Nineteen
WE GET TO THE DEALERSHIP about 3:00 p.m., a little late in the day, but Helen assures me it is better to try to catch suspects off guard when they’re tired, even better if they happened to have had a heavy lunch. We arrive, having gotten our story figured out on the way.
I am no sooner out of the car than a tall, thin man with a shock of black hair that stands on end in the cold is at my side. Extending his hand, he says, “Danny Carter, nice to meet you. How can I help you fine folks today?”
I hesitate, being uncomfortable with a lie, even one we’ve rehearsed and I feel is necessary.
Fortunately, Helen takes the lead.
“Hi, Danny. I’m Helen Greer and my husband Tom and I have just packed our one and only daughter, little Ruby, off to college. Best of all, she got a scholar
