"I can totally understand," I said as I walked around the car and let out a low whistle. "Man, you guys did an amazing job of fixing her."
"It helped that we were able to get authentic parts shipped in from Indy," he nodded. "But the guys in the shop are really talented and that helps."
"Okay, what do I owe you?" I asked as I pulled out my wallet and fished in it for the credit card I'd use to cover the bill.
"Nah, we billed the insurance company listed on the paperwork in the car," he said waving me off. "They paid immediately, so the bill's all taken care of."
"You're kidding me?" I said stunned that they'd taken care of everything so quickly and efficiently.
"Nah, the boss negotiated with the insurance company and they agreed to pay after he got a copy of the accident report from the sheriff," the man said.
"I didn't file an accident report," I said looking at him and feeling confused.
"Mr. Wallace, this is a small town," he said with a wide grin. "We have ways of making sure things get done efficiently."
"I'll say," I muttered as I watched Danny open the door and sit down in the driver's seat. I turned back to the man in overalls and said, "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't, but it's Al," he said vigorously rubbing his oil stained hand on his coveralls before offering it to me.
"Al, you and your team seem like people who can get things done," I said as a plan rapidly began taking shape in my brain.
"I reckon," he nodded. "What'd you have in mind?"
"I want you to meet someone," I said as I turned toward the house. "Come with me."
Al followed me to the kitchen screen door where I called to Verity and asked her to come outside. As Honor and Danny traded off playing racecar driver, I explained my idea to Al and Verity. By the time I was done, they both nodded and agreed that my plan had merit, but Al needed to get the word out to local farmers who weren't part of the Amish community.
Verity said she'd go into town and make sure the store was ready, then asked if I wanted to go with her. I shook my head and told her we'd talk about it over supper. I didn't want anyone outside of the family to know that neither Grace nor I were going to be at the house over the weekend. It seemed less risky.
Al said he'd check in with me as soon as he'd had a chance to connect with the people who might be interested in putting turbines in their field. I shook his hand as a blue pickup pulled into the drive and honked twice.
"That's my ride," Al said tipping his baseball cap at Verity and saying, "Ma'am, good evening."
I watched him climb into the cab and ride off toward town before I turned to Verity and said, "I've got to go to Chicago to take care of something. Can you handle the plans until I get back on Sunday afternoon?"
"What about Grace?" Verity asked.
"She doesn't need to know about this; she's got enough on her plate right now," I said knowing full well that Verity knew I wasn't telling the truth. The look on her face made me feel ashamed for a moment, but then I remembered my parents and said, "Look, I wouldn't lie to Grace for the world, but this thing with my parents is messy and I don't want to drag her into it. You can understand that, right?"
"It's never a good idea to lie to someone you care about, Mr. Wallace," she said shaking her head.
"Oh stop with the Mr. Wallace stuff," I said running a hand through my hair and then giving her a beseeching look. "Verity, c'mon, I'm doing the best I can. I'll be gone for less than twenty-four hours, and then when we've put our plan into action and gotten what we need, I'll tell Grace what happened and why, okay?"
"I don't like it at all," she said shaking her head disapprovingly. "I'm not going to lie for you, Adam. I won't tell your secrets straight out, but if asked, I'm not lying. Do you understand?"
"Understood," I nodded as I crossed my fingers and hoped that everything would go as planned and no one would be asked to lie.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Grace
I'd checked with Betty, Mike's secretary, and found out that the reception Mr. Vasquez was throwing was definitely formal, and since I didn't own anything glamorous enough, I headed straight for a small boutique just south of the Loop that sold once-worn formal dresses at reasonable prices. I quickly booked a hair and makeup appointment for the next day and then caught a cab to At Last Boutique on Roosevelt.
The car had dropped me off at the office without stopping at my apartment, so when I walked through the door pulling my suitcase, the woman behind the register raised an eyebrow. The shop was an eclectic mix of tasteful vintage furniture in shades of crimson, eggplant, and gold. The place could have looked like a high-end bordello, but the way the designer had created an intimate space by placing velvet upholstered settees and chairs around the room made the racks of dresses look like icing on a very expensive cake. I felt intimidated.
"We don't buy dresses direct," the woman said. She was tall and thin with long burgundy colored hair that elegantly framed her smooth, dark face. "We only buy dresses that have been returned to retail stores and can't be resold."
"I'm...I'm not selling anything," I said as the heat rose in my cheeks. No matter how long I lived in Chicago or how financially secure I was, shopping in the city still made me feel like a small country bumpkin. I'd prepped myself a hundred times for trips like this, but it didn't take much to send the fortress walls tumbling down. I looked at the tall brown saleswoman and said, "I need a dress. A formal dress for tomorrow night. And shoes."