Testing His Patience

by Lyn Cote

  She put a slender hand over his. “Darby loves his grandfather. He speaks of him with affection.”

  Gil had trouble breathing. He turned his palm upward and captured her hand, kept it.

  With her thumb, she traced a pattern on the mound of sensitive flesh beneath his thumb. “But it’s obvious that your father didn’t approve of your marriage.”

  Her soft touch ensnared him and he concentrated on the motion of her delicate fingertips. “He hated my marrying Coreena. He hated Coreena, wouldn’t accept her at all. My mom was caught in the middle between us.”

  She shook her head with what appeared to be sincere understanding. “You’re going to have to confront him about criticizing her in front of Darby. Your son loves his mother and he won’t turn against her. He’ll turn against your father.”

  The phone rang.

  Gil burned with aggravation. He would never bring Patience into his kitchen again and he’d make sure to unplug the phone whenever she visited. He snatched the phone off the wall. “Yes,” he snarled.

  Chapter Ten

  Gil’s harsh tone shocked Patience and shattered the mood. Their intimate conversation had deepened her awareness of him, had drawn them together. But now he was handing her the receiver and looking thunderous.

  Wondering what the crisis was, she took it, and with reluctance held it next to her face. “Hello?”

  “Patience, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Bunny apologized, “but a Mr. Pulaski called and wants you to call him right back. It’s important, very important he said.”

  Patience’s hand holding the phone shook. “Thanks, Bunny, I’ll call him as soon as I get home.”

  “He’s not at home. He gave me this number—it’s to a Chicago police station.” Bunny repeated the number and Patience memorized it.

  “Okay, thanks, I’ll head home right now.” Patience hung up after goodbyes. “I have to leave.”

  Gil clutched her by the arms. “No, what’s going on?”

  “Gil, I…” Should I tell him or not?

  “I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s happened. Patience, I’m on your side. Don’t you know that by now?”

  His declaration made her decision easy. “I need to make a long-distance call to Chicago.”

  “About what?”

  “Just trust me. I’ll pay you for the call—”

  He made a sound of disgust. “I can afford a phone call. Go ahead.”

  Patience quickly dialed the number and almost immediately was answered by a brusque voice telling her she’d reached such and such Chicago precinct. “This is Patience Andrews. May I speak to Mr. Pulaski, please? I’m returning his call.”

  A pause and then she heard Mr. Pulaski’s robust voice in her ear. “Patience! We finally hit pay dirt!”

  “What? You found—”

  “We found three items that matched the Perkins theft report.”

  “Where?” Patience could hardly draw breath.

  Gil stared at her, his expression both curious and impatient.

  “Gil,” she whispered and held up one finger, asking for his silence.

  “A raid on a warehouse here,” Mr. Pulaski said, forcing her back to silence. “Suspected drugs, but the officers also found out it was a high-class fencing operation, too. They gave me a call when they discovered that a few antique items matched the list I’d given them. Then they checked on the official theft report that had been forwarded to their computer system. They’re dusting the antiques for prints as we speak.”

  “Oh, Mr. Pulaski, you don’t know what this means to me and to Dan Putnam. This shows that someone else must have or at least could have taken the stolen items and gotten them out of the county while Dan was already in custody.” Tears moistened her eyes. “Here, I’d like you to tell this to Gil Montgomery, Cole County district attorney.” She handed Gil the phone. “It’s Mr. Pulaski, a friend in Chicago. He’s a retired Chicago cop and he has some information for you about the Putnam case.”

  Patience sank back into her chair. She felt herself glowing like Christmas lights on the tree, shimmering with joy. Thank you, Father. You’ve answered my prayers. They’ll have to let Dan Putnam go now.

  She glanced up at Gil, who gripped the receiver. He looked as though someone had hit him in the face with a wet sock. He was muttering, “Yes…yes…I see.”

  Gil, be happy about this. Don’t spoil it for me. She pressed her folded hands to her lips.

  “Thank you, sir,” Gil said, sounding very stiff, very professional. “Please extend my gratitude to the officers who made the bust. This will certainly make some difference in the case. The sheriff will need to be advised of this new evidence. Thank you again.” Then he handed her the phone.

  She gazed into his eyes, willing him to understand why she’d taken this action, and accept this information for what it was. “Thank you, Mr. Pulaski,” she said into the receiver. “You’re wonderful.”

  “My pleasure.” The ex-cop’s voice pulsed with glee. “It gives me a good feeling. Yes, it does. I don’t think a man can retire from law enforcement completely. Still like to turn up that important piece of evidence. It’s a real high. Thanks, Patience. You’ve given me a great Christmas present.”

  Patience tried to thank him again, but he chuckled and hung up with “Merry Christmas!” Patience replaced the receiver on the wall. He slumped back into his chair near her and stared at her, the corners of his mouth stiff. “Explain this to me.”

  She did, starting with her initial call to Mr. Pulaski and how she knew him from Chicago and why she’d contacted him. All the while, she watched for some easing up in Gil’s posture, some indication he believed her now.

  He listened without interrupting her and without giving any sign of what was going on in his head.

  She finally drew to a close, her pulse still racing. What would he say? Would he be able to refute this new evidence?

  “I can’t believe it,” Gil said flatly.

  Her face fell, her lungs contracted. “But…”

  He lowered his head into his hands. “I can’t believe it.”

  She flushed hot. “Why? Because you didn’t find this evidence?”

  He looked up at her. “No, not that.” He took her hands in his.

  She tugged, but he wouldn’t release her.

  “It’s just…I was so sure…”

  “So sure I was wrong?” Her voice throbbed in her throat.

  “No, so sure I was right about Dan’s motive.” He gripped her hands together. “It’s hard to admit I might be mistaken. The finding of this evidence will make a difference, but how much I can’t tell. Yet.”

  She finally wrenched her hands free. “You still don’t have any hard evidence against Dan. And this find may lead to someone else.”

  He rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. “I don’t know if this information will be enough to free Dan—”

  “Why not?” she challenged him.

  He heaved a sigh. “First of all, we have to find out how the antiques got to that Chicago warehouse. We need to eliminate the possibility that somehow Putnam could have handed them off to someone before he was arrested.”

  Patience viewed Gil with a sour taste in her mouth. So you’ll fight against Dan to the end. You don’t admit defeat easily, do you, District Attorney Montgomery? She rose. “I’ll be leaving now.” Her cool voice glinted with ice, chilling her from the inside. She brushed past him heading for the hallway to get her boots and coat.

  “No you don’t.” He pursued her down the hall. “I’m driving you home.”

  By the front door, they had a brief tug-of-war over her boots. She finally let go. The boots thumped back down onto the quarry-tile entryway. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m sorry.” Gil sucked in air. “You’re taking my words wrong.”

  “How so?” She gave him an imperious look and folded her arms. She was breathing fast herself.

  “I don’t doubt that Mr. Pulaski’s information w
ill make a big change in the case against Dan Putnam.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t see why you can’t see that Dan’s a victim of prejudice—”

  “Please. This is my job.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger.

  She permitted herself a look at him.

  “I don’t walk into your classroom,” he continued, “and tell you how to teach. There are certain procedures I must follow in the course of my job.”

  “I don’t think Dan Putnam ought to spend Christmas in jail.” She huffed.

  “If I agree to try to get everything wound up before then, will you let me drive you home?” His voice coaxed her, apologized beyond the words.

  She stared at him hard. “Deal.” She held out her hand.

  He shook it.

  As always, his touch softened her, drew her to him. Lord, what’s happening between us?

  The next morning at 9:01 a.m., Gil sat across the desk from Vincent Caruthers in the small office at the back of his Shop on the Square. The sheriff had had to appear in court this morning and had asked Gil to question Caruthers. The scent of lemon oil hung over them, too strong for an early appointment. But he and the sheriff needed information and Caruthers might have it. Gil tried to breathe through his mouth.

  “What can I do for you, Montgomery?” Caruthers asked.

  Gil tried to read the man’s expression but came up without a clue. Either Caruthers had a lot on his mind or nothing at all. “We received some valuable information last night on the Putnam case.”

  “Oh?” Caruthers sounded uninterested but polite.

  “Three of the items stolen from Mrs. Perkins have turned up in a Chicago warehouse.” Gil extracted a sheet of paper from the briefcase at his feet. “This is a copy of the fax Sheriff Longworthy received from the Chicago Police Department last night.”

  His lips puckered, Caruthers accepted the sheet and perused it. Then he opened a file drawer to the right of his desk and pulled out a single paper from a folder. He laid the papers side by side on his desk and scanned them, making little wheezes and tsks. “Yes, you’re right. These three do match items I appraised for Mrs. Perkins. They are especially fine pieces and worth quite a pretty penny. A Minton teapot, a Lalique vase and a very small Tiffany lamp. Yes, yes. Choice pieces.”

  Gil retrieved the fax sheet and tucked it away. “I need your help then.”

  “In what way?” Caruthers looked at him almost without curiosity.

  What gives? Everyone in town is interested in this case. Why aren’t you? Gil slid back in the roomy chair. “Putnam was arrested in his home less than an hour after his mother had been attacked. We’re trying to figure out if he—on his way between the two houses—could have handed off these items and others to a third party before being arrested.”

  Caruthers raised a palm as if to say, “Who knows?”

  “Do you know of anyone in the area who would receive such items?”

  “You mean like me?” Caruthers’s tone had stiffened.

  “No,” Gil said, placating. “You are not under suspicion. I just thought that since you’ve been in business in this area for over thirty years, you might know if someone…”

  Caruthers stared at him. “No, I don’t know of any of my colleagues in this area that have that kind of reputation.”

  Gil gritted his teeth. A dead end or not? “So you’re saying that the likelihood of Putnam being able to hand off—”

  “Let me give you some information that might be of help.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Gil bent his head slightly forward, ceding Caruthers the floor.

  “There are theft rings that move around the country picking up antiques. Just as the local authorities become aware of their activities, they are usually already out of town.”

  “Really?” Gil raised an eyebrow. “The money for antiques is that good?”

  “These rings are very small and very few but very efficient.” Caruthers sounded grim.

  “How do they know what houses to target?” Gil asked, leaning his elbows on the arms of his chair.

  “In the past, they would judge a book by its cover or I mean, a house by its appearance.” Caruthers smoothed his pencil-thin mustache. “Usually large old Victorians—whether run-down or newly refurbished—make good targets as repositories of antiques. But the Internet has brought a whole new way for these rings to locate items they are interested in.”

  “The Internet?” Gil’s tone gave voice to his skepticism. “What’s that got to do with antiques?”

  “There are dozens of auction sites on the Internet.” Caruthers waved at the computer on an adjacent desk. “Well e-bay is the most well known, but many more exist. Also, there are appraisal Web sites where professionals like myself can post items and check that appraisals are accurate by comparing items.”

  Gil steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “Did you use any of these sites for Mrs. Perkins’s antiques?”

  “I did. She had a few more valuable and some rarer pieces and I wanted to be sure I wasn’t offering more than the trade would allow.”

  “Was that wise?” Gil made direct eye contact with the dealer.

  Caruthers shrugged. “I hope it wasn’t unwise.” Caruthers sounded unconcerned. “I didn’t think at the time that I was exposing Mrs. Perkins to robbery and assault, I can assure you. I’ve known her for many years and have sold her and her late husband many items in the past.”

  “But could a theft ring have found out where the items were?”

  Caruthers gave a grudging nod. “The Internet sites are supposed to be secure, but hackers… I really don’t know anything about that end of it, but I suppose some people know enough to find out anything they would want about someone who posts on these sites.

  “This is a small town,” Caruthers continued. “It wouldn’t be difficult for someone to come through town and start talking to people and to find out where some of the items I listed could be found. They might even have stopped in at my shop. Often, these operators already have a buyer or receiver for the goods they are looking to steal.”

  Gil stared at the dealer. “Did you post anything for Mrs. Carmichael?”

  “No. No,” Caruthers hurried to reassure him. “I haven’t done any appraisals for her at all. But it’s common knowledge that her house is decorated with antiques, family heirlooms.”

  “Can you think of anything else that might help us out in this investigation?” Gil rose, his head buzzing with new possibilities.

  “I’ll spend some time thinking about it and let you know.” He offered Gil his soft, pampered hand perfunctorily. “Does this mean that Dan Putnam will be released soon?”

  “If not completely exonerated, he will probably be released on bail before Christmas.” I promised Patience. And I better keep that pledge. “I don’t think he presents a flight risk anymore—”

  “And the second robbery and this fax put his guilt in doubt?” Caruthers asked, not looking or sounding very involved.

  “So it seems.” Gil turned to leave.

  Caruthers followed him.

  As Gil passed one of the gleaming, spotless glass-topped counters, he halted. Something small and dainty had caught his eye. He stared down at it.

  “Did you see something?”

  “Yes, how much…I’d like to see that.” Gil pointed at the far right of the display.

  “A very fine piece.” Caruthers’s tone warmed. “It will just take me a minute….”

  Three days later on a cold and blustery Christmas Eve, Gil rang the doorbell at Bunny Honeycutt’s. Within minutes, Bunny threw the door wide open, spilling light onto the darkened porch. “Come in. Come in. Merry Christmas.”

  He handed her a well-wrapped bouquet of red roses. “Merry Christmas.”

  “You dear man. Red roses at Christmas. How deliciously decadent. Come in and get warm by the fire. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  The fragrances of sage dressing and pumpkin pie enveloped him as he obeyed
his hostess. His glasses fogged up and he took them off and wiped them with a handkerchief.

  Bunny hurried away, saying she had to get out a vase for the flowers.

  Gil shed his wool coat and scarf on the already crowded hall tree and stepped into the living room across the hall. Only candles, the hearth fire and a brightly lit Christmas tree gave out light in the cozy room. Bunny had invited him, he was sure, because she knew from his dad that he’d be alone on Christmas Eve. He’d come in spite of his dad’s presence, craving a few moments alone with Patience. To see her, he would suffer his father’s displeasure.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Gil recognized Martina’s rough voice and looked toward her where she sat, thin and pale, in a wing chair beside the fire. “Same to you.”

  “Yes, Merry Christmas,” Dottie said in her funny breathy voice.

  He wished her the same, and then at last faced his father who sat beside Dottie on the sofa. “Merry Christmas, Captain.” Would his father reply or ignore him? They hadn’t spoken since their flare-up on Sunday over Coreena.

  “Season’s greetings, son.”

  Gil drew a breath of relief. He hadn’t wanted their falling-out to spoil the holiday evening for Bunny and her guests.

  Patience walked into the room and all the breath rushed out of him. She was wearing an off-white dress of some clingy material that skimmed her figure. Small gold hoops dangled from her ears and her face glowed with a blush—from his attention? “You look great,” he said.

  From the sofa, Dottie giggled.

  “You dressed up, too. Very nice,” Patience said. “Merry Christmas.”

  If no one had been present, he would have taken her into his arms and persuaded her to stay there. The belief that he could do this, that this was what he wanted more than anything, rolled through him with a silent roar.

  Unaware of his marked reaction, she strolled toward him with a dish of fragrantly spiced gingerbread cookies in her hand. “Bunny asked me to start these around. She and my mother baked them yesterday.” Tantalizingly near, she held the dish out to him.