The Black Sedan

By Corey Thorne

Business acumen for investigating auto accidents is what Gretchen Foster has, and she’s good at it. She ought to be. It’s what she does for a living.
Her life is routine until she receives a claim on a black sedan. It’s a hit and run, landing the owner, Blaine Grayson, in the middle of the woods at night with the front end of his car smashed in. When Gretchen contacts Blaine about his accident, he tells her not to move his car from the tow yard under any circumstances—a red flag as far as she’s concerned.
To increase her suspicions, she receives a call from Detective Wagner, and the claim isn’t even a day old. Through heated telephone conversations, Gretchen and the detective come to blows over the car.
During the investigation, Gretchen is attacked, coming out of the gym one night. Unbeknownst to her, Detective Wagner has been watching her from a distance, and it changes everything.
As time goes on, the two men become intertwined in Gretchen’s personal life. But it’s too much for her to handle when one of them fails to protect her, and it’s from something that she didn’t see coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corey Thorne
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005633035

Corey Thorne

Corey Thorne grew up in the mountains of Virginia and moved to the coast of North Carolina where she attended East Carolina University. She lives in eastern North Carolina with her husband and son. Her summers are spent writing and enjoying the beach.

Book preview

The blue lights of the police car were flashing alongside the two-lane road, and flares had been placed on the pavement by law enforcement. Onlookers drove slowly with their car windows down past the accident scene, partly because they were curious and partly because they didn’t want to get a ticket. Virginia police and state troopers were well respected, and it was best to avoid them altogether.

The tow truck with its emergency lights on was backed up to the tall grass at the edge of the pavement. Two men wearing coveralls and carrying flashlights stood next to the officer at the damage path entrance, exchanging words as they determined the best way to get to the vehicle.

Shining his flashlight farther into the woods, the tow guy grabbed the end of the winch while his partner flipped a lever to release the thick cable. The officer took the lead as the two men stumbled over tangled brush and fallen trees, making their way through the dense mountain laurel. It was up ahead—a car with its front end buried into an oak tree, and its headlights still on, creating shadows among the trees. He shouted to his partner to let out more cable, his voice echoing throughout the woods.

Finally, the two men made it to the car. The tow guy maneuvered through the underbrush, making his way around the vehicle, searching for a good place to secure the winch. The police officer shined his flashlight into the driver’s side window just as the driver opened the door. He jumped back into a defensive stance with his hand on his weapon. The tow guy immediately stopped what he was doing and waited, assessing the situation. He had his pistol in the pocket of his coveralls but didn’t get it out on account of the officer.

The driver of the car looked at the officer, who was still shining the flashlight in his face. He put his hand in front of his eyes, blocking the light as he got out of his car. The officer saw that he wasn’t holding a weapon and moved the flashlight.

Sir, are you okay? the officer asked.

Yes, I think so.

What’s your name?

Blaine Grayson.

Blaine steadied himself. Using the car for support, he stood up slowly and moved toward the officer. The tow guy saw that things were fine and hooked the winch to the vehicle. He shouted again to his partner, who then pressed the lever, and the cable slowly retrieved itself, pulling the mangled car with it. The sound of branches popping and breaking echoed throughout the woods as the winch dragged the car. The three men made their way through the mountain laurel, and the closer they got to the road, the stronger the diesel fumes became.

Blaine Grayson propped his tall, lean body against the police car while the officer copied his driver’s license information. He checked himself over while he waited. His blue button-down shirt was still intact, and he didn’t see any blood on it. His blue jeans were okay—no blood. He ran his hand over his shoulder, which had taken a jolt from the seatbelt. It was sore, but he could move it, so it wasn’t broken.

Here you go, Mr. Grayson, the officer said as he handed back the license. Giving him a sideways glance, the officer asked, Are you sure you don’t need medical attention? The ambulance is right over there, he pointed.

Blaine had already decided that he would not let on to the officer that he was pain. There were two hospitals in Ridgeton, and he wasn’t going to spend the night in either one of them. That would lead to more paperwork, and he didn’t want to deal with anything else tonight. No, I’m good, Blaine said as he put his license back in his wallet and slid it into his back pocket.

What happened here tonight, Mr. Grayson? The officer stood eye to eye with Blaine.

Blaine shifted his eyes to the officer’s name tag on his uniform. It was hard to read in the dark, but he managed to get a glimpse of it thanks to the flashing police car lights.

Officer Rand, I was driving home. Traffic was no different than usual. I saw headlights in my rearview mirror coming upon me fast. I picked up my speed, thinking this guy was going to rear-end me. Then he pulled out from behind me, and I heard the roar of his engine like he was going to pass me, so I let off the gas pedal. The next thing I heard was metal banging together and tires screeching as the guy rammed into the side of my car. I ended up going off the road and into the woods.

Did you get a look at the vehicle? Officer Rand asked with his hand ready to jot down more information. Have you ever seen it before?

It looked like a pickup truck, and no, I’d never seen it before. Blaine ran his hand through his hair again to see if he had missed any bumps. His head was throbbing, and his shoulder hurt.

Did you get a look at the driver?

No. It was too dark, and I couldn’t see him. I can only assume it was a man driving. I can’t picture a woman doing something like this.

Officer Rand flipped his notepad closed, stuck his pen in his breast pocket, took his hat off, and scratched his head. There are all kinds of people out there. He opened the door to his police car and added one more thing. Call me if you remember anything else. We’ll rule this as a hit and run unless something changes.

One of the tow guys ambled over. We have your car on the flatbed. Nice car too, he said, shaking his head. Here’s my card. We’ll be sure to lock your vehicle inside the fence.

Hold on a minute, Blaine said. He turned back to the officer. Are we done here?

Yes. You can pick up the police report in a few days. The officer got into his police car and took off, spinning tires on the loose gravel.

Relieved that he could now focus on his car, Blaine looked at the tow guy. Do you have a loaner car I can use?

Sure, come on. The man started toward the truck. You might get a little dirty riding back to the shop with us.

Blaine glanced down at his own clothes and then climbed into the cab of the tow truck. After the night I’ve had, what’s a little grease.

***

After the long, uncomfortable ride, Blaine was thankful to see the sign for the tow company—Tow Plus. It looked like they were in downtown Ridgeton. Both men got out of the truck and began their synchronized routine of unchaining the vehicle. Blaine got out, stepped away from the tow truck, and watched them unload his beautiful car. He hadn’t realized how damaged it was, and to see it now hurt his feelings. The smashed front end looked like a crumpled-up piece of paper. When the men finished unloading it, he followed the one who had offered the ride into the office.

We are a body shop, too, the guy said as he got out some paperwork.

Blaine stepped forward to the counter. It was a clean office, nothing like the tow truck he had just ridden in. He pulled out his driver’s license for the second time that night, and the man copied the information needed for the rental agreement before handing him the rental car keys.

It’s thirty dollars a day, the guy said as Blaine followed him outside. Your insurance should pay for it. If not, we have your car, so you can settle up with us when you’re finished with the rental.

Sounds good, Blaine said, getting into the car. Thanks for everything. As he pulled out, he checked the time on the dash. It was late. He needed a hot shower and his bed.

Chapter 2

Gretchen set her cup on her desk before plopping into her office chair. She took a long sip of the hot drink, then pressed the voicemail button on the phone. She listened to the messages, jotting down names and numbers. It was eerily quiet in the office—too early for her coworkers to come in. Chaos would come soon enough with the phones ringing and employees negotiating with customers. Negotiations would inevitably turn into heated arguments and then—the slamming of the phone.

Gretchen decided to call the police officer back first because he sounded cute on the voicemail. Maybe she would get lucky, and he would be in. In her experience, police officers were rarely in their offices. After a few rings, she got his voicemail and left a message.

She moved on to her next callback. Blaine Grayson, please. This is Miss Foster with the insurance company, Gretchen said in her professional voice—it was routine.

Hello, Miss Foster. This is Blaine Grayson. Without pausing for pleasantries, he came straight to the point. I had a car accident and was told you’d be handling my claim.

Good morning, and yes, I will be handling your claim. Gretchen began typing their conversation into her computer. Jot down this claim number, Mr. Grayson. She gave him his claim number and proceeded with the routine questions of an investigation.

What happened, Mr. Grayson?

Blaine recited the same information he had given to the officer the night before.

Gretchen listened and typed at the same time. She’d been doing this for a few years and could type about as fast as the customer could speak.

Where’s your vehicle, and what’s the year, make, and model? Gretchen asked automatically.

Blaine gave her the requested information. By the way, I rented a car from the men that towed mine. I have their business card.

That’s fine. You have rental coverage on your policy. When I speak with them, I’ll have the rental switched over to a direct bill, Gretchen said. She took down the information that Blaine read from the card.

That sounds great. When do you think someone will be able to look at my car to see how much damage it has?

In a day or two, Gretchen replied as she finished typing her notes into the computer.

You’re not going to move my car anywhere, are you? he asked. I don’t want it moved.

Sir, the claim is just in the beginning stages.

I am not giving you permission to move my car. It’s my car, not yours.

The sudden change in Mr. Grayson’s demeanor caught Gretchen’s attention. His voice had a nervousness to it. Something wasn’t right. Sir, your car will remain where it is until we know if it’s repairable or totaled. I’ll call you, either way, to let you know. We can’t do a thing until we assess the damage. She finished the conversation and hung up the phone.

Gretchen pulled up the Division of Motor Vehicles website. She entered the vehicle identification number for Mr. Grayson’s car, and a full history came up. Running her index finger down the screen, she checked to see if it was a salvage vehicle. It was common for interested buyers to purchase high-end cars at auctions. They would repair them and then apply for a salvage title. It came down to the cost of repairs versus the value of the vehicle. Gretchen finished reading the history, and nothing jumped out at her.

Next, she entered Mr. Grayson’s name to see what would come up. He’d owned a few cars, all of them expensive. She pressed the print button on her keyboard and printed both screens, inserting them into her file.

Pushing back her chair, Gretchen picked up her cup and made her way to the office kitchen. The gray-colored halls were lit but still vacant, and it was a little unnerving being the only one in the office. She ought to be used to it with the hours she kept, but she wasn’t.

Placing her cup in the microwave, she pressed start. While waiting for the drink to warm up, Gretchen propped her hand on her hip and glanced around the kitchen. The blinking light on the security box caught her eye. It brought back a memory of the time she had forgotten to enter the security code. The silent alarm went off, and the police showed up. She had been so embarrassed. The microwave beeped, jolting her back to the present.

Hey, Gretchen, a voice said.

Caught off guard, Gretchen whirled around. Mark!

Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.

I didn’t hear you come in.

Are you the only one here? he asked.

Yes, she said and took her cup out of the microwave.

Mark had been at the insurance company as long as she had. He was tall and lanky, not exactly her type. However, they had become very good friends over the years, and Gretchen considered him to be her closest friend.

It figures. You overachiever. Mark put his lunch in the office refrigerator and turned toward her. Resting his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her from his tall frame, he said, You need a social life.

Gretchen saw the sincerity in his blue eyes. I’m fine, she assured him. I have my work, my membership at the gym, and you, my best friend.

I give up, Mark said, letting his hands slip from her shoulders.

I’ve dated off and on, Gretchen reminded him as they left the kitchen area and walked down the hall.

You need a steady relationship in your life. I already tried, but you shot me down. He put his hand to his heart and gave her a lop-sided smile.

Gretchen rolled her eyes. You know you aren’t my type. Besides, you are my closest friend.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Mark entered his cubicle, which was next to hers. I haven’t had much luck with women lately, so I guess I can’t preach to you about finding a man, he said from the other side of the gray partition.

Mark, you’re a good guy. Anyone would be lucky to date you. Why don’t you join my gym? Gretchen sat down and put on her headset. You might meet a nice woman there.

Exercise isn’t my thing. I’m already thin, and I don’t need to lose any weight.

It’s just a thought. Gretchen returned her attention to her work. She checked her computer to see if Mr. Grayson’s car had been assigned to a field adjuster—nothing yet. She knew Heath covered that part of the county and punched his cell number into her phone.

It rang a few times before he answered, Hello.

Hey, Heath, it’s Gretchen.

Hey, girl, Heath said in his usual cheerful manner.

Are you busy? Gretchen asked.

No. I’m on my way to look at a car. Do you need anything?

Actually, I need to talk to you about a claim you are going to get. It’s on a black sedan. It’s at Tow Plus. The guy hit a tree, so it has front-end damage.

I haven’t gotten it yet.

You will. Her curiosity piqued, Gretchen tapped her pen on the notepad that was on her desk. I want to be there when you write the estimate. The insured sounded very protective of his car.

Aren’t they all? Heath chuckled. What’s the guy’s name?

Blaine Grayson. The accident just happened last night.

After I finish looking at these two cars that I have scheduled this morning, I’ll meet you at Tow Plus. It’ll be close to noon when I get there.

I’ll be there. Thanks. Gretchen hung up and wrote the time down on the notepad.

After printing the police report from the internet, Gretchen read what the officer had written. It matched what Mr. Grayson had told her over the phone. She slid the report into his claim file folder and put it back into her filing cabinet.

The phone rang. Hello, this is Gretchen Foster, she answered.

Miss Foster, a man with a deep voice said from the other end of the line. This is Detective Wagner. I was told you are investigating a claim for Blaine Grayson.

Yes, Detective, I am. Gretchen loathed talking to the police. Sometimes they asked her questions she wasn’t sure she could legally answer. Other times, they asked her questions they already had answers to, which wasted her time. And sometimes she’d get a cop who was condescending, which infuriated her. It was insulting.

I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have time, Detective Wagner said.

She gave a resigned sighed and leaned back in her chair. I’ll answer them if I can. She was already dreading the time this would take.

Have you spoken to Mr. Grayson yet?

Yes.

What did he tell you happened the night of the accident? the detective asked.

Don’t you have a copy of the police report? After all, you do work for the police department. She could feel her cheeks getting hot and was sure they were turning red.

Yes, I have the report. He cleared his throat and rephrased the question. Is what Mr. Grayson told you the same as what’s on the police report?

Gretchen’s lips curled into a smile. She’d gotten her point across to the detective. Yes, it’s the same.

Where’s his vehicle? the detective asked.

It’s at a tow yard. We’re working on the estimate to see if it’s repairable or totaled.

Do you mind if we take a look at it?

Detective, why are you asking me these questions? What’s going on? Gretchen leaned forward in her chair and reached for her pen.

We have an interest in Mr. Grayson. Before you ask me any questions, I should tell you that’s all I can say.

There was an authoritative tone in the detective’s deep voice. He just had the wreck, so you haven’t had time to investigate that fully, which means you were looking into Mr. Grayson before the accident. There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. Gretchen wrote down the detective’s name on the notepad and circled it.

Let me give you my phone number, Detective Wagner said, reciting the number. When you determine if the car is repairable or not, call me. I need to take a look at it. It’s important.

I will. She finished writing down the number and hung up.

Mark peered over the partition. That sounded intriguing.

Gretchen pushed her notepad to the side and faced Mark, who was now standing inside her cubicle, reaching for the snack jar on the shelf, helping himself to some chocolate. Well, tell me.

Gretchen held out her hand for him to drop some chocolate into her palm. It’s this claim I just got. There’s something suspicious about it. The owner is nervous and doesn’t want his car moved, and we haven’t even looked at it yet. And just now, I got a call from a detective. Gretchen threw up her hands. This claim isn’t even a week old.

She finished one piece of chocolate and started working on the next.

That’s strange, but we’ve all had claims like that.

I know we have, but there’s something different about this one. The cops have an interest in Mr. Grayson, or they wouldn’t be calling me. There’s more to it. Gretchen laid the candy wrapper on her desk and looked up at Mark. I can tell by the look on your face that you know I’m right.

Mark unwrapped another piece of chocolate and popped it in his mouth. I think you might be.

But when I pointed out to the detective that the accident just happened, which meant he had to have already been investigating Mr. Grayson, he didn’t respond. He just gave me his name and cell phone number. Gretchen leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

Leave it to you to make him speechless. He set the candy jar back on the shelf. Do you know how intimidating and dogmatic you can be?

Gretchen sighed, and her expression dulled. It’s one of my faults, as far as my personal life goes, and one of my strengths, as far as my career goes.

Mark gave her a sympathetic smile. Keep me posted. He turned and went back to his cubicle.

Chapter 3

Blaine rolled over onto his side and checked the time on his alarm clock. After his phone conversation with the insurance company this morning, he had fallen back asleep. Last night’s events had exhausted him physically and mentally.

Positioning himself onto his back, he moved his shoulder, massaging the muscle with his other hand. It was still stiff. On the bright side, his headache had subsided. However, he’d take more ibuprofen to be on the safe side.

Sitting up gingerly, Blaine propped his pillows against the mahogany headboard of his bed. Letting his upper body sink back into the pillows, he fished around for the TV remote, finding it partially under the covers. Keeping the volume low, Blaine flipped through the channels and stopped on the local news. Background noise was all he wanted.

In his mind, he played through the events of the previous night. What stranger would run another car off the road? If only he had gotten a good look at the driver.

His cell phone rang. Reaching for it, he checked the screen to see who it was—his boss. Hello, he answered.

Blaine, it’s Benedict. I called to tell you I found a piece of property I’d like you to look at.

When?

As soon as possible, Benedict said. It’s in Maryland.

Blaine sighed, deliberating whether or not to tell his boss about the accident. How would he respond? Benedict, I’m not feeling well right now. I’m laid up in bed.

I’m sorry to hear that. Are you all right?

Yes, I’m fine. Some guy ran me off the road last night when I was driving home. I don’t know who it was, but he was driving a truck and deliberately ran my car off the road and into the woods. A tree was nice enough to stop my car. Blaine gave a bitter chuckle. The entire front end is smashed in.

Oh, man. I always liked that car.

Well, it’s not deceased yet. The insurance company still has to see if it’s repairable or not.

Well, hopefully, they’ll be able to fix it.

Either way, I’m keeping the car.

Why would you do that if it’s totaled? Benedict asked. It’s not like you can’t afford to buy another one.

Call it sentimental value, Blaine chuckled, wanting to change the subject. That car has taken me many places and made you a lot of money, not to mention myself.

To each his own, Benedict said.

If that property can wait a few days, I’ll be feeling better and can go to Maryland then. He needed time to get his car moved or have the body shop begin repairs. On second thought, I may need more than a few days.

Look, I’ll drive up to Maryland and check it out myself. If it’s something I’m interested in, I’ll call you, and you can handle it from there. Sound good?

Yes, it does, and thanks for understanding. It’s one of the reasons I’ve worked for you for so long. I’ll keep you posted.

Okay. I’ll see you when I see you, Benedict said, then hung up.

Blaine dropped his cell next to him on the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands and let out a sigh. This accident was interrupting his entire life. With his job requiring him to travel the U.S., he preferred driving over flying and liked his high-performance car for that purpose. It was comfortable and took the road well, no matter the driving conditions, and it was commensurate with what he did for a living. Thinking about his situation only made his head start hurting. He popped a couple of ibuprofens, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Chapter 4

Gretchen gathered her black leather purse from her desk drawer and tidied her files while listening to an angry claimant on the other end of the line yell at her. She kept her mouth shut while the customer ranted on that the accident wasn’t his fault, and why should he be the one to have to take his car to a body shop for an estimate. He shouldn’t have to waste any of his valuable time for something that wasn’t his fault. She checked her watch. It was close to noon, and Heath would be arriving at Tow Plus any time now.

Unable to wait any longer, Gretchen cut to the chase. Sir, I understand that the accident wasn’t your fault. I can make arrangements to send an appraiser to your home to write the estimate on your car if that will make your life easier. The man’s entire demeanor changed, and he agreed. After advising him the appraiser would look at his car in a couple of days, she hung up and removed her headset.

Gretchen leaned over the short divider wall between her and Mark’s cubicles. He was on the phone, so she said his name in a loud whisper. Leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the desk, Mark tilted his head her way. She mouthed that she