Read Online A Multitude of Sins by M. K. Wren - Free Book Online Page A

you know?”
    “Well, I do occasionally read the society section.”
    “Oh. Well, Miss Canfield is my client. That’s strictly confidential, but if she asks for me, she has priority.”
    “I understand.” She returned the photograph, her cool tone betrayed by the glint of excitement in her eyes.
    “I have an operative working in Salem,” he went on. “If Sean Kelly calls, get hold of me as soon as possible.”
    “Sean Kelly. All right, anything else?”
    “No, except if you notice a sudden interest on my part in Miss Canfield, don’t be alarmed. It’s only a ploy.”
    “Well, now I certainly wouldn’t be alarmed at any interest you showed in Miss Canfield—or surprised.” She gave him a sly smile, and he felt an inexplicable, and highly annoying, warmth in his cheeks. He turned with some relief as the bells on the front door jangled.
    “Here’s Carl. You’ll excuse us, Miss Dobie?”
    “Of course.” She tucked Meg under one arm, picked up her coffee cup, and exited, sending Carl Berg a conspiratorial smile as he passed her on his way into the office.
    Conan closed the door behind him, noting his clothing—faded denims, a light windbreaker, and a worn sweatshirt. “Welcome back, Carl.”
    Berg went to the chair Miss Dobie had vacated, his tanned face creased with a smile. Only the tan and his sun-bleached blond hair suggested he came from a sunnier climate.
    “Just like old times,” he commented drily.
    “Don’t get too nostalgic. Where’s your partner?”
    “Right behind me.”
    Conan glanced out through the one-way glass. “Coffee?”
    “I could use some. I was up a little early.”
    “You can catch up on your sleep this afternoon.” Conan handed him a filled mug. “I’m putting you on the night shift. Your headquarters will be the Surf House Resort.”
    “Pretty plush. I think I’m going to like this job.”
    “That’s to make up for your last—” He looked around and saw a big, dark-haired man coming into the shop, his blunt features marked with a slightly flattened nose. Conan opened the door, meeting his cool, assessing gray eyes. “Come in, Mr. Munson.”
    Berg pulled up another chair by his. “This is my partner, Conan. Harry Munson—Conan Flagg.”
    Munson extended his hand. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Flagg. Charlie’s told us a lot about you.”
    Conan laughed at that, poured coffee for Munson, then returned to his chair.
    “I hope you took anything Charlie said with a grain of salt. He filled you in on what I told him about this case?”
    “Yes,” Berg answered, “which wasn’t a hell of a lot.”
    “So far, there isn’t a hell of a lot to tell.” He handed Munson a photograph. “That’s our client, Isadora Canfield.”
    Munson studied the photograph, his only comment a raised eyebrow, then passed it on to Berg. He was more vocal. “Well, there’s plenty to see, if not to tell.”
    “And that’s a lousy picture,” Conan said. “Here’s another.” He showed them the photograph of the day man, then for the next fifteen minutes, recounted the scant facts of the case and answered their questions. Both men made occasional notes of names, dates, or license numbers, until at length he ran out of facts, and they ran out of questions.
    “Your assignment for now is simply to watch the tails and Isadora. Mr. Munson, find yourself a comfortable motel, then check out the cottage and locate a good vantage point. There’s a heavy growth of jackpine on the crest, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to stay out of sight. I’ll be carrying a two-way radio, and I have a receiver in my car and at home. You have radios with you?”
    Berg nodded. “Probably the same model you’ve got.”
    “Probably. Charlie recommended it. When you check into the Surf House, Carl, find out who’s registered for unit seventeen. That’s our night man. I did some tailing myself last night.”
    “Okay. What are our shifts going to be?”
    “Long. Isadora goes to work at eight every