are the property of the trademark holder as this is not an official publication.

  Readers with ideas for automotive books, or books on other transport or related hobby subjects, are invited to write to the editorial director of Veloce Publishing at the above address.

  All ebook design and code produced in-house by Veloce Publishing.

  In memory of my father – an artist and a car guy.

  It doesn’t cost any more to make something pretty.

  – Sir William Lyons, founder of Jaguar Cars

  CHAPTER 1

  A flatbed truck strained its way through Upstate New York, along a back country road that led past sweeping pale brown fields – their edges spotted with the last snow of the winter – picturesque dairy farms, and the occasional old Victorian house.

  A man wearing a gray topcoat stood leaning against a silver SUV, fiddling with his Leica camera. A few feet away a tall, pretty girl shivered in her pea coat and pajama bottoms, as she slowly scanned a large and decrepit old barn. Upon hearing the approaching truck, they watched it make the turn down the long, muddy driveway, eventually coming to a rumbling stop beside them.

  Gavin Campbell stepped out, wearing faded jeans, a frayed tweed blazer, and an olive scarf that was pulled up high around his neck. In his late thirties, fairly handsome, and with messy brown hair that was in desperate need of a trim, he looked more like a pot-smoking professor of literature than a classic car dealer.

  A stocky man came around from the other side, looking like he’d be more at home on a Harley-Davidson, with his leather jacket, graying ponytail, and earring.

  Together, they made a very odd pair.

  “Andrew … good to see you again,” Gavin said. “This is my mechanic, Gus.”

  Andrew shook their hands, then looked warmly upon the girl beside him. “I’d like you to meet my sister Emily; she came along for the ride.”

  Gavin smiled at the girl who appeared to be in her late twenties. “Nice to meet you.”

  Emily hesitated before she spoke. “Hello,” she said, in a somber voice. She quickly averted her eyes, looking again at the structure.

  Gavin followed her gaze, taking in the building. “It’s not often I get called out to look at a genuine barn find.”

  “As I said on the phone,” Andrew replied, “the car looks pretty good to me, but I thought it best to get your professional opinion before having you restore it. Shall we go take a look?” Andrew asked with a boyish grin.

  “This is a very large barn,” Emily said, turning to Andrew as she walked toward it with the others. “Based on the number of board and batten planks, I’d say it’s 120 feet long.” She twisted her lips. “I wonder if he has any keys in there?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Andrew said, looking back at her with a smile.

  Gavin furrowed his brow, glancing at them.

  As they approached the barn, a man in a flannel work shirt and John Deere cap appeared in the doorway to greet them.

  “This is Don – he’s the one selling the car,” Andrew said.

  “Hi,” Don said. “I’ve just been clearing a path.”

  Gavin bit his lower lip. “How long has it been in there?”

  “About thirty years, I’d guess,” Don replied, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “It was my dad’s. He passed away a while ago but he was a hoarder, as you can see.” He gestured loosely around the barn. “I’m just getting ’round to clearing things out. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Don led the way into the vast, dingy space, which was crammed with all kinds of junk. There were broken carriages, ancient farm equipment, pot belly stoves, and a large apple cider press half buried beneath countless old toys, enamel signs, and burlap bags almost bursting with God knows what else. Emily stopped to examine a strange looking lamp with a crank, which appeared to have been made out of an old coffee grinder.

  At the far end, amid more piles of rubbish, Gavin saw the hood of a low, murky green Jaguar E-Type coupe.

  “I pushed it forward so you guys could take a better look.”

  As they approached the front of the car Gavin stopped short, staring at it.

  “Something wrong?” Gus asked.

  “Is that the stock grill?”

  “Looks like it to me. Why?”

  “It just seems like there’s something unusual about it.”

  Don squinted an eye as if he thought Gavin might be trying to whittle him down on the price.

  “It’s the original paint and doesn’t appear to have ever been hit,” Andrew said.

  Gavin nodded and started looking the car over. “It seems like a very nice example.”

  Gus pulled out a flashlight, crawled beneath the rear end, and began poking around with a screwdriver. Gavin opened the driver’s side door to look inside when the flash from a camera lit up the barn.

  “I thought I’d take a few pictures for posterity and to show the guys at my club.” Andrew smiled.

  Gus peered out from under the car with an inquisitive look.

  “Andrew’s the Vice President of a Jaguar club,” Gavin explained.

  “Yeah, that’s just a silly title. I’m also their unofficial photographer. It’s a hobby of mine.” Andrew snapped a photo of the dirty stamped tag on the inner door frame that had the car’s VIN number and date of manufacture.

  Gavin tapped his knuckles along the front of the hood checking for shoddy repairs.

  “There’s some evidence of mice, but surprisingly little rust.” Gus coughed, struggling to get out from under the car. “So far I think it looks pretty good.” He stood back up, brushing off dust and bits of hay.

  “That’s what I’m thinking, too.” Gavin lifted the hood and cringed as if he’d found a dead rodent inside. He took a step back and turned to Don with a look of disdain. “Your father did this?”

  “What? The Chevy engine?” Don squinted. Gavin nodded slowly as if he thought doing such a thing should be a capital offense.

  “No. I think he bought it that way.”

  “So you don’t have the original motor?”

  “No. Why?” Don asked. “Is that a problem? I …”

  “Sorry,” Andrew interrupted. “I forgot to tell you about that.”

  Gavin ran his fingers through his hair. “Andrew, if I’m going to restore this for you that thing has to go.”

  “Of course!” Andrew laughed. “I wouldn’t want somebody in the club to kill me.”

  “What do you think?” Gavin looked at Gus who was now bent over inspecting the tubular space frame.

  “Still not much rust, but I’m sure I’ll find more. Assuming you get an engine that’s already rebuilt … a couple of months’ work I’d say.”

  Andrew smiled. “So you’re giving it a thumbs up?�
��

  “Oh yes,” Gavin said, caressing the fender with his fingers. “I love these cars. It needs to be saved and given a new life.”

  “So it’s a deal then?” Don asked.

  “It’s a deal,” Andrew said, pulling a wad of cash from his coat pocket.

  Gavin spotted Emily who was still a distance back, gazing at the overwhelming mess of strange items in the barn. Their eyes met briefly, but she quickly looked away.

  There were half a dozen old sports cars in various stages of completion on the shiny, gray shop floor. The Jaguar’s hood had been removed and the Chevy motor dangled from an engine crane beside it. Gavin stared at the firewall which was now clearly visible behind the cage of steel tubes. A black metal plate, opposite the detached steering column, stood out against the otherwise green chassis of the car. Gus and Daryl – a lanky young man with short blond hair – carried the hood over. Gavin helped guide it into place then stood back, gazing at the Jaguar.

  “I just don’t see it,” Daryl said.

  Gavin wrinkled his forehead. “Don’t see what, Daryl?”

  “Why you guys think this is such a beautiful car.”

  “It isn’t just us.” Gavin frowned. “Everyone thinks so.”

  Daryl lifted his nose. “Yeah? Who’s ‘everyone’?”

  “Well … Enzo Ferrari for one. He said it was the most beautiful car ever made.”

  “Really? Who else?”

  “I don’t know,” Gavin snapped. “They’ve got one at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Is that good enough for you?”

  “The boy has no appreciation for the classics,” Gus said, walking back over.

  “That’s not true,” Daryl said. “I like old Corvettes.”

  “What do you think of that?” Gus chuckled.

  Gavin rolled his eyes. “I think it’s like comparing a Wedgwood vase to a plastic soda bottle.”

  “A what?”

  “Alright, let’s get back to work. Are you starting on the Alfa?”

  Daryl nodded.

  “Okay. I’ve got some paperwork to take care of, then I’ll be back to help.”

  Andrew Van Der Hout drove down Franklin Street, past all the shops, and under banners hanging from the street lights which proclaimed Watkins Glen was ‘The Home of Road Racing.’ He turned down a side street and parked in front of what had once been an old brick warehouse, but which now bore a bright new sign with ‘Campbell Classic Cars’ and a coat of arms emblazoned on it. He got out and looked in the showroom window.

  There was a red Porsche 911, a two-tone Austin Healey, a blue Shelby Cobra, and a silver Mercedes 450SL on the checkered floor, as well as an old fashioned gas pump, vintage racing posters, and various other automobilia on the walls.

  He went inside and found Gavin in his office.

  Gavin looked up from the pile of parts receipts on his desk and smiled. “Hey, Andrew,” he called, getting up.

  “I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to see how it’s going.”

  Gavin nodded, shaking his hand. “We’ve already made a start, but I’m afraid I’ve been having a little trouble locating a rebuilt engine.”

  “That’s okay.” Andrew shrugged. “I’m sure one will turn up.”

  “Come on,” Gavin said. “Let’s go take a look.”

  He led Andrew down a hallway and opened the door to the shop, where they heard the sound of a running motor. They proceeded past tool chests and an old MG, as Andrew looked around at the banners and signs of automobile marques that hung high on the walls.

  They joined Daryl and Gus, who were standing in front of a little brown Alfa Romeo Spider, its hood open and engine idling. Gavin closed his eyes, listening.

  “We just got it running – sounds good, don’t you think?” Daryl smiled.

  Gavin sighed. “It has a bad crank bearing.”

  “What?” Daryl exclaimed. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Oh damn!” Gus huffed and stomped off toward a tool cabinet.

  Andrew turned and spotted his Jaguar in the back of the shop. “Oh, it looks a hundred per cent better already.”

  “We gave it a wash before bringing it in,” Gavin said as they approached the car. “Gus has had a chance to properly check it over, and he thinks it’s in pretty good shape overall, but there are some rust issues to deal with. We’re just going to replace those rocker panels, and –”

  “Sounds fine,” Andrew said. Lowering his voice, he continued: “I wanted to ask you something – have you shown it to anyone?”

  “No,” Gavin replied.

  “Has anyone else seen it?”

  Gavin shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’s even been in here since we brought it back. Why?”

  Andrew rubbed his temple. “I received this rather strange call from someone who said he wanted to buy it. I told him I wasn’t interested in selling, but that everything had its price, and he offered me twice what I paid, sight unseen.”

  “Hmm, that does sound a little strange,” Gavin said, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” Andrew continued, “and when I asked if he knew it was missing the engine he said it didn’t matter. I asked how he’d heard about it, but he just said that he’d be in touch and hung up.”

  “Did you check the phone number?”

  Andrew shook his head. “Unknown caller. And this is the weirdest part: his voice sounded, well, almost like it had been … electronically altered, or something. Although, I guess it could have just been a bad connection.”

  “Did you tell anyone about the car?”

  “Just some of the guys at the club. I showed them the photos.”

  Gavin scratched his forehead. “Even if someone had seen it here, I know that Gus and Daryl wouldn’t have given out your phone number.” He gazed at the Jaguar. “You know, every time I look at this car I get the feeling there’s something unusual about it.”

  Andrew stood beside him, looking at it too.

  “Anyway,” Gavin said. “I’ll be sure to let you know if someone does inquire about it.”

  “Thanks.” Andrew glanced at his watch. “Ugh. I was taking pictures in the gorge and lost track of the time; I’m supposed to be meeting my sister in Ithaca.” He arched an eyebrow. “Why don’t you come out to dinner with us?”

  Gavin forced a smile. “Thanks, Andrew, but I need to be here a while longer.”

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Not at the moment,” Gavin said. “Why?”

  “No reason,” Andrew said. “Well, actually, it’s Emily – I think she could really like you.”

  Gavin tipped his head. “I’m sensing there’s more to her story than you’re telling me.”

  “What do you mean?” Andrew laughed.

  “She just seemed a little withdrawn. And guys don’t usually ask other guys to go out with their sisters. Especially when they’re as attractive as she is.”

  “Okay, okay.” Andrew smiled. “She has some challenges with social interaction. You’ve heard of Asperger’s?”

  Gavin squinted an eye, nodding.

  “It’s really quite mild, and she’s extremely smart and funny. I just thought the two of you might hit it off. That’s all.”

  Gavin thought for a moment. “Why don’t you just bring her along with you some time and we’ll see how it goes?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Andrew chuckled. “That’s probably a better idea, I’ll do that. Well, I’d best be going.”

  “I’ll let you know when I locate an engine,” Gavin said, as he escorted Andrew to the door. When he returned, he found Gus standing beside the Alfa Romeo with a mechanic’s stethoscope hanging from his neck.

  “You were right, it does have a bad crank bearing,” Daryl said. “I don’t know how you heard it.”

  Gavin shrugged.

  “I th
ink I may be able to get at it through the oil pan,” Gus said, with a hint of optimism in his voice.

  “I hope so. It’ll cost us a lot of extra time and money if we have to pull the whole thing apart.”

  “Hey.” Daryl smirked. “Why didn’t you go to dinner with his sister? You probably could’ve gotten laid.”

  “You heard that well enough,” Gavin said. “Is that all you ever think about?”

  “No. But that’s what I would have been thinking if she was hot.”

  “Yeah, that’s just what I need right now: some seriously crazy girl in my life. If and when you ever grow up, you’ll realize some things are just too high a price to pay.”

  “Like what?” Daryl laughed.

  “Like your sanity,” Gavin said over Daryl’s laughter.

  “Stop being a wise ass, Daryl.” Gus grumbled.

  “I wasn’t being a –”

  “The kid’s right.”

  Daryl froze, looking surprised. Gavin exhaled a long breath as if he knew he was about to be lectured.

  “I don’t mean about getting ‘laid,’” Gus said. “I’m just saying that there’s more to life than just working on cars and bumming around alone. There’s companionship.”

  “Right.” Gavin chuckled. “This from the guy who spent half his life working on race cars and bumming around Europe trying to get laid.”

  “That’s true,” Gus admitted. “But then I grew up. And what I’m talking about is someone to share your life with.”

  “I know what you’re talking about.” Gavin scoffed. “But she’s a nut. Didn’t you hear that part? She has Asperger’s. Do you know how obsessive and crazy she must be?”

  “I heard,” Gus said. “But tell me how all the supposedly normal ones worked out for you? And then tell me, honestly, that you don’t think you’re just a little obsessive and crazy yourself.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “I still have a pile of parts receipts to go through. And if we don’t sell a car pretty soon I’m not going to be able to pay the rent – or your salaries for that matter.”

  It was Saturday morning. The shop was dark and Gavin was alone in the showroom with muffled old recordings of big band music playing. He was leaning over the hood of the Mercedes – polishing with one hand, holding his tie back with the other – when the phone rang. Gavin went into his office, dropped the cotton cloth on his desk, and lifted the receiver.