I must have dozed off. I woke with a jerk and almost fell off the old chair. What had I heard? Something that was growling: not like an animal, but like a vehicle. I leaped out of the chair and darted back out of the stable and into the yard. I saw Sandy come rushing out of the house, carrying what looked like a shotgun, and a dishtowel. My macho little housewife.
It was my car, or what was left of it. Whoever was driving it wasn’t the professor, because he’d been silent when he’d left. This person did not know how to drive a stick shift, and it showed. The transmission would be ruined, but hey, I had my car back. Sort of. My feelings ranged far and wide. I had tons of questions which could not be answered if I strangled the son of a b***h who was killing my car.
It stopped, well, it dra
