by Lakota Grace
Ben seemed to sense her hesitation.
“Peg filled me in on the case. Don't think you'll discover anything at the gallery. I already hacked their computers, and Manresa is just about broke. But there may be something in her hard-copy files concerning your father.”
He said the magic word. But unwise to let him know how much she wanted the information.
Ben shifted out of the swing in one easy motion and reached out for her hand.
“Come on. You can't go burgle the gallery until after dark. You can decide over dessert. Don't insult the refrigerator.”
HT met them both at the door.
“I see Ben has introduced himself. Welcome to our home. Peg said you'd be staying the night. Isabel made up the sleeping quarters in the loft. Set your pack here.” He gave her a big hug.
Silver felt his emotional warmth. Didn't this man know who he was inviting into his house?
Isabel knew. She gave Silver a disapproving glance as she set an extra place at the table. Probably hid the best silverware. Wouldn’t want somebody like Silver using it.
Instead of returning Isabel’s look, Silver deliberately let her eyes drift around the living room: original oil paintings, valuable but hard to fence. An intricately woven basket on the coffee table. Might be worth something. Wonder where the old man kept his spare cash? Sometimes they didn't believe in banks and buried a can in the backyard.
She caught Isabel's notice and smiled back sweetly. There was safety in open dislike. You knew exactly where you stood.
Silver sat on the floor beside HT’s easy chair. She propped her chin in her palm and batted her eyes at the old man.
“I bet you know the entire history of this town, having lived here so long. Is this real gold?” She picked up a paperweight from the coffee table and twirled it in her fingers, letting light sparkle on the flakes captured in the clear globe.
“Good eye, young lady. That was given to me in memorandum for working in the mines all those years.”
HT gently took it from her and replaced it on the table. “It’s not worth much, but it means a lot to me.”
Isabel clunked a dish in the kitchen.
“Pie,” she announced, and everyone gathered to receive a share, even Silver.
It was good, Silver had to admit. HT lifted a second slice onto her plate. Then, later, he showed her how to play Texas Hold ‘Em at cards, and she pretended to learn. She was careful to lose as much as she won until the pot in the center of the table grew large enough to warrant action.
HT gave her a sharp look under his bushy eyebrows.
“You sure you want to play that card?” he asked her.
Silver hesitated and pushed it slowly back in her hand. How? How had he seen her slip it from the bottom of the deck? Instead of that ace she had intended to play, she slammed down a trey and lost the round.
But HT wasn’t finished.
“Where I come from, people don’t cheat at cards. Especially when they’re playing with friends.”
“It’s a stupid game, anyway,” she said. “Where’s the restroom?”
She spent a few minutes longer than necessary in the bathroom, slowing her heartbeat, watching her fingers steady once more. HT didn’t have to embarrass her that way. Never trust anyone.
The living room was empty when she returned. HT and Ben were outside on the porch and Isabel was cleaning up in the kitchen.
It only took a moment to pocket the paperweight. Opening the side window, Silver tossed it into the yard. Then she rearranged the newspapers HT had been reading to cover the blank spot on the coffee table.
“Think I’ll turn in early,” she announced to the empty room. “Night, all.”
Wolf Has No Alibi
~ 36 ~
Pegasus
When I got home from dropping Silver off at HT’s, I locked the door behind me and went into the bedroom. I divested myself of dusty clothes and headed for the luxury of my new shower. When I was finished, I pulled on my favorite chenille robe. Toweling my hair, I entered the living room.
Wolf was on the couch, a cold beer in his hand and another, glass frosted, waited on the coffee table.
“Make yourself at home,” I said. “Where's your truck?”
“Walked.”
Of course. He wouldn't commit the same error twice, putting his means of escape in jeopardy.
He appraised me from the top of my wet head to my red toenails. “You look nice.”
Part of me appreciated the compliment, but part held back. Slow down. This guy is a suspect in a murder investigation.
Wolf must have caught my dubious expression. He patted the couch.
“Sit. I won't touch you. Ask me whatever you want.”
“You mind if I take notes?” I asked stiffly.
I picked up a pad and a pen. I gathered my robe around me, attempting to feel cop-like official and not succeeding. Having a hard time concentrating, in fact, with his body heat next to me.
“Where were you the night Henry Fisher died?”
I stared at the paper in my lap, trying to ignore his closeness.
“I have no alibi at all.—Leastways, no corroboration.” He smiled at me, his eyes crinkling just a little. “I was sitting outside your cabin. You had gone to bed.”
“Here!”
“Why not? Reckless didn't mind. Anyway, your porch has a good view.”
He propped his feet on the coffee table, crossed his hands in his lap. “Next question, counselor.”
“Did you buy Henry Fisher’s 45 revolver from Silver Delaney?”
“Sure.”
“What?” I hadn’t expected him to admit it.
“It was mine. I gave it to Andy as a going away present when he left the Army. Where Henry Fisher acquired it, I'm not certain. You might ask that wife of his.”
“Silver says you stole the gun from her.”
This interview wasn't so hard. I swigged the beer. Good vintage.
Wolf gave a short guttural laugh. “I reckon I did steal it. Offered her rock bottom price and she took it.” He went on the offensive. “Have you asked her why she was so eager to sell it?”
“That's Rory's job.”
“Right,” he said, “His murder investigation. While you give her room and board and sign on to be her nursemaid.”
“That's not true!” Actually, it was, but I had no other rejoinder. Especially when he tucked an errant strand of my hair behind my ear in a tentative gesture.
“And your relationship with Andy Fisher?” I asked.
Wolf sobered. “Andy was my best friend. I came here to see if I could help him.”
“But he died, instead.” I was instantly sorry I uttered the words.
“Yeah, you're right. I killed him.” He held out his wrists. “Here, arrest me. I'm as guilty as anyone of his death.”
I frowned at him.
“Look, no matter what I say, you won't believe me. I thought maybe, just maybe, we could have trust between us.” He rose abruptly. “Best I leave you before I get you in more trouble.”
A moment later he disappeared, as quietly as he had arrived. I considered sending Reckless after him, but I wasn't sure the dog would return to me. Why do I always get involved with these difficult ones?
Wolf Brandeis challenged me to discover whether he was implicated in the death of either father or son. The problem was, I didn't have a clue how to begin.
Shoplifting Fever
~ 37 ~
Silver
Later that evening, Ben pounded on the loft door as he promised. Silver hadn’t been sleeping, just lying there, staring at the ceiling.
Together they walked to the art gallery. The front window was a mirror of black, reflecting their faces and a single light in the back of the store shown through the empty aisles. Silver tried the door. Locked.
She upended the nearest potted plant, but no key was apparent. None under the floor mat, either. Maybe Mingus folks weren't as trusting as those in Sedona were.
/> “You want to go behind?” Ben asked.
“Might as well.”
They descended the steep hill to the back of the store. On the gallery property, a kiln glowed red hot in the darkening evening.
“Wow!” Ben exclaimed. “I bet that's at least a thousand degrees.”
“More like seventeen hundred.” Silver corrected him. “My cousin owns a ceramics studio in Santa Fe. She made a million dollars selling these fake Indian pots to the tourists in the square. I helped her, sometimes.”
Silver upended some stacked ceramics on the patio looking for a spare key. There had to be a zillion pieces. Why did artists make so many?
“Come help me,” she ordered.
Ben tried a few pots and then rattled the back door. It was locked as well.
“Can you pick a lock?” he asked with a hopeful tone in his voice.
“Even if I could, I wouldn't do it,” Silver said. “That counts as breaking and entering. Can cost you five to ten, with no time off for good behavior.”
“And you know that, because?”
“Here, give me a foot up.” She had found a chest-high window propped open with a firebrick for ventilation. Scrabbling up the rough brick wall, she pushed the frame up another six inches and started to wriggle through.
“Hey, wait a minute. Didn't you say that was breaking and entering?”
“Never mind.” Silver's voice was muffled as she tumbled headfirst into the gallery. A moment later she opened the back door.
“Well, you coming in?”
Ben hesitated and then joined her, closing the door behind him. They climbed the interior stairs to the gallery on the main floor.
“We've got twenty-five minutes before they return,” Ben said. “Manresa and Adaire had a big fight. They are having makeup drinks at Nic's in Old Town Cottonwood.”
Silver looked at him. “You’re guessing.”
“Nope, I was surveilling while you took your beauty rest. They were yelling pretty loud, for sure. Anyway, the file cabinet you want is in that side office. I'll keep a lookout for you.”
Why was Ben helping her? Was it because they were both outcasts in their own way? Him, with his mixed Italian-Navajo heritage; her, with her history of bouncing from one foster home to another. Maybe he just wanted respect or acceptance?
Silver erased that uncomfortable thought from her mind. More likely he was an adrenaline junky; she’d met too many of those in her life. She switched on the small pin-light that Ben shoved into her hand.
The file cabinet was where Ben said it would be. Silver pulled the top drawer open and thumbed through the files. They contained the normal receipts and orders that any small business has.
There were old employment records for Adaire—she’d been a hospice worker, a medical secretary, a real estate agent. The lady traded careers like Silver did foster homes. She tucked the facts away.
The second drawer contained past tax files. Silver perused a few. It appeared the gallery was in the black, but just barely.
The third drawer was full of catalogs, methodically alphabetized. Silver wondered who was the anal one—Manresa or Adaire. Adaire, she bet. That lady had a nasty phone voice.
The bottom drawer held an assortment of printer cartridges and spare pens. Silver stuck two of the pens in her pocket.
Then she returned to the top drawer. She opened it as far as the tracks allowed and checked the back hanging files. Nothing. Then she yanked out a pile of files and looked underneath the remaining ones. Other than an old eraser and a few rusty paperclips, nothing.
She returned the hanging files and followed the same maneuver on the next three drawers. The best place to hide something, beneath the legitimate records. Silver had found plenty of good stuff there in past searches. Money, even, sometimes.
The second drawer yielded nothing. But the third had an envelope wedged in the track. Silver opened it and withdrew a tattered slip of paper. Her birth certificate. At least she thought it was. The year was right.
But it showed her birthday as June 21st, not May 1st. That meant she was a Cancer, not a Taurus. Silver wasn’t sure she liked that. She preferred the image of a roaring bull much better than a crab.
She traced the blank spot on the certificate where her name should have been written. It said “baby girl pink.” Her mother didn't even care enough to name her! And although Manresa Snow was listed as mother, no father’s name appeared.
Silver hesitated, not wanting to relinquish the first tangible evidence of her birth and legitimacy. She made a quick replica on the office copier and returned the envelope containing the original to the drawer where she’d found it.
One remaining drawer to second-search. Silver dumped the clutter of office supplies onto the floor. Underneath them was a hardboard ledger.
A second set of books! And this told a very different story. Silver flipped through the pages. For several years, the gallery had made a fat profit not reported to the I.R.S.
Now, the gallery hemorrhaged money. Silver read page after page of red-inked entries. At this rate, the store needed an arson fire with substantial insurance proceeds just to break even.
She was seriously depressed. No money here for her career aspirations. Then her mind shifted to Plan B. Well, there was always her father, whoever he might be.
A bell jingled and the front door slammed shut. Silver dumped the ledger into the bottom drawer and shoved the office supplies on top. She hid behind the door, listening.
“I don't care what you say, she deserves to know.”
The voice was low, rough, as though the owner smoked too much. The next voice was much higher, more intense.
“If you love me, you'll tell that impostor to get lost. You don't need this stress in your life, not now, not when our wedding is so close.”
“Did you leave the light on in the office?” the first speaker asked.
Silver crawled out of the small room and hid behind a counter filled with handmade jewelry. Her fingers crept unbidden to an expensive ring on the top shelf.
A hand grabbed her wrist.
“Don't!” Ben hissed at her. “Five to ten.”
Together they duck-walked to the back of the store. They edged opened the door, crept down the stairs, and out into the alley. Silver choked back energy-induced giggles. Ben grabbed her hand, and they ran up the hill to HT's house. They collapsed on the front lawn, panting heavily.
“Did you find anything?” Ben asked.
“Nothing,” Silver lied.
Although she might return to copy the second ledger. Some potential blackmail there. Then she discarded the idea. Who blackmailed their own mother? Especially a mother who was bankrupt.
“You got a car?” Silver asked Ben.
“Better.” He took the cover off his Ducati motorcycle parked at the edge of the drive.
“You know that big discount store outside of town?” Silver asked. “Take me out there. Somebody I want to meet.”
She needed to recontact that Wilfred guy. If he wouldn't pay her the true value of the gun, maybe it would be worth his while not to go to jail himself. She'd been nice too long. Paris and her new career as a fashion designer were calling.
Silver transferred the copy of her birth certificate to a safe back pocket and climbed on the bike. The document had cost her nothing, and she had gained it with an hour's effort. So much for hiring private detectives. If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.
***
Ben wasn't happy, but Silver was insistent.
“You can't come with me to meet him. Go hack a business or something. Return in two hours, and I'll tell you everything. I promise.”
She gave him her best Audrey-Hepburn-gamine look and disappeared into the darkness at the edge of the store.
Wolf's old pickup was parked in the remote corner of the lot, and she approached slowly. Even though she hunched, moving through the shadowed rows of cars, he spotted her.
“You again. Got ano
ther gun to sell me?”
“No, but I want full value on that one or I'm turning you in.”
“You and who else?”
“It only takes one little call.”
She dangled her cell phone in front of him and grabbed it back when he lunged at it.
“Not so fast,” she said. “Pay up or I'll tell your girlfriend Peg about you. And the police, too, since that's who she works for. I’ll let them know exactly who you are.”
“You're right, the gun was worth more.” Wolf shrugged.
“Thousands more!” Silver exploded. “You owe me.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I'm out of cash.”
“You expect me to believe that?” She snorted. “You're a drug dealer. Dealers always have plenty of money.”
“Must be a poor dealer, then. Not a slim dime for you tonight.”
Silver backed a few paces away. Keeping a cautious eye on Wolf she swiped her screen and scrolled her list of contacts for Rory Stevens’ number.
“Last chance.” She had learned long ago not to bluff without the ability to carry through. The only way to deal with the people she encountered in her life.
“Wait, maybe we can take it out in trade, barter like.”
The guy's harsh tone softened just a fraction.
“I'm not interested in what you have to offer. The money or I call.”
He smiled at her. “You might be surprised at what I know. Put the phone away and let's talk.”
He spread his hands, palms up in a look-how-harmless-I-am gesture. It almost matched one of Silver's Best.
She was curious. “What do you have?”
“I know who your father is.”
“You’re lying! Manresa said I was a test-tube baby. She used donor sperm. I'm a throwaway.” In spite of herself, tears filled her eyes.
“No, that's not true. I know who your father is, for sure. Maybe I can put in a good word with Manresa for you. That's your mom, right?”
“And what do you want in return?” Silver was suspicious.
“I want to know Andy's drug connection. Somebody gave him a poisonous batch, and then he died. I have a feeling you can find out who.”
