CHARMER'S BODY SHOP IS IN A STRIP MALL RIGHT off the South Bay Freeway in Chula Vista. At first, the inconspicuous location and modest look of the place makes me wonder if I was wise in trusting my car to a local instead of taking it to the dealership. Once inside the big prefab building, however, my misgivings are put to rest. Workers in spotless white jumpsuits swarm over a Ferrari, a Mercedes, a vintage Corvette and my Jag. It's already up on risers, the prep work for the new paint job under way.

Charmer smiles a greeting and jabs a thumb toward the car. "Forgot to ask you last night. Same color? We can change it if you'd like."

I shake my head, unable to drag my eyes off the damage that was done to my car. It looks even worse under the harsh glare of overhead lights. "No. The original British Racing Green."

He nods his approval and leads us out of the building to the back. He hands me the keys to the loaner. The candy-apple red Mustang sparkles under the overcast sky like a jewel. Seeing it lifts my spirits.

"Sure you don't want to take the Hummer?" David asks in a wistful voice.

I snatch the keys from Charmer before David can. "No. Thanks." I look up at Charmer. "You sure it's all right for me to take this? It's such a beautiful car."

"You're not going to let it get trashed, too, are you?" His face is serious, but his tone is not. He grins. "Of course. Have fun with it."

The Mustang engine growls to life when I turn the ignition. David still has that little-boy look of yearning on his face when I pull out. I wave to them both, then double-clutch it when I hit the road. The Mustang responds like a race car. I feel like Steve McQueen.

At least one thing will be fun today.

I head back downtown to the office to call Jason.

When I pull into my office parking space, I notice a car parked in David's. It's one of those hybrid models, painted a dull pastel green. Looks anemic beside the Mustang. I don't recognize it. David won't be happy, especially since both our spaces are clearly marked "reserved." He can take care of it. I need to get in and out.

The keys are in my hand and I'm right at the door when someone steps out from the bay side of the building.

"Jason?"

He looks tired and scared, and I open the door and motion him inside.

"What's the matter?"

The kid stares down at his shoes and I realize he's wearing the same clothes he had on when I saw him at his house yesterday. I point to a chair. "Sit. I'll make coffee." I get it going and check out the small, under-the-counter refrigerator we keep in the office. "There's not much here, but there are some day-old bagels. Are you hungry?"

He still hasn't said a word. I go ahead and pull out the bag and a carton of cream cheese. Having a human partner who eats real food has come in handy twice now in the last twenty-four hours. Thank you, David.

I don't press Jason until he's eaten half a bagel and had a few swallows of coffee. Then I sit down opposite him. "What happened to you?"

Jason finally meets my eyes. "I didn't tell you everything," he says.

"About?"

"My stepmother. Gloria. What I overheard the day my dad was killed."

"Want to tell me the truth now?"

He nods, starts fiddling with the coffee cup.

"Tell me."

"I did overhear my dad and Laura the morning he was killed," he says. "It wasn't about any kind of criminal investigation. He was arguing with her about something he'd done to a colleague. I don't know the details. It didn't make sense then. Whatever he did cost somebody a lot of money, and Dad thought the guy was coming after him. He sounded scared. He wanted us to leave. Laura said she wouldn't go. She ran out, and Dad ran after her."

"What happened then?"

"I went into his study. I found something."

He dips a hand into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. I recognize it as the one I found in his room. He offers it to me, and I take it.

While I open it, he says, "I didn't know what it meant until I saw the newspaper yesterday."

My own paper is open on the desk where I left it after getting Dad's call. He taps the article about his father. "I think they were right. I think Dad took the formula and sold it. I think somebody at that Benton company killed him."