Ecurie Ecosse

On the day he was to deliver the transporter to Eric, the family car, an aged Ford Taurus wagon, refused to start at a shopping mall. Martin in frustration called the dealership, which came to tow the car away, and then he called Eric to let him know he was delayed. As the repair was to take days, Martin called Eric once more to let him know he was free to cash the cheque for the renovation he had given him, a cautionary step Michelle had suggested he employ just in case he had second thoughts about the bargain he had struck. Eric had laughed Martin’s suggestion away. “It has been yours for more than half a century,” he reminded Martin, “I can wait a few days more.  I’d come over myself to get it, but I’m up to my eyeballs in work right now.”

Nearly a week later, Martin had a call from the dealership. The repair was to cost more than the car was worth. With great reluctance, Martin decided to trade it in for a smaller vehicle. The salesman was pleased. “You won’t regret it, sir. Everyone’s going for fuel efficiency these days. Now that your boys are grown, you don’t need the extra space, and nobody wants these big cars any more.”

Two days after this, Michelle with characteristic thoroughness decided it was time to spring-clean what they both called the car room where the cabinet lived. She noticed that the transporter was no longer in its place.

“Martin, where’s your Ecurie Ecosse?”

“I took it to sell it, I mean, give it, to Eric. Don’t you remember?  It’s going to a good home.”

“Yes, but you didn’t take it to Eric. Where is it now?”

“Oh, yes. You’re right. A good question… I don’t know where it is.”

“Well, think hard. Where did you last see it?” Michelle knew her husband’s absent-mindedness well, but forbore to mention it.

“It must still be in the Taurus. At the dealership.”

“Why did you leave it there? It could be stolen!”

“Don’t worry. I placed it in the storage compartment under the floor near the place where the spare tire is kept. I remember now. It’s safe there. I locked the compartment.”

“Is the car still there?”

“I guess so. They can’t sell those wagons easily, you know.”

“Is the car still on the lot?”

“I imagine so. It’s only been a couple of days.”

“No, it hasn’t. Today is Sunday. The car arrived there on Monday. That’s nearly a week. Do you still have the keys?”

“No. I sold the car, remember. Not for very much, but they took it off the price of the new car.”

“You’d better go down and see if it’s still there.”

Martin came back from his trip to the closed dealership disconsolate and troubled. The car was nowhere to be seen on the lot. He had peered into the service garage with the help of a security guard curious to know what he was looking for on a Sunday of all days, but to no avail. The service bays were empty. He would have to resume his search for the Taurus the next day.