C HAPTER O NE A tat-tat-tat echoed through the quiet office. Before Cassidy Green, owner of the Amelia Speedway, could answer it, another staccato round of tapping sounded. Her Rottweiler raised his head and looked toward the source of the noise. Cassidy pulled open the wooden door. A woman in a magenta track suit hovered over the threshold, her hand in the air, mid-knock. “Uh, hi,” the woman said. “I’m Marti Davis, and your gal at the check-in table sent me over to see Mr. Oliver.” Cassidy looked over her shoulder at her Rottweiler, lounging in his bed. “I’m Cassidy Green. That’s Mr. Oliver.” Cassidy suppressed a smile. Her staff always sent the problem cases to him. “She sent me to talk to the dog?” the woman sputtered. “Is she nuts?” “How can I help you?” Cassidy asked. Marti made a harrumphing noise and planted one hand on her hip. “I paid for a stall for your Junk in the Trunk rummage sale, and the idiot next to me has taken up three spots. How am I supposed to do my