Series: Little Cakes Series by Pepper North
Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Riley sighed silently. She’d been so close. Next time for sure.
Chapter Eight
Even more exhausted after her shift at Little Cakes and the walk to the garage, Riley scanned the list of items detailed on her bill at the car repair shop. She’d hoped it would be something minor, but they’d found some major things wrong with her older car.
Wait! What’s that?
“A fuel compressor?” she asked, looking up at the seemingly bored repairman waiting to cash her out.
Something jingled in her mind, she pulled out her phone and asked aloud, “What’s a car fuel compressor?”
Line after line of results of her search appeared. Each one had changed the question to discuss air compressors instead of fuel ones.
The hair lifted on the back of her neck as she suspected something fishy was going on here. Riley glanced over the list again, noticing something else. Twelve quarts of synthetic oil for her compact car. That seemed like a lot.
“I just had an oil change last month. I don’t think it was time to redo it,” she pointed out.
“When your car’s acting funny like you reported, it’s best to start fresh again,” he assured her.
“For squealing brakes and a low tire?” Riley asked, reminding him why she’d brought the car in. When he shrugged, she asked her phone, “How many quarts of oil does a compact car require?”
Five to eight were listed for four-cylinder engines. She glared at the employee who was starting to look concerned. Damn, she hated it when people took advantage of her just because she was a woman.
“I’d like to see the manager, please.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. If the bill is too much, we can set up a payment plan.”
“Your manager,” Riley repeated, holding his gaze with hers.
“Ed, this lady has a problem with her bill. I don’t think she has the money to pay it,” the shifty repairman interjected.
“What’s the problem?” the man wearing coveralls bearing his name and manager asked.
“I’d like you to look over the items listed here,” Riley suggested, holding out the bill. She wasn’t sure if it was the one repairman who was trying to cheat her or if it was the station itself.
He scanned the list and handed it back with a blank expression. “Looks like what they did to your car. I worked on it a bit, too. You should have maintained it better.”
“I see.” Riley fumed as she pulled up Lark’s phone number.
“Hello?”
“Lark, I hate to bother you, but could you ask Detective Hazelton to come by Trusty Motors on Broadmore Street?”
“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good,” Lark responded. “Hang on a sec.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Riley saw both men look at each other.
“Maybe I can give you a discount on the service this time,” Ed suggested.
Riley held up a finger to silence him as Lark came back on the line.
“He’s actually just around the block from you. He’ll be there in a minute. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Lark.” Riley ended the call and glared at the two men.
“Now, listen here, lady. You don’t need to call the police over your bill. We can figure this out,” Ed reassured her as the unmarked police sedan pulled into the drive and parked out front. A second later, two officers stepped out of the vehicle with their shiny badges reflecting light back into the garage.
Ignoring Ed, Riley turned toward the detective she’d gotten to know as he’d dated Lark. He and his partner, Avery, were frequent visitors to the cupcake shop since Lark had been Ellie’s best friend for years. Riley had also begun to see them at Blaze.
“Hi, Wyatt. Hi, Avery. Sorry to bother you but could you look over these repairs. I need someone else to see if it looks fishy.”
She started to give Wyatt the stack of papers when Ed snatched them out of her hand and tore them up. Riley glanced over at Wyatt to judge his reaction. His eyes hardened from pleased to see her to serious investigator.
“Looks like I won’t have the papers to look at. What did you question?” Wyatt asked.
“There was a five-hundred-dollar charge for a fuel compressor. Not a fuel pump or an air compressor but a fuel compressor. And a charge of a hundred dollars for twelve quarts of synthetic oil.”
“That’s crap.” Avery glowered at the crooked shop opener.
“Officer, she’s exaggerating,” Ed tried to assure Wyatt in a chummy male-to-male, aren’t-these-women-silly tone.
“I’ll be glad to wait until you produce a new bill for Ms. Bradford,” Wyatt assured him.
When Ed turned to prepare a new accounting, Avery asked Riley, “What did you bring it in for?”
“One of the tires kept going flat and a brake pad was squealing,” Riley reported. “I marked the bad tire with red spray paint.”
She pointed to the older compact sitting in the parking lot. The detectives turned to look at the car parked out front that was supposedly ready to pick up. The red splotch stared back at them.