They made small talk while they studied their menus. When they had ordered, Wilma kept up the pointless chatter for a respectable interlude before she asked Bernine about Lee Wark. She would have preferred to cut right to the bottom line, but anything direct made Bernine nervous. Bernine liked the oblique approach. After ten minutes of idle conversation, Wilma got around to computers, at which Bernine was a whiz, and then to discussing the on-line system at the library, and the recent addition of the Internet. At last she got around to Lee Wark. Maybe her approach wasn't smooth, but it did the job. "There was an interesting man in the library the other day using the computer, doing some kind of research. I think you may know him. Thin, one of those solemn, hungry, artistic-looking types." Artistic was not the way she thought of Wark. "He had a fascinating accent; I think he may be Welsh."
Bernine's green eyes went agreeable and expressionless. "That would be Lee Wark," she said pleasantly. "He sells cars to the agency. He's a freelance car buyer, travels all over. What kind of research could he be doing? Something about foreign cars?"
"I didn't help him. It was his accent that caught my attention. Didn't you date a car buyer for a while?"
Bernine waited a moment, assessing her. "I dated Wark, a few years back. He used to bring me cactus candy from New Mexico, pralines from Atlanta, stuff he bought in the airport gift shops." She laughed. "I broke it off, it got too fattening."
Wilma smiled. "You were bored with him?"
"Sometimes."
"I'm not sure I understand about the car buying. Can't the agency buy the used cars it needs locally, with so many foreign cars in the village?"
"Molena Point people don't buy as many new cars as you think. Many of the BMWs and Jags and Mercedeses you see were bought from us used. And remember, Beckwhite's doesn't serve just Molena Point. We do two-thirds of our business with Amber Beach customers and with people all up and down the coast."
"And Wark ships the cars to you?"
"He ships them by truck, or sometimes he trucks them himself. He has a couple of trucks and trailers, those long, open ramps that you run cars up on."
"Interesting work. I guess he does this full-time, travels and buys cars?"
Bernine watched her carefully. "Wark travels maybe nine months a year. What's this about, Wilma?"
"Idle curiosity." Wilma laughed, sipped her tea. "What does he do the rest of the year? Didn't you vacation with him?"
"I'm over twenty-one," she said defensively. Then, more pleasantly, "He has a place in the Bahamas. He-it's very nice, very tropical and pretty."
"Sounds like a perfect relationship. He's not here often enough to get tired of him, and he takes you to a nice vacation resort. What made you break off with him?" She paused while the waiter set down their order, a chicken sesame salad for Bernine, a small saute of crab for herself. She knew she was pushing Bernine, but Bernine, for all her bristling, would give in, if one kept at her.
But now Bernine seemed wound tight. When the waiter had gone, she said, "If you'd tell me why you want to know…"
Wilma just looked at her.
Bernine sighed. "I broke it off because Wark was-so strange. Maybe it was his Welsh upbringing." She sipped her water.
"Strange, how?"
"Whatever this is about, Wilma, I really don't mind talking about him. Why should I?" She widened her eyes a little. "But I wish you'd tell me."
"I would if I could, Bernine."
Bernine sighed more deeply. "He made me uncomfortable. I never told him why I didn't-why I ended it. He has some really weird ideas."
"Ideas like what?"
Bernine nibbled at her salad. "It sounds crazy."
"Try me."
"I wish you'd tell me what you're after. Are you doing some kind of investigative work?" Half the retired probation officers they knew did some private investigation.
"I'd be breaking a confidence, Bernine. I can only tell you it's important. What was it about Wark that put you off?"
"He… It was the cats."
"Cats?" Wilma swallowed back an excited little bingo. She tried to sound and to look puzzled. "Why would cats…" She shook her head as if not understanding. "Cats, as in house cats?"
"Yes, cats. He'd get on the subject of. cats until I could scream, I got really bored with it. Sometimes he scared me, the things he said and did."
She tossed back her flaming mop of hair. "I don't much like cats, but he was… We'd be walking down the street, he'd see a cat. He'd stare at it. Right there on the street he'd sort of-stalk it. Would look and look at it, follow it, stare at it, try to see its eyes."
"How very weird. Did he ever explain his actions?"
"When he did explain, his ideas made my skin crawl. Superstitious ideas. He was really afraid of them, fevered."
"It's a phobia," Wilma said. "Some people have a terrible fear of cats."
"With Lee, it's more than phobia. He has this idea that some cats are-I don't know. Possessed. He thinks that some cats can-that they have, like a human intelligence or something."
Wilma laughed and shook her head. "He sounds very strange. Where would he get such ideas?"
"I don't know. His family was full of those stories."
"Family stories," Wilma said. "And he grew up believing them?" Then, "How does he get along with the men in the shop? I don't imagine he talks to them about his fixation."
"I doubt it. I guess the men like him well enough."
"How about Beckwhite? Did they get along?"
Bernine's salad fork missed a beat. "They got along fine, as far as I know."
"I heard there was tension between Beckwhite and Wark, some difficulty."
Bernine's eyes turned steely, then softened. "There's always some little difference of opinion, that's human nature." Her smile didn't hide an almost-frightened look. "You can't work in an office without differences. What is this? What are you into?"
Wilma poured the last of her tea. "I wish I could tell you. You know me, I'm incredibly curious." She looked at Bernine blandly.
The waiter took their plates, and offered the dessert menu. They ordered a flan to share. When he'd gone, Wilma asked her about procedures at the shop.
Bernine, looking resigned, gave her a concise rundown of the routine for the newly arrived cars. Each vehicle was cleaned in the work yard behind the main building. Trash and forgotten personal possessions were removed; the car was washed, the interior given a cursory vacuuming, then it was sent to Clyde Damen, for a tune-up, for any needed repairs or replacements, and for steam cleaning of the engine. The last operation was a final wash and wax, more careful cleaning of the interior, and touch up to any small mars in leather or paint: a final cosmetic detailing before the car went to the showroom. Beckwhite's handled Shelbys, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, the newly resurrected Bugattis, as well as Mercedeses and BMWs.