At Mapleview Motors, a white-haired mechanic named Vince studied the Mercedes through the office window. “Well, I’ll be,” he murmured. “That was Dave’s car. He worked here a summer, swept floors, and paid cash for repairs. A good kid. Haven’t thought of him in years.” Margaret’s chest tightened. She leaned closer.
“He went by the name of Dave, never much said about his past. Rented a room above Vicky’s diner. Couldn’t keep that Benz forever, though. He sold it before winter. I think a dealer from Buffalo bought it at auction later. That’s probably how it ended back in your country.”