How to Score Read online

“But—”

  He hung up the phone to cut off her protest. If only, he thought as he blew out a sigh, he could cut off his thoughts about her as easily.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday dawned clear and unseasonably warm. Chase rose early, drove to the storage unit where Paul’s dad stored his auto parts, loaded them into his Ford Explorer, then headed to the auto-swap-meet site on the far outskirts of Tulsa. He found the ten-by-ten booth marked “Maloney’s Vintage Auto Parts” among the string of booths at the old flea-market site, then got to work setting up shop. He propped three 8-by-8-foot white pegboards against the back and side boards of the booth, then used hooks to hang the hubcaps on the pegboard, arranging them in neat rows, according to their make, model, and year. When he was finished, he listed them on an inventory sheet.

  The last time he’d helped Paul and his dad at a swap meet, Paul had teased him about his systematic approach. “What are you doing—putting them in Dewey Decimal order? No need to be so damned particular.”

  That was easy for Paul to say—he’d never lived in a trailer with dirty dishes piled in the sink, roaches crawling out of the walls at night, and splinters of broken beer bottle glass hidden in the filthy carpet. When you grew up in chaos, you learned the value of order.

  The overalls-clad man in the next booth glanced over as he set a yellowed box of old spark plugs on a folding metal table. He wore a ball cap that said “John Deere” and gummed a wad of chewing tobacco. “You’re a friend of Maloney’s kid, ain’tcha?” he asked, scratching a belly that jutted out like a sideways photo of Breadloaf Mountain.

  Chase nodded. “I’m Chase Jones.”

  The man stuck out his hand. “Bubba Dunlap. I seen you around before. Where’s Sonny and Pop?”

  “At the hospital. Mr. Maloney had knee-replacement surgery.”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember him talkin’ about that at the meet last month.” He stuffed a fresh wad of Skoal in his mouth. “I’ve worked a lot of swap meets with the Maloneys. If there’s anything I can do to help, you just let me know.”

  “Thanks,” Chase said.

  The man resumed pulling car parts out of a greasy cardboard box, and Chase finished setting up his merchandise.

  Within half an hour, customers started wandering in to browse, shoot the breeze, and look over the merchandise. As Chase had noted at previous swap meets, some of the best customers were other dealers. Since they constantly recycled their merchandise among each other, it was hard to see how any of them made any money.

  The Maloneys bought most of their merchandise on eBay, however, so Chase’s business was brisk. By ten in the morning, he’d made as much money as some booths did all day.

  “Is this a copy?” asked a man who looked like Willie Nelson sans ponytail, pointing to a 1956 Cadillac hubcap mounted to the back of the booth.

  “No, sir. We only carry original parts.” Chase carefully took it down and handed it to him. “Feel how heavy it is.”

  The man turned it in his thickly veined hands. His head bobbed on his skinny neck. “They don’t make chrome like this anymore. Whatcha askin’ for it?”

  “Five hundred.”

  The man blew out a low whistle. “No way. I’ll give you three.”

  Chase rubbed his jaw. “I could let you have it for four-fifty.”

  “Four.”

  Chase shook his head regretfully.

  “Four twenty-five.”

  “Man, you’re killin’ me,” Chase said. He blew out a sigh, but inside, he was high-fiving himself. Mr. Maloney would have been happy with the first offer. “That the best you can do?”

  “Yep. Got a lot of other stuff I gotta buy today.”

  “Well… ” Chase feigned reluctance. “All right. But don’t tell anyone I let it go so low.”

  The man shot him a grin. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  Which was a guarantee he would—which was just what Chase wanted.

  The man pulled a wad of bills wrapped with a rubber band out of his pocket and peeled off four hundreds, a twenty, and five. “Here you go.”

  Chase carefully stashed it in an envelope. In the world of swap meets, it was pretty much cash and carry. He was writing down the amount of the sale on the inventory sheet when he heard a familiar silky voice.

  “Hello, Chase.”

  Chase jerked up his head and saw Sammi standing in front of the booth. She wore a fitted pink T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and her hair tumbled loosely around her shoulders.

  His pulse spiked. He shoved his hands in his pocket and tried to act nonchalant. “Hi, Sammi. What are you doing here?”

  “Well, you mentioned that this swap meet was going on, and I thought it might be a good place for my sister to find some art supplies. Chloe, this is Chase. Chase, my sister, Chloe.”

  Chase pulled his eyes from Sammi to the shorter woman beside her. She had Sammi’s hazel eyes, but that’s where the family resemblance ended. Chloe’s midnight black hair had bright blue stripes, her eyes were rimmed with heavy black liner, and she wore torn black jeans and a black skull T-shirt. She extended a hand clad in a fingerless black glove and grinned. “So you’re Sammi’s latest victim.”

  Chase shook her hand, his eyebrows quirked. “Victim?”

  Two bright pink spots formed on Sammi’s cheeks. “I told her about the, uh, accidents,” Sammi said.

  “My sister only injures men she thinks are hot,” Chloe said. “You should be flattered.”

  To Chase’s amusement, Sammi shot Chloe a homicidal look, cleared her throat, and pretended her sister hadn’t spoken. “Chloe’s looking for some items to incorporate into her art.”

  Yeah, right. He wasn’t buying it for a moment. All the same, he looked at Chloe and pretended to. “What kind of things are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. I never know what I want until I see it.”

  “What’s your medium?”

  “Bowling balls.”

  Chase inclined his head. “Come again?”

  “Her hobby is welding things to bowling balls,” Sammi explained.

  “It’s not a hobby.” Chloe shot her sister an indignant look. “It’s a passion.” She looked at Chase. “Mind if I look around and see if I can find something interesting to work with?”

  “Not at all. Help yourself.”

  What about you? Chase thought, glancing at Sammi. See anything you’d like to work with? The blood pumped harder in his veins, even as he reminded himself that Sammi was off-limits.

  Chloe wandered out of earshot.

  Sammi looked at him. “How’s your… ” She hesitated, clearly looking for an appropriate word.

  “Crotch?” he supplied.

  Her lips curved upward. “I was going to say ‘burned area.’ ”

  Still on fire. “No damage done. How’s your dog?”

  “Good. I’m using the dog-training manual my life coach mentioned in our first session, and we’ve mastered everything in the first chapter.”

  “Did the chapter address how to keep your dog from strip-searching people?”

  “No, but it covered sit and stay. We’re currently working on ‘Down, boy.’ ”

  It sounded like a chapter Chase needed to read himself.

  Sammi’s gaze raked over the hubcaps hanging on the lean-to pegboard. “So this booth belongs to your partner’s dad?”

  “Yeah. He’s always loved old cars, so when he retired, he started doing this as a part-time business.”

  She rocked back on the heels of her sandals. “It’s really nice of you to fill in for him.”

  Chase lifted his shoulders. “He’s a cool guy. Kind of like the dad I never had.”

  Her eyes fixed on him. They were amazing eyes—light olive green, with a halo of gold around the pupil. She pulled her brows together in concern. “You didn’t have a dad?”

  “Not one I’d want to claim.” Why the heck had he said that? Something about her made him speak without thinking.

  To his relief, Chloe chose
that moment to amble up, holding a spiked hubcap. “How much is this?”

  It was vintage Cadillac. “Five-fifty.”

  “That’s all?” Her face lit up. “I’ll take all five.”

  Chase shoved his hand in his pocket. “That’s, um, five hundred and fifty. Dollars. Apiece.”

  “You’re kidding.” Chloe’s eyes widened. “What’s it made of—platinum?”

  “Chrome. But they’re the original of a 1959 Coupe de Ville. Now, these over here”—Chase gestured to the hubcaps at the rear of the booth—“are just twenty dollars.” They were actually thirty, but what the hell—he’d pony up for the difference. Sammi had said Chloe was a starving artist.

  “That’s more like it,” Chloe said, stepping toward them.

  Following her, Chase pulled one down and handed it to her.

  Chloe flipped it over. “Cute.”

  Chase grinned. “Not a description I’ve ever heard applied to a hubcap, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I can make a bowling ball hat out of it.” She lifted it to eye level and studied it. “Or maybe I could pull out the spikes and solder them on like hair.”

  “Don’t let any of these car buffs hear you,” Chase warned. “That’s desecration talk.”

  Chloe turned the hubcap right-side up again. “This is great. I’ll take it.”

  Sammi stepped forward. “What she means is, what’s the best price you can give us on it?”

  Oh, jeez—Sammi was going to pull her negotiating assignment on him. He rubbed his jaw. “I already lowballed it when I told you twenty, but I guess I can let it go for eighteen.”

  Sammi shook her head. “Too much. How about five?”

  “Five dollars?”

  “Well, she’s only going to use the spokes, and it has ten. Fifty cents a spoke seems reasonable.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Okay, okay. Seventy-five cents a spoke.”

  “Hubcaps aren’t priced by the spoke.”

  “I’ll pay the twenty, already,” Chloe chimed in.

  “No, you won’t.” Sammi took the hubcap from her sister and eyed it critically. “It has a scratch on it. This isn’t worth a penny over eight dollars.”

  He’d been wrong about Sammi needing assertiveness training. She was as assertive as her overgrown dog. He shook his head. “Sorry, but that’s just too low.”

  “Well, then, I’m sure there are hubcaps for sale at other booths.”

  “Hey, y’all, I’ve got some right here,” called Bubba from the next booth, who’d been watching the proceedings with great interest. “I’m willin’ to negotiate.”

  Sammi turned and shot Bubba a dazzling smile. “Terrific.” She gave Chase a little wave and headed out of his booth. “It was really nice seeing you again. Come on, Chloe.”

  She was going to just walk away? “I can let you have it for ten,” he found himself calling, even as he wondered what he was doing.

  She turned back around and eyed him challengingly. “Nine and you have a deal.”

  What the hell. He’d already been planning on putting in the difference from his own pocket; might as well kick in a little more. “Okay. Nine.”

  “Thanks.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “That’s terrific!”

  Yeah, terrific. Why had he thought she needed assertiveness training? When she dug in those kitten heels, she was tough as a tiger.

  “At that price, I’ll take all five of them,” Chloe said.

  Chase silently groaned as Chloe pulled a beaded wallet out of her purse and handed him a fifty-dollar bill. He gave her five dollars in change.

  “Thanks,” Chloe said, drifting over to look at Bubba’s wares.

  Chase started to the back of his booth to take down the other four hubcaps.

  A rangy man with a buzz cut wandered up to Chase’s booth. “Got a hood ornament for a ’62 Impala?”

  “Just a moment and I’ll check.”

  “Go ahead and help him,” Sammi said. “I’ll get the hubcaps down.”

  Sammi strode to the back of the booth, reached up on the pegboard, and pulled on one of the hubcaps. The wall wobbled precariously, but the hubcap remained affixed to its hook.

  “Hold on a moment and I’ll get it for you,” Chase told her.

  “It’s okay. I have it.” Sammi grabbed hold of the hubcap again.

  Oh, hell. “You need to lift it up off the hook,” Chase warned. But it was too late. The pegboard shook and tilted forward. Sammi tried to steady it, but her efforts only shifted the wall’s weight more off-kilter.

  Chase dashed to the back of the booth, grabbed Sammi, and pulled her out of harm’s way just as two hubcaps clattered loudly to the ground. He put his hands on the pegboard, hoping to stabilize it, as another hubcap rolled across the dirt floor.

  The wall careened forward. A hubcap flew past his face like a UFO. Another one hit his head, and then the world went black.

  Sammi watched in horror as the pegboard wall crashed down, trapping Chase beneath it. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Chase!” She rushed toward him on quaking legs, stumbling over hubcaps as she went.

  “What in tarnation… ” the man in the next booth exclaimed.

  Oh, dear Lord, she’d done it again. She’d hurt Chase—and this time it looked serious. “I need help!” she called, tugging at the pegboard that lay across his chest.

  The customer with the buzz cut rushed forward, and Bubba lumbered over as fast as his fat legs would carry him. The two men pulled the pegboard wall off Chase. Sammi crouched down beside him, her heart thumping hard. He lay slumped on the ground in an unconscious heap, blood pooling on the ground from his head.

  “Is he dead?” Bubba asked. He pronounced the word like “day-id,” and it took Sammi a moment to comprehend the question. When she did, she felt faint.

  “Do you know CPR?” Bubba asked.

  “Y-yes,” Sammi said. She’d taken a first-aid course a couple of years ago, but she’d never had cause to use it.

  “Yes, he’s day-id, or yes, you know CPR?”

  “Yes CPR. Someone call 911!” she shouted. Struggling to tamp down her panic, she tried to recall her training.

  Pulse and breathing first. She checked Chase’s neck and was relieved to feel a pulse strongly beating under her finger. She wasn’t sure about his breathing. Better to be safe than sorry. She tilted back his head, pinched his nose, and put her mouth on his.

  “Ugh,” he muttered, moving beneath her.

  “Oh, thank God!” She pulled back and placed a hand on each side of his face. “Chase! Chase, can you hear me?”

  His eyelids fluttered. So did her heart in her chest. Chase reached for his head and groaned. His hand came away covered in blood. He stared at it as if it were an alien object. “Wh-what happened?”

  “A hubcap hit you,” Sammi said, sitting back on her heels. “Lie still.”

  A crowd was forming around them.

  He raised his head and winced. “How long was I out?”

  “A couple of minutes. An ambulance is on the way.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance.” Chase struggled to sit up.

  Sammi pushed him back down. “Yes, you do. You’ve got a pretty big cut in your head and you probably need stitches.” She looked around. “Anyone got a first-aid kit?”

  “I do,” Bubba said. He waddled over to his front table, scavenged around under it, then waddled back, red-and-white case in hand.

  Sammi’s fingers trembled as she opened it and pulled out a wad of gauze. She leaned down and placed it on his head.

  Chase jerked away. “Ow!”

  “Hold still. I need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.”

  “I’ll be fine. Let me stand up.”

  A siren keened through the air in the distance.

  “Not until the medics get here,” Sammi said in her firmest voice.

  To her relief, he didn’t argue. She held the gauze to his forehead as the ambulance pulled into view, the siren shrieking
. It stopped in the parking lot, and two attendants bounded out of the back double doors.

  “Over here!” Bubba called, waving his arm like a NASCAR flagman.

  The attendants hurried over. They looked at Chase’s head, asked questions, and peered into his eyes. “We need to take you in,” the shorter medic said.

  “No,” Chase said, struggling to sit up. “I’m all right.”

  “You need stitches.”

  “Well, then, I’ll drive myself to one of those doc-in-the-box places.”

  “You’re not driving anywhere,” said the medic with the gray mustache. “Your pupils are uneven, which means you have a concussion. You’re gonna need a CT scan.”

  “But I can’t just go off and leave all of this stuff.”

  “I’ll watch your booth for the rest of the day,” Chloe offered.

  “I’ll help,” Bubba chimed in. “An’ I can pack it up and haul it off and store it with my stuff. Don’cha worry about all this. Just get yourself patched up.”

  “My-my car,” Chase mumbled. “I don’t want to leave it way out here.”

  “I can drive it to the hospital behind the ambulance,” Sammi volunteered.

  Chase shook his head, then winced. “No. That’s okay. I’ll come get it later.”

  He was afraid she’d wreck it, Sammi thought with dismay. Well, who could blame him? A boulder formed in her throat. “If you don’t trust me to drive it, Chloe can and I’ll stay here.”

  He looked at her—or rather beside her; his eyes didn’t seem to quite focus—and gave her a crooked smile. “I trust you.” With an effort, he reached into his side pocket, withdrew his keys, and held them out. “It’s the blue Ford Explorer parked on the left side of the lot.”

  The weight on her chest lightened a bit, but her throat felt strangely tight. She nodded. “I’ll see you at the hospital.”

  The emergency-room doctor opened the door to the treatment room an hour and a half later, his white coat flapping. Chase’s vision was so blurred that it looked like there were two of him, merging together, separating, then converging again. The doctors—correction—doctor was a tall man in his midthirties with a thin face and a congenial smile. He aimed it at Sammi, who was sitting in a chair against the wall.