"No," she said. "I just came up on vacation and I saw your ad."
"That’s pretty much what happened to me. That was twelve years ago. Somehow I had the idea it would be fishing in the spring and summer, hunting in the fall, skiing in the winter. But I seem to spend just as much time on this lot as I did in Jersey."
She drove south on Route 3 toward Tupper Lake. It was a good road, and in the spring it was cold and clear at this altitude. The green pine forests on the sides of the mountains looked sparse, turning thick and wet where they merged into the leafy trees halfway down, and below them the lake started so abruptly that it looked like the mountains went down into it.
"See that?" asked Dave.
"See what?"
"The miles. Less than five thousand."
"Are you sure the one who sold it to you didn’t turn it back?"
Dave laughed. "You’re just like my wife. Suspicious. No. The cable’s untouched, and I checked the labels on the doors. It only cleared customs from Japan two months ago. The guy drove it here from Oregon. Those are all good miles."
"Good miles?"
"Yeah. He broke it in right. He didn’t beat it to death in city traffic, just drove the long, easy straightaways across the country."
"It’s a nice car," she conceded. "What made him get rid of it?"
"If you’d seen him, you wouldn’t have to ask. He was a big, tall fellow. I’ll bet he was six-foot-six. This is a fine piece of machinery, but for a man that size driving it four thousand miles—well, it was pretty hard on him. The Japanese don’t design a car for a man that size. It would be stupid: They don’t have any."
"You’d think he would know how tall he was when he bought it."
Dave was stumped for a moment. "You would, wouldn’t you?" He recovered quickly. "He fit in okay, but I guess a long trip like that makes little problems seem like big problems."
Jane pulled the car onto the shoulder, then hooked into the far lane to drive back to Saranac Lake. Dave didn’t like the look of that. "This is a real steal. I don’t know if you read the papers, but the dollar has gone way down against the yen since this baby was built. You try to buy one of these right off the boat, it’s going to cost you an extra three thousand dollars."
"Is that right?" She had read so many newspapers in the past three days that she could have quoted the figures. The small papers always printed the car ads at the end of the business section. She turned into the lot and drove the car into its space with its nose to the sidewalk.
As they got out, Dave said eagerly, "Well, what do you think?"
"I just don’t know," she answered, her eyes fixed wistfully on the car. "I like it, but ..."
"But what?" he asked.
"I just keep wondering why the last owner got rid of a new car."
"I told you why."
"What did he buy when he traded it in?"
"Nothing. He said he made one mistake by being too hasty and that he wanted to look around some more first."
Jane was beginning to feel a hope. It was too early to let it grow. Of course he wouldn’t buy another car from the same lot; it would be too easy to trace. But if he had no car at all, maybe he was still in the area. "I wonder ... I know this is kind of unusual, but I can’t afford to buy a car and go buy another one next month like he did. Do you think I could talk to him?"
Dave’s face was beginning to show the strain. "I don’t know. Talking to him isn’t going to do you much good. The car is what it is, no matter what he says. Take the car to your own mechanic. Have him look it over."
"I just drove in today. I don’t have a mechanic."
"I can recommend a couple."
She just looked at him sadly, and he saw the problem. The town was just too small, and anybody she picked could be a friend of his. "I’ll go look at the papers and see if we can get him on the phone."
She followed Dave inside and watched him finger through the drawers in his single filing cabinet. At last he pulled out a manila envelope and shook it out over the desk in front of Bob. Whatever Bob’s function was, it didn’t include moving or even looking down. He never took his eyes off Jane.
There were an owner’s manual, a couple of slips of white paper with seals and computer printing on them, a pink slip, and a yellow bill of sale. He snatched it up and stared at it for a moment. "There," he said. "Annabel Cabins in Lake Placid. Let’s give them a call." He was pursuing this with stoical determination now. She had made him decide he was going to prove there was nothing hidden by his sheer persistence in uncovering it. He dialed the number he read off the paper.
"Hello," he said. "This is Dave Rabel down at Dave’s Cars in Saranac Lake. How are you this afternoon?" He listened for a second, then said, "No, I’m not trying to sell you anything. I just wanted to get in touch with a fellow who’s staying there. His name is John Young. He still with you?" There was a long pause while wrinkles appeared on Dave’s forehead. "You sure? Well, thanks for your time." He hung up, shrugged, and looked at her.
"He’s not there?"
He shook his head. "I’m sorry. Well, we tried."
She decided she could take the risk of not letting go. "He checked out, or he’s never been there?"
Dave looked indecisive, but he sensed that he wasn’t going to be able to get past it. "I remember he said that was where he was going, but I guess they didn’t have a vacancy or something." She could tell he was wondering why John Young had been able to give him the phone number but hadn’t used it to call for reservations.
"What if it’s stolen?"
Dave smiled. "No, there are built-in safeguards. His name was on the pink slip, and I saw his license and it had the same name. Besides, when you register a sale, they run the I.D. number of the car on the computer."
Jane backed away from the desk. "Well, I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble."
"You mean you’re giving up?"
"I just wouldn’t be able to feel comfortable unless I knew more about the car’s history."
Dave was fighting his frustration now. "It doesn’t have any history. It’s brand-new. Anybody can see that."
"I’m sorry," she said. "But that’s the thing that’s worrying me. I know it’s probably silly, but ... Well, thanks for trying."
She headed for the door, but Dave couldn’t bear it. "Wait," he said. She turned and looked at him. Her shamefaced expression wasn’t forced. She hated putting this nice man through hell for nothing.
He said, "Maybe we can dig him up. He wouldn’t have driven across the country just to sell me a car. He’s got to be staying around here."
"But how could I find him?"
"Let me make a few calls. If he’s looking for a car, there aren’t that many places to look. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you if I have any luck."
She said, "I’m at the Holiday Inn down the road. My name is Janet Foley."
He grinned. "But you’ve already checked in, right? You’re not going to disappear like he did?"
"No," she said. "Room two forty-three."
She had lunch in a small restaurant on the way back to the hotel, then walked back to her room. The telephone was ringing when she opened the door.
"Janet?" he said. "It’s Dave Rabel. It’s pretty much what I was trying to tell you. John Young bought a used Ford Bronco up at Taylor’s Used Cars in Lake Placid. He must have decided he needed a big, roomy car."
"Did they have his address?"
"I got his hotel from them, but he checked out three days ago."
"I give up," said Jane.
"You mean you’ll buy the car?"
"No," said Jane. "I mean I can’t. I appreciate your trying so hard, but I’ll just have to wait until I see a car I’m sure about."
He sighed. "You’re passing up the best used-car deal in the north country." He waited for her answer and nothing came, so he decided to end it on a friendly note. "But I guess you get hurt less by being too careful than not careful enough."