**************************************************
Chesapeake coast
East of Fredericksburg, VA
Thursday, April 17
1720 local
She wasn't home.
Impossible.
She had to be home. Mac's urging had finally gotten to him, and he'd given in and taken leave. He'd prepared to face her, spending long hours contemplating all that had passed. He was ready to work things out. He'd even done a bit of Webb-esque checking to make sure he'd catch her at home.
But she was gone.
He turned around, dejectedly making his way back to his 'Vette... and then he heard it. The sound was unmistakable, and coming from somewhere to his left and below.
Following the paved drive down around the corner of the house, he allowed himself a grin. He should've known. After all, if she wasn't answering the door, and the sound of the Spencer Davis Group's "Gimme Some Lovin'" was blaring from nearby, there was only one conclusion to make.
CD was playing with cars again.
Sure enough, one of the two double garage doors was open, letting the music escape. Harm leaned on the doorframe, his grin getting wider as he noticed more and more about the garage.
In the back, several vehicles were covered with drop cloths; judging by the shapes, there was a motorcycle of the bullet-bike variety, a Porsche of some variety, and an open-wheel Formula racecar. Her Benz sedan was parked on the other side of the garage, behind the second door. Immediately in front of him was the classic 356 Speedster, its rear engine hatch propped open and a pair of jean-covered legs sticking out from underneath in the vicinity of the muffler. Nearby was a large rolling toolbox, although a good deal of its contents had to be on the floor next to the car, and a portable radio, now loudly blaring Ray Charles' "Hit the Road, Jack".
Harm watched in amusement as a grease-smeared hand reached out from underneath the car and proceeded to fumble around in the pile of tools. He walked over, waiting for his presence to be noticed.
The hand continued to fumble around, until it found Harm's shoe. It stopped, then felt around a little, as if to confirm that yes, that was a shoe, foot included. It then moved again, fumbling to turn down the volume on the radio.
Finally, Harm looked down in amusement as his cousin rolled the 'creeper' she was laying on out from under the car. She squinted up at him, then sat up, grabbing for a rag, muttering, "Gottverdammt...."
"Nice to see you too, Mercedes," Harm replied wryly. "Love the fashion statement."
"Oh, shut up. The car doesn't give a crap what I look like," she shot back automatically.
Harm glanced over his cousin, studying her appearance. Low-slung, well-worn and faded blue jeans, a scuffed-up pair of boat shoes, and a men's' sleeveless undershirt was all she wore; her long hair was in a snug braid, probably so it'd stay out of the way. Shirt, arms, and face were all liberally smudged with oil, grease, and dirt. "Yeah, well, good thing."
"Oh, stuff it up your tailpipe," she said, going to her workbench, retrieving a bottle of ice water and taking a long drink. "Are you here for a reason, or did someone finally give you that much-needed kick in the tookis?"
"You said you'd call me. It's been three months, CD."
"Three very busy months. Sorry." She dropped on to one of the metal stools next to the bench.
He did the same, pulling one around to face her. "Busy here or busy work?"
She took another long drink. "Work. This is the first weekend off I've had since mid-February."
"You're kidding." Harm's eyebrows raised in disbelief.
CD paused, giving him a sideways look. "I wasn't avoiding you, if that's what you're asking."
"I wasn't, but that's good to know."
She nodded. "Yeah, the caseload's been insane. If I'm not at a scene, I'm in the lab. If I'm not in the lab, I'm testifying in court...." Her voice trailed off. "So. I ask again. Why are you here?"
He shrugged. "Mac's been bugging me to talk to you, and I was wondering what's going on since I hadn't heard from you."
CD leaned back against the workbench, studying him briefly, before looking back over at the Speedster. "Lola, baby, your muffler's gonna have to wait a while," she announced, before turning back to Harm. "Got some time?"
Harm grinned. "The whole weekend, plus Monday."
"Lord help me," she replied, grinning back. "Now I know I'm gonna need that beer."
Chesapeake coast
East of Fredericksburg, VA
Thursday, April 17
1720 local
She wasn't home.
Impossible.
She had to be home. Mac's urging had finally gotten to him, and he'd given in and taken leave. He'd prepared to face her, spending long hours contemplating all that had passed. He was ready to work things out. He'd even done a bit of Webb-esque checking to make sure he'd catch her at home.
But she was gone.
He turned around, dejectedly making his way back to his 'Vette... and then he heard it. The sound was unmistakable, and coming from somewhere to his left and below.
Following the paved drive down around the corner of the house, he allowed himself a grin. He should've known. After all, if she wasn't answering the door, and the sound of the Spencer Davis Group's "Gimme Some Lovin'" was blaring from nearby, there was only one conclusion to make.
CD was playing with cars again.
Sure enough, one of the two double garage doors was open, letting the music escape. Harm leaned on the doorframe, his grin getting wider as he noticed more and more about the garage.
In the back, several vehicles were covered with drop cloths; judging by the shapes, there was a motorcycle of the bullet-bike variety, a Porsche of some variety, and an open-wheel Formula racecar. Her Benz sedan was parked on the other side of the garage, behind the second door. Immediately in front of him was the classic 356 Speedster, its rear engine hatch propped open and a pair of jean-covered legs sticking out from underneath in the vicinity of the muffler. Nearby was a large rolling toolbox, although a good deal of its contents had to be on the floor next to the car, and a portable radio, now loudly blaring Ray Charles' "Hit the Road, Jack".
Harm watched in amusement as a grease-smeared hand reached out from underneath the car and proceeded to fumble around in the pile of tools. He walked over, waiting for his presence to be noticed.
The hand continued to fumble around, until it found Harm's shoe. It stopped, then felt around a little, as if to confirm that yes, that was a shoe, foot included. It then moved again, fumbling to turn down the volume on the radio.
Finally, Harm looked down in amusement as his cousin rolled the 'creeper' she was laying on out from under the car. She squinted up at him, then sat up, grabbing for a rag, muttering, "Gottverdammt...."
"Nice to see you too, Mercedes," Harm replied wryly. "Love the fashion statement."
"Oh, shut up. The car doesn't give a crap what I look like," she shot back automatically.
Harm glanced over his cousin, studying her appearance. Low-slung, well-worn and faded blue jeans, a scuffed-up pair of boat shoes, and a men's' sleeveless undershirt was all she wore; her long hair was in a snug braid, probably so it'd stay out of the way. Shirt, arms, and face were all liberally smudged with oil, grease, and dirt. "Yeah, well, good thing."
"Oh, stuff it up your tailpipe," she said, going to her workbench, retrieving a bottle of ice water and taking a long drink. "Are you here for a reason, or did someone finally give you that much-needed kick in the tookis?"
"You said you'd call me. It's been three months, CD."
"Three very busy months. Sorry." She dropped on to one of the metal stools next to the bench.
He did the same, pulling one around to face her. "Busy here or busy work?"
She took another long drink. "Work. This is the first weekend off I've had since mid-February."
"You're kidding." Harm's eyebrows raised in disbelief.
CD paused, giving him a sideways look. "I wasn't avoiding you, if that's what you're asking."
"I wasn't, but that's good to know."
She nodded. "Yeah, the caseload's been insane. If I'm not at a scene, I'm in the lab. If I'm not in the lab, I'm testifying in court...." Her voice trailed off. "So. I ask again. Why are you here?"
He shrugged. "Mac's been bugging me to talk to you, and I was wondering what's going on since I hadn't heard from you."
CD leaned back against the workbench, studying him briefly, before looking back over at the Speedster. "Lola, baby, your muffler's gonna have to wait a while," she announced, before turning back to Harm. "Got some time?"
Harm grinned. "The whole weekend, plus Monday."
"Lord help me," she replied, grinning back. "Now I know I'm gonna need that beer."