1976 MG B

Lexi decided to drive back up to Arram to pick Rocky up.  It was an eight-hundred mile round trip, which meant nothing since she still had the lovely little SLK (she’d been calling it Sunflower) to drive, and it was easier than trying to give him directions to Dobie’s house.  It was surprisingly hard to give directions when there were no landmarks.

Besides, she’d left most of her clothes at the hotel up there, and the drive would give her time to think. 

She was excited about the cars.  It was tempting to drive by the cave when she got close to Hamilton, just to press up against the crack in the door and smell them again, but she didn’t.  Places to go, after all.  As she drove, plans folded and unfolded in her head, possible ways of getting the cars to the boat Nikki would have waiting in Hamilton.  If they’d been in a cave for upwards of twenty years, it was a good bet they wouldn’t be going anywhere under their own power.  The more extra hands she had to push and pull and tow, the better.  Depending on what was in there, Lexi figured she’d probably let the Roadies who showed up have some of them, too.  She had no interest in having a Maserati Ghibli or a Delahaye, but Harold or Glen might.  At the very least, they’d be able to help her find homes for the ones she wasn’t keeping.  It was the least she could do, considering all of the pushing, pulling, and smashed fingers and toes that were sure to result from the whole venture.

Day or night?  If Danny was hoping to swoop in and grab it all out from under her, clearing all of the cars at once was imperative.  Nighttime offered obvious benefits, but it was also kind of predictable.  And the power of daylight to lessen logistical problems could also not be denied.  Especially considering the probable lack of overhead lighting in the cave.

They’d need a tow truck–no, a flatbed, preferably a rollback, the better for carrying cars with dry-rotted tires.  If Dobie didn’t know where to hire one, his garage-master Joseph would.  A big one with capacity for more than one car would be even better.  Lexi grimaced at the thought of a caravan of flatbeds and tow trucks headed into the mountains.  That would get them caught for sure.  They couldn’t run more than two trucks up there–maybe a rollback–a crew cab would be even better, then between that and Victor’s Suburban they could carry everybody. 

This would be easier once she knew for sure what was in the cave.  There were at least six cars whose identities she hadn’t been able to figure out even after days of mulling them over.  Part of her wanted the mystery over now, of course, but pondering it and scheming was fun in its own right.  So was the prospect of seeing Molly.  Funny–after just a couple of weeks she was excited about getting visitors, and she was the one purportedly on vacation.

Driving all day was a complete lark.  Lexi stopped for gas in Fountainhead, found an antique store to dillydally in for a while, and made the rest of the trip to Arram with the top up and the air conditioning on.

First stop was the hotel.  She wondered how many days Dobie had gotten the room for, and if all of the stuff in it would be gone, but the keycard opened the lock without grief and everything was there just as she’d left it (not counting the bed, which had been made).  Maybe she’d stay one more night here; it was kind of a nice place, and she could be guaranteed not to run into Danny motherplucking Pack–

Lexi’s train of thought derailed as someone threw a bag over her head and yanked her off of her feet.  She was so surprised she forgot to scream, and then something went across her throat and she couldn’t.