Catch As Cat Can

40

Sean's assistant, Isabella Rojas, disdained Lottie but had to be nice to her. The customer is always right even though in this case Lottie wasn't a customer. Sean would fire her if she behaved rudely toward anyone. The truth was that Isabella, like many a woman before her, had fallen in love with her boss.

“He's out back, Miss Pearson.” Isabella forced a smile. “Statuary.”

“Thank you.” Lottie, with a supercilious air, swished back outside and found Sean carefully positioning chains around a massive recumbent griffin. “Sean.” She waved.

“Hi.” He held up his hand to the operator in the small crane ready to pick up the heavy object to place it on a flatbed.

“Who has bought this beautiful piece?”

“H. Vane Tempest.” He named a wealthy Englishman who owned a large estate west of town and whose symbol was a griffin.

“But of course.” Her eyes swept from the griffin to the crane to the flatbed and the large diesel semi that pulled it. “You must have a small fortune tied up in equipment. I never really appreciated how much. I guess you get quite good at leveraging your debt.”

“Hey, I'm a junkyard dealer. I have a nose for finding equipment at good prices. Take that crane there. New it would cost one hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars. I picked it up for nineteen.”

“Fabulous,” she purred. “But how do you do it?”

“Contacts and”—he stared off into the distance for a moment—“Roger. He'd give the equipment the once-over, tell me how much it would cost to bring a piece up to speed, and then I could make an informed decision. And we always looked for reliable brands like Caterpillar. You pay more but you get more. You know, Roger really was a genius with anything that had a motor in it. He even kept that old wrecker's ball in perfect working order.”

“I'm so sorry about Roger. I know I've said that before, but I don't know what else to say.” She played with the ring on her pinkie finger, right hand. “When you worked as closely as you did with Roger it must be doubly disastrous.”

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Sean replied. “At first, I was so shocked I wanted to sell the business and walk away. Mom talked sense into me. Running away doesn't solve anything. Three generations of O'Bannons sweated into this ground. With any luck there will be a fourth and a fifth.”

“I certainly hope so.” She smiled. “You can imagine yourself an old man watching your grandson move statuary.”

“By that time they'll beam it up. You know, rearrange the molecules and send it without a crane and a flatbed.”

“Maybe.” She shifted her weight to her left foot. “I heard through the grapevine that you're going through with the Wrecker's Ball and I wanted to help.”

“Thank you, Lottie.”

“I thought perhaps I could perform some of Roger's chores.”

“That's just it. I don't know the half of what he did. He'd burrow down there in the garage and I was up here. He took care of the catering. I did the decorations but there were so many things that just happened. I'm afraid I never closely examined Roger's contributions to the business, or my life. I feel so—so guilty.”

“Sean”—she placed her hand on his forearm—“nobody does. It's not you. None of us knows what someone gives to our life until they're gone.”

“Uh—thanks.” He kicked the gravel path, then looked at her. “You'll be coming to the ball?”

“Of course. Well, I didn't mean to stay so long. I just wanted you to know I was available to help.”