She told herself she’d give it a week. Drive as far as Niagara, ask around, check old directories, maybe follow the car’s paper trail. If it led nowhere, she’d come back. But her gut told her this wasn’t the sort of story that ended with empty roads. No one had ever followed the trail north. Margaret realized she might be the first.
Before leaving, she took the Baby Benz for a cautious drive around the block. The engine coughed and rattled, and though its overhauling was far from over, the car moved with surprising steadiness, as if eager to stretch its legs again. Margaret gripped the wheel and whispered, “Alright then, David. Let’s see where you left yourself.”