“You don’t want to rebuild the garage.” Adam’s voice was very neutral, a statement, not a question.
“I mean,” I said, trying to sound casual about it. Businesslike. “It’s not exactly a high-profit career—fixing cheap cars so they’ll run another year. It will cost a lot to rebuild—more than the business could earn in years. I’ve already sent in the call to have it leveled to the ground.”
I didn’t need to be independent. I trusted Adam—and I could find other ways to be useful. If I decided I needed to earn my own money, I could find a job at Jiffy Lube and make more than I did at my garage.
“Call came to the house phone while we were gone,” he said. “Jesse left a voice message on my phone a few hours ago. The new body-and-paint guy, Lee, says that he told you the Karmann Ghia you put the Porsche engine into was going to be a hit. He was quite clear that he thought you should have trusted him.” Lee had taken the Karmann to a concours in Southern California. “It apparently brought in twice the estimate at the auction—about $19,000.” Adam glanced at me, then away, the corner of his lip turning up. “Jesse told me to tell you that she is sure about the $19,000 and, yes, she asked him twice. Apparently the guy who lost the auction is sending you a good body to fix for him if you can do all the work for $12,000—which Lee has already assured him you and he could do. He’s bringing back two other commissions as well, so you should—I quote Jesse, who quoted him—‘get your ass in gear and find somewhere to work.’ Unquote.”
Nineteen thousand dollars meant about $10,000 profit split between me, Kim the upholstery guy, and Lee—the new body-and-paint man. For work that had taken me about forty hours altogether. Not doctor’s wages, but not bad, either. I said a quiet prayer of thanks, not for the first time, that the Karmann had been getting painted and hadn’t been stuck in my garage when the disaster struck.
“So,” Adam continued. “I took the liberty of telling our contractor to be ready to rebuild, and in the meantime you can work out of the pole barn. I’ll loan you the amount the insurance doesn’t cover.”
“With interest,” I demanded.
He pursed his lips, and said, “Of course. That makes sense. Charging my wife interest. What a smart idea.”
“Hmm,” I said, and he grinned at me.
He turned his head back to the road but pulled my hand to his lips and bit one of my knuckles with playful promise. “Besides. As long as forgotten deities, vampires, and kids with grudges stay away, mechanicking is a much safer occupation than ghost hunting. I’m all about keeping you safe.”