Driven to Truth (Mannhof 4)

Driven to Truth (Mannhof 4)
Alice Gaines
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alice Gaines

When Rae arrived home that evening, she found a delivery truck outside her house. A really big delivery truck. Two men were unloading something from the back of it while a third stood on her front porch, a clipboard in his hand.

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” she called to the two men in the truck. They didn’t respond. One just lowered a ramp from the back, resting one end in the street.

The man from the porch approached her. “You Rae Morris?”

“I am.”

He held out the clipboard and showed her where he’d marked an X next to one line of a form. “Sign here.”

“For what?”

The guy looked at her as if she was giving him a headache. “Your motorcycle.”

“My what?” She glanced toward the truck. Sure enough, the others were carefully wheeling a motorcycle down the ramp and onto her driveway. “I didn’t order a motorcycle.”

“Rae Morris,” the man with the clipboard read from the form. He added her address. “That’s you, right?”

“Well… um… yeah, but…”

He shoved the clipboard at her again. “Sign here.”

“I don’t even know how to ride a bike.”

“Look, lady. I have other deliveries to make. The bike is yours. If you don’t want it, I imagine you can get a good price from a buyer.”

The two men who’d been rolling the bike up her driveway toward her garage stopped, and one of them dropped his jaw and stared at her. “You want to sell this bike?”

“I don’t know,” she sputtered. “I don’t think it’s really mine.”

“It’s a beauty,” the second man said. “Anyone who rides would give his right arm for a bike like this.”

She stopped arguing long enough to actually give the motorcycle a long look. Beautiful did describe it pretty well. Even though she knew nothing about machinery, this thing seemed to purr just standing still. It had sleek lines and highly polished metal everywhere. The seat appeared to be real leather.

“I guess we’d better put it in the garage where it’ll be safe,” she said finally. “I’ll have to open the door.”

“Sign first,” the guy with the clipboard said, now emphatically pushing the form toward her.

She took the pen he offered and wrote her signature on the marked line. “I can get a copy of the paperwork, right?”

“Sure.” He pulled out a carbon of the form and handed it to her. It might tell her where the motorcycle had come from so she could call the company and straighten this out. He handed some keys to her. “These are yours.”

“I’ll open the door.” She went back to her car and found the remote. When she pushed the button, the door slowly rose. The two men rolled the bike inside near the entrance to the house. They barely left room enough for her car. That done, the three of them piled back into the truck and drove off.

She checked the paperwork the man had given her. It had her name, all right, and her address and phone number as well as the name of the trucking company that had delivered it. Nothing at all indicated what dealership had sent the bike or who had ordered it or paid for it. She’d have to call the delivery company to see what further information they had. Unfortunately, it was past five on a Friday, so she wouldn’t reach anyone until Monday morning. The motorcycle would have to spend the weekend in her garage.

She got back in her car and drove carefully in beside the bike. When she activated the remote, the door closed behind them. This time, she studied it from closer, running her hand over the smooth leather of the seat. Then, she jumped back when she spotted the painting on the gas tank. It was a nude male model. A really gorgeous specimen of the species homo sapiens...