By Amy Myers
Jack Colby, automobile detective, takes a possible regimen fee that precipitates him right into a harmful global of secrets and techniques and murder"
A fee to shop for a vintage Packard saloon from the Nineteen Thirties on behalf of a shopper must have been regimen for Jack Colby, yet this Packard is unique . . . and as Jack struggles to piece jointly the auto s background and the secret surrounding it, he's quickly brought on right into a harmful international the place not anything is because it seems.
What is the explanation at the back of enigmatic banking wealthy person Philip Moxton s determined wish for this actual motor vehicle? no matter what it's, the automobile s present proprietor, actor Tom Herrick, turns out to understand it too and is all too prepared to promote. but if homicide moves, Jack is drawn right into a hunt for the fact that includes not just his own happiness yet dealing with a constant killer.
Read or Download Classic Cashes in (Jack Colby, Car Detective, Book 6) PDF
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Additional info for Classic Cashes in (Jack Colby, Car Detective, Book 6)
You and Werner coul dn’t both have dreamed it. ” Eve’s grin grew. ” I huffed. “First I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Then when I tried, Nick didn’t want to hear it. So first we avoided the subject and then we avoided each other. ” Eve waved a hand. ” “No, seriously, the FBI takes advantage of their special agents that way. ” “Still, on or off, you and Nick have always stayed friends. ” I sighed inwardly. ” Before my eyes, she turned into a member of gossip central. ” Once, after a lonely six-pack of Dos Equis.
So, perhaps—hopefully—if it pleased whatever deity controlled these things—possibly Buddha, and Yoda, too—my psychometric phase had passed. An unexpected whiff of chocolate hit me, a sign my mother’s spirit hovered, along with a clear vision of her laughing, and I sighed. Not a phase, then. In self-defense, I turned my attention from that tempting trunk to the problem at hand. Well, problems, plural: my intern for one, my psychic gift for another, and the ethical need to tell Nick, my FBI boy toy, about a kiss I shared with Werner, though, sewing circle oath, Werner and I were in a sleepinduced, half-unconscious state at the time.
My Out to Lunch sign and the click of the shop lock became an imperative to release my breath. I needed, at the very least, a thimbleful of control and a bit of downtime to sort some sticky issues, Nick being only one of several. I’d barely sat when the shop phone rang. ” “Give me Isobel,” demanded a chipmunk with attitude before he/she/it demonstrated, not quite beneath its breath, an impressive and varied case of potty mouth. The obscenities ended with the same demand they’d started with: “Give me Isobel,” delivered like Darth Vader on helium, or a squirrel on steroids; take your pick.