“As a point to ponder, if you’re at all capable of rational thinking, I hadn’t even put the key in the ignition, let alone started the motor. So how do you think I could have deliberately driven over your dinky car?”

“Well . . .”

“Hey, you figured it out! I got down on my knees and called, ‘Here, MBG, here MBG, here MBG!’”

“It was an MGB!”

“Then it shouldn’t have come when I called!”

The shade of red Lane saw was brilliant, which is more than could be said for the way his mind was working. He gnashed his teeth.

George prevented a cold-blooded murder by clamping both hands onto Lane’s shoulders and pushing him backwards until his legs were pressed against the trunk of the destroyed sports car. Swift thought had it that the Stevens woman was probably too nice to spend the rest of her life in prison for strangling Lane. Leaning close to insure not being overheard, he whispered to Lane, “Don’t be an idiot! That woman is an answer to your problem. She’s broke, desperate, beautiful, the right age, isn’t wearing a wedding ring . . . and she hates your guts!”

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