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As our hero Tom watches a tipsy Leda drive away—and wonders if letting her drive will make him accessory to a misdemeanor down the road—our resident thief-turned-valet Eddie sidles up and tells him that Leda has a problem. Or two:
“What kind?” I asked.
He nodded at the silver Taurus that was easing out of the parking lot. “Guy in that car followed her here and stayed put until you showed—you went in and he hopped out to take a good look at your deathtrap.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said.
“Might want to ask about the Roxis in her glovebox, too.”
Why would a swan need Percocet? “Prescription?”
“Three bottles, three different doctors.”
Yep. Told you she was a hot mess.
Several of you were wondering which car Eddie chose for Leda. The answer, of course, is “hers”, but I’m afraid I won’t have anything more specific for a while. Tom knows more about cars than I do, but apparently that stuff only transfers one way.