“Have you any idea what kind of trouble he was having with the car?”

“The engine was running ragged when he drove up to the booth in Excelsior. I didn’t ask him what he thought it was, I was busy. He went right to work on it, but he still had a hard time getting it started again. He finally did, though he was the last car to leave for the trip back. His wife said she was getting an upset stomach from riding in it, and she opted not to ride back with him. She rode over to St. Paul with one of my volunteers and is in St. Paul now. I don’t look forward to going back there and trying to talk to her about this. We’ve never lost a driver during a run before.”

“Not even in an accident?”

“No, never. We had a close call with a rollover, and a few other injuries-sprained wrists from hand cranking, for example, and Dick Pellow’s Overland caught fire a few years ago, but he’s fine. What I don’t understand is, why didn’t Bill get out from under when she caught on fire? Unless it blew up-I mean like parts scattered to hell and gone-which it didn’t, he should’ve been able to at least roll away, I’d’ve thought.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, Mr. Smith. And there are some other oddities about this situation.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to start speculating, not without further investigation. We are going to impound the car and there will be an autopsy on Mr. Birmingham. Perhaps you could inform Mrs. Birmingham? She can contact me at my office for further information. Do you have her phone number? I’ll want to get in touch with her.”

Adam read it to him off the card. Dr. Pascuzzi gave him a card with his name, the notation that he was Hennepin County’s Assistant Medical Examiner, and a couple of phone and fax numbers.

“Thank you,” said Adam. “Am I free to go now?”

“Yes, sir, and thank you for your cooperation.”

Charlotte recovered from her faint puzzled at what had caused it, so Ceil had to tell her all over again that Bill was dead. She shrieked loudly, causing heads all over the area to turn toward her, then clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from shrieking some more. Her eyes were wide and terrified.

Betsy sat down on the blacktop beside her and pulled her head onto her shoulder. “There, there,” she murmured as Charlotte began to weep noisily.

“Oh, my God,” mourned Charlotte between sobs. “Oh, my God, my poor Bill! Oh, Broward will be just devastated, he and Bill worked so closely together! Oh, all my children, how can I bear to tell my children? Oh, I can’t bear this!”

It was a minute or two before she felt the discomfort of her twisted position and began to pull back from it. Betsy helped her sit up straight, and took the proffered handkerchief from Mildred so Charlotte could mop her face. Her eyes were puffy and bewildered.

“Did… did you say it was a fire?” she asked Ceil. “He caught on fire?”

“Yes,” nodded Ceil. “Adam said there was a fire engine there putting it out.”

“A fire,” repeated Charlotte, frowning. “Then why didn’t he just pull over and jump out?”

“I don’t know,” said Betsy.

“Perhaps he meant there was an accident, and it caught fire after,” said Mildred.

“Oh, yes, that must be it,” said Charlotte. “Maybe a tire blew out, and he ran off the road and into a tree or telephone pole. Or did someone run into him? People do that, you know, they see the funny-looking car and steer right for it. Was there another car involved?”

Ceil said, “Adam didn’t mention that.”

“That stupid Maxwell! It was misbehaving all the way out there, he should never have tried to drive back. If it wasn’t a tire, then I suppose something went wrong with the steering or brakes, and he ran into a ditch. And the car caught on fire, and Bill was hurt, unconscious… Yes, that must be it, don’t you think?” She looked around at the other women for confirmation, as if figuring out what had happened would make it less dreadful.

But realization still clouded her eyes, and she began to weep again, saying over and over, “No, no, no, it’s too awful, too awful.”

A crowd had gathered, drawn by Charlotte ’s distress. Among them were members of the Antique Car Club. Ceil caught the eye of the largest of them, and semaphored a message with her eyebrows. He began to move between the onlookers and the booth, facing outward. “Drivers, go back to your cars!” he ordered in a big, loud voice. “We’ve still got a crowd here with questions, cameras, and sticky fingers, so move it, move it!” He raised his hands in a backing motion. “As for the rest of you, this isn’t any of your business. Please give this woman a little privacy.”

The crowd broke up, and the big man leaned over the booth’s counter to say to Charlotte, “I just heard. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Char. Bill was a good man, he’ll be missed.”

“Oh, Marcus, what am I going to do?” wept Charlotte.

“You relax, we’ll take care of whatever needs taking care of,” promised Marcus. “Do you need someone to drive you home?”

“I-I suppose so. I don’t know, I can’t think!”

“Never mind, you just sit here awhile, until you calm down and this show is over. I’ll stay around until you decide what you want.” The man strode over to a Cadillac touring car of immense size and, when he turned and saw Betsy watching him, gave a wave and a gesture of support.

“How long should I stay?” asked Charlotte of no one in particular. “Adam’s been gone so long, why hasn’t he come back? Why doesn’t he call? Should I call him?” She seemed to be working herself into another fit of hysterics.

Betsy said, “Come on, Charlotte, let’s go someplace cool and private.” She helped Charlotte to her feet and said to Mildred and Ceil, “I’ll sit with her in my car awhile.” She repeated that to Marcus, who nodded understanding, then went on to the parking lot around the back of the capitol.

Betsy started her engine, and the Buick’s inside quickly cooled. The purring of the engine was a soothing sound, and Charlotte began to regain control of herself. “I made a fool of myself back there,” she murmured, using another Kleenex from the supply Betsy kept handing her from the box she always kept in her car.

“No you didn’t,” said Betsy firmly. “I’m sure this has been a terrible shock to you, and I think you’re taking it very well.”

Charlotte made a sound halfway toward a giggle. “If this is taking it well, I wonder what taking it badly might be.”

“Oh, screaming and running in circles, tearing your clothing, and throwing dirt on top of your head.”

“Oh, if only it were correct in our culture to do that, what a relief it would be!” sighed Charlotte. “I really yearn to scream and kick dents into the trailer that dreadful car came in, set fire to the shed he keeps the other cars in.” She amended in a small voice, “Kept the other cars in. Oh, dear!”

“I shouldn’t go setting fire to anything until I made sure the insurance was up to date,” said Betsy in a mock-practical tone.

“Oh, no fear of that,” grumbled Charlotte, blowing her nose again. Her tone moderated and she became reflective. “I remember when we were first married, Bill put me in charge of the checkbook, paying bills and such. When the baby came, I was a very nervous mother and I made several long-distance calls to my mother. This was back when long-distance charges were actually scary, not like today, and my mother lived in Oregon. And when the bill came, I couldn’t pay it. When Bill saw the overdue notice we got from the phone company, he hit the ceiling. He said he didn’t care if we lived on day-old bread and baloney, I was not to let a bill go unpaid ever again. And I never did. Of course, as Bill’s company began to thrive, that became less of a problem.” She smiled just a little. “He was a good provider. We were looking forward to a long, comfortable retirement.”