“You heard me.”
The woman pointed toward her silver SUV.
“Your car hit mine.”
Avery looked at the distance between the vehicles.
Then at her own car.
A pale scrape marked the graphite front corner.
She stopped.
That had not been there.
She knew.
The car had been detailed that morning before a client luncheon in Buckhead.
Avery walked closer.
The woman immediately stepped between her and the SUV.
“Don’t touch anything.”
Avery looked at her.
“I wasn’t touching your car.”
“You need to stay back.”
“I’m looking at mine.”
“You already did enough.”
Avery removed her sunglasses.
“What exactly are you saying happened?”
The blonde woman seemed encouraged by the question.
“You pulled in too close.”
“No.”
“You clipped my rear bumper.”
“No.”
“I was sitting right there.”
“Then you saw me park.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And you hit me.”
Avery looked toward the pump.
Her Vesper had been parked almost perfectly parallel to the island.
The silver SUV had arrived afterward.
She knew because there had been an empty space when she walked into the store.
Avery looked back at the woman.
“You weren’t here when I parked.”
The woman’s face changed by a fraction.
Then settled.
“Yes, I was.”
“No.”
“You didn’t notice.”
“There was no SUV beside me.”
The woman lifted her chin.
“Maybe you should pay more attention.”
Avery smiled once.
Not pleasantly.
“I usually do.”
The woman crossed her arms.
“Then explain the damage.”
Avery looked again.
The scrape on her car aligned roughly with the SUV’s rear quarter.
A simple parking-lot collision.
Except Avery had not moved.
She reached into her handbag for her phone.
The woman said quickly:
“What are you doing?”
“Taking photographs.”
“You need to give me your insurance first.”
“I’ll photograph both cars.”
“No.”
Avery stopped.
“No?”
“Do not photograph my license plate.”
Avery looked at her.
“You’re accusing me of hitting your car.”
“Exactly.”
“Then I’m documenting the scene.”
“You can document your own vehicle.”
Avery laughed softly.
The blonde woman’s face reddened.
“What is funny?”
“You want an insurance exchange but don’t want your plate photographed.”
“I never said insurance.”
Avery’s eyes narrowed.
“Then what do you want?”
The woman looked toward the Vesper.
Then at Avery.
“A repair like this will cost at least twenty thousand.”
Avery almost smiled.
“For that SUV?”
“You damaged a custom bumper.”
“It looks factory.”
“It isn’t.”
Avery walked slightly sideways to see around her.
The woman stepped with her.
Avery stopped.
“What do you want?”
“I just told you.”
“You said what you think it costs.”
“I’m trying to save both of us trouble.”
Avery understood.
There it was.
“Cash?”
The woman smiled slightly.
“A transfer would be easier.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five.”
Avery blinked.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars?”
“If we involve insurance, you’re going to have a claim on a car like that.”