put it this way, someone would try to harm your business?”
“The way to harm my business would be to offer quality work cheaper than I do. It would be pretty stupid to kill my best mechanic. Better to steal him away, pay him more.”
“Yes, it would.” She again agreed with him.
“Officer, I’m a successful businessman in a difficult time. Really. Every time I turn around it’s a new law, a new ruling, a new tax. I hire good people, which is half of success. I’m always looking for better ways to provide service, and that isn’t always easy, especially given the materials cars are made out of now. Entire bumpers fall off. In the old days those bumpers were made of steel. Used to be pretty simple to repair carburetors. Fuel injection is a wonderful thing, but it’s more expensive when something goes wrong. If I undercut my competitors, it’s their own fault. But, still, to kill one of my people—I can’t believe it.”
Coop had let him ramble a bit. Often people revealed far more than they intended to if you let them go on. It wasn’t necessarily facts but a sense of the situation and a strong sense of who that speaker was.
Victor Gatzembizi was intelligent and slick. She understood his self-interest—not necessarily a bad thing. She sensed he was a ruthless competitor, although the form that took appeared to be honest. He cared about his appearance. He really had built a successful business. Her own work on this told her that. Big shops across the state, forty-six employees, a few part-time. That was a pretty lean number, so he saved money there. By all accounts he paid very well, rewarding good work. His employee turnover stayed low.
Coop returned to her squad car, where Rick bent over his laptop. He’d walked through the repair shop and the body shop. He had wanted to see those splatter patterns on the computer and he had a special meeting that night with the county commissioners, not public. Not only would this murder come up, so would the budget. He wanted to be prepared, and if he sat in headquarters it would be one interruption after another. As for all sheriffs or police chiefs, battles over funding were a major obstacle—a bleeding ulcer, really—yet everyone expected law-enforcement services.
He shut off the computer. “Well?”
“Rick, everyone’s been helpful. Victor Gatzembizi freely answered any questions. He said Walt was his best mechanic. Still, neither Victor nor anyone else seems remotely distressed over Walt’s murder. Oh, they’re all horrified at the way it happened. No one says they wished him dead, but no one wishes him back, either.”
“Strange.”
“I’ll say.” She cut on the motor and drove off the ReNu lot.
G otcha!” Miranda tossed a weed over her shoulder into the half-full wheelbarrow. “Death to weeds.”
The Very Reverend Jones sneaked up on her as he trod softly on her beautiful herringbone brick walkway. He clucked. “Miranda, plants are living. God made all living things.”
She stood up with some help from Herb. “You’ve come to test me, I see.”
His deep voice, always soothing, replied, “I came to see one of my favorite people. And, as always, your garden puts others to shame.”
She shook her index finger at him. “Now you’re testing me for the sin of pride?”
“Well, it’s true. Your garden dazzles and, of course, Big Mim tries hard to cover her envy about your emerald thumbs.”
They both laughed, for the Queen of Crozet, Big Mim Sanburne, lavished huge sums of money on her gardens, tended by three gardeners, and while beautiful, those gardens couldn’t hold a candle to the small but exquisite gardens of Miranda.
“How about some iced tea? I need a break. Un-tea, as I recall.”
“I’d love some.” He patted his stomach. “I do miss sweetened tea, but I am trying to cut back on the sugar.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “Thirty more pounds. Tell you what,Miranda, the pounds just creep up.
“The way to harm my business would be to offer quality work cheaper than I do. It would be pretty stupid to kill my best mechanic. Better to steal him away, pay him more.”
“Yes, it would.” She again agreed with him.
“Officer, I’m a successful businessman in a difficult time. Really. Every time I turn around it’s a new law, a new ruling, a new tax. I hire good people, which is half of success. I’m always looking for better ways to provide service, and that isn’t always easy, especially given the materials cars are made out of now. Entire bumpers fall off. In the old days those bumpers were made of steel. Used to be pretty simple to repair carburetors. Fuel injection is a wonderful thing, but it’s more expensive when something goes wrong. If I undercut my competitors, it’s their own fault. But, still, to kill one of my people—I can’t believe it.”
Coop had let him ramble a bit. Often people revealed far more than they intended to if you let them go on. It wasn’t necessarily facts but a sense of the situation and a strong sense of who that speaker was.
Victor Gatzembizi was intelligent and slick. She understood his self-interest—not necessarily a bad thing. She sensed he was a ruthless competitor, although the form that took appeared to be honest. He cared about his appearance. He really had built a successful business. Her own work on this told her that. Big shops across the state, forty-six employees, a few part-time. That was a pretty lean number, so he saved money there. By all accounts he paid very well, rewarding good work. His employee turnover stayed low.
Coop returned to her squad car, where Rick bent over his laptop. He’d walked through the repair shop and the body shop. He had wanted to see those splatter patterns on the computer and he had a special meeting that night with the county commissioners, not public. Not only would this murder come up, so would the budget. He wanted to be prepared, and if he sat in headquarters it would be one interruption after another. As for all sheriffs or police chiefs, battles over funding were a major obstacle—a bleeding ulcer, really—yet everyone expected law-enforcement services.
He shut off the computer. “Well?”
“Rick, everyone’s been helpful. Victor Gatzembizi freely answered any questions. He said Walt was his best mechanic. Still, neither Victor nor anyone else seems remotely distressed over Walt’s murder. Oh, they’re all horrified at the way it happened. No one says they wished him dead, but no one wishes him back, either.”
“Strange.”
“I’ll say.” She cut on the motor and drove off the ReNu lot.
G otcha!” Miranda tossed a weed over her shoulder into the half-full wheelbarrow. “Death to weeds.”
The Very Reverend Jones sneaked up on her as he trod softly on her beautiful herringbone brick walkway. He clucked. “Miranda, plants are living. God made all living things.”
She stood up with some help from Herb. “You’ve come to test me, I see.”
His deep voice, always soothing, replied, “I came to see one of my favorite people. And, as always, your garden puts others to shame.”
She shook her index finger at him. “Now you’re testing me for the sin of pride?”
“Well, it’s true. Your garden dazzles and, of course, Big Mim tries hard to cover her envy about your emerald thumbs.”
They both laughed, for the Queen of Crozet, Big Mim Sanburne, lavished huge sums of money on her gardens, tended by three gardeners, and while beautiful, those gardens couldn’t hold a candle to the small but exquisite gardens of Miranda.
“How about some iced tea? I need a break. Un-tea, as I recall.”
“I’d love some.” He patted his stomach. “I do miss sweetened tea, but I am trying to cut back on the sugar.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “Thirty more pounds. Tell you what,Miranda, the pounds just creep up.
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