Perfect Crime by Jack Parker

crewneck sweater that defined every God-given asset. The sides of her red mane were pulled loosely into a clip at the nape of her neck. Scott took his time looking her up and down. She looked damn good for what should be nothing more than a delivery and handshake to an old acquaintance.
    Assuming, of course, she got the card back from him. And he was seriously considering reneging on his earlier promise. It wasn’t that she reminded him of his sisters, but he was suddenly feeling protective.
    “Are you ready to go?” Scott asked.
    “Sure,” she said, dragging her overnight bag forward, “as ready as anyone can be when they expect to have their place trashed.”
    “It’s just a theory,” Scott said, trying to sound reassuring, though at the same time he closed the door firmly and tested the lock.
    In the hall, they were greeted with a “meow.” Sitting in the middle of the blue carpet was a gray Persian. It was clear her owner was also in the hall as a voice demanded, “Princess, you naughty kitty, you get home right now.”
    Scooping the runaway cat up and handing it over, Tessa greeted her neighbor, “How are you today, Mrs. Wagner?”
    “Oh, fine, the usual aches and pains of an old woman,” she replied with a weary smile, patting her perfectly styled white hair for good measure. “Your brother was here while you were out,” she continued, revealing much of her nosy-neighbor tendencies, “too bad you missed him. But he said they’d be back later.”
    “They?” Tessa said, trying to keep the panic from her voice, “There was more than one? Are you sure they were here to see me?”
    “Oh yes, I’m pretty sure. I heard voices in the hall and when I poked my head out to see what all the ruckus was about, I saw the two of them huddled near your door. The one said that he was your brother.” Satisfied that she had relayed the events accurately, Mrs. Wagner continued to shuffle into her apartment with Princess in her arms. “I couldn’t tell them when might you be home, you don’t really keep to a schedule,” the woman concluded. Her final glance at Scott implied that he should fix this problem.
    Now Tessa was eager to be gone. She thanked the woman and walked quickly towards the elevators. It was only after the large steel doors closed that she suggested, “Maybe we should change cars.”
    “I don’t think we were followed,” Scott said. “They probably came here before they paid me a visit.”
    She insisted, “Either way, we’re conspicuous in your Spider.”
    “Oh, and these old friends of yours won’t be looking for your car?”
    “No,” a smirk slipping across her lips, “I can pretty much guarantee they won’t.”
    Clearly confused, Scott followed her down the walkway to a vehicle under a cloth cover. Tessa produced a key and unlocked the chain, lifting the beige cloth from the Mustang that it covered. Scott had to admit, the classic was a bit of a surprise.
    She tossed the car cover in the trunk before her carefully manicured nails caressed the clear coat on the roof. Without raising her eyes, her smile softened but did not leave her face. “She’s balanced and blueprinted, 735 Holley carb with Edelbrock intake, and cranks out 375 HP. She can do zero to sixty in 7.1.” Clearing her throat, she added, “My personal best…7.3.”
    Scott stood next to the driver’s door. He liked that Tessa referred to the car as female. She surprised him though, by tossing the keys over the roof.
    “You can drive,” she suggested. “Think you can handle it?”
    Deft fingers caught the key ring as it crossed the hood of the car. Green eyes locked with blue, conveying a look that said he understood. The car was special to her, he could only guess the details but he had faith that in time she’d fill him in.
    With a quick flick of his wrist, he turned the ignition. The low rumble of the idling ‘Tang echoed down the street, disrupting all conscious thought of the gravity of the situation.