complete with punch bowl and other fancy items. The thing is, when pressed, Mrs. Flinton doesn’t have a strong recollection of the exact pieces.”
“They could be new and made to look like antiques. If they were engraved—” Zach began.
“Yes, that could be forged. The con could be anything from just scamming her for the money she’d spend at the auction, to setting her up for more sales, to getting a foot inside her door to rob her. We did the security on her home, but she only has one full-time person in her place, a housekeeper nearly as elderly as she.”
“Sounds like the seller who contacted her is a real confidence man,” Zach said.
“That’s right. All you have to do is attend the auction with her, keep your eyes open.”
“I can look at the stuff, but I’m not an antiques expert by any means.”
“Look at the seller and any accomplice he might have. The auction house is clean, but they allow consignment sellers. You’re a people person, you can spot cons.”
“Why me?” Zach asked. “You must have other . . . operatives.”
“Actually I don’t have one right for this job. Some of my guys like a lot of danger in their lives, a lot of action. A simple case like this wouldn’t interest them—and most are ex-military more than ex-cop. Different mind-set. That matters.”
“Yeah.”
“You ready to meet Mrs. Flinton?”
“You’re offering me the job?”
“That’s right. And it looks like you’re interested. Beats sitting around, doesn’t it?”
“And you want to see how I work. Work with clients and with you. Handle myself.”
Rickman just did a one-shoulder shrug at Zach’s stating the obvious. “Now let’s have you meet the client.” He reached over and pushed a button on his desk.
The door opened. Too late now to give voice to second, third, hundredth thoughts about taking the job.
But if he didn’t like the client—a client, not a victim . . . or was she?—he’d walk away.
Rickman straightened and Zach slid to his feet. She came in leaning on a walker. The tall woman, dressed in a quality but dated pantsuit, wore her thin silver hair in a wavy style. Her carefully made-up face showed a far-too-innocent expression for a woman of her years.
Her gaze went straight to Rickman as she took one careful step, then another. “Are you sure this is a scam?”
Tony inclined his head, gesturing to Zach. “May I introduce my associate, Zach Slade? He’s an ex–deputy sheriff and policeman. Zach, what’s your professional opinion of the setup?”
Angling toward her, Zach said, “I believe someone is playing on your sentiments to line his pockets.”
Her lips quivered. She really should be less wide-eyed at this time in her life.
“With your permission,” Rickman said, “I’d like Zach to accompany you to the auction tonight.”
Now
her blue eyes narrowed as her gaze fixed on Zach. She clumped toward him, chin stubborn, and held out a white hand with blue veins showing beneath. He took her fingers, felt a warm, strong clasp.
“Oh!” She grinned, and while her hand clamped around his, her glance went to Rickman. “I should have known you wouldn’t have given me to one of your regular guys, Tony.” She met Zach’s eyes. “You have a touch of the
sight
, don’t you?”
What the hell did that mean? The back of Zach’s neck itched. He shot Rickman a narrow-eyed look and got a bland expression. Just what kind of place was the PI running, and just what had he and the sheriff discussed about Zach? “No, I don’t have any sight,” Zach said.
Mrs. Flinton removed her other hand from her walker and wrapped it around Zach’s. “You’re in denial, are you? You’ll be fine with me. I promise.” Her silver brows twisted a bit. “Hmm.” Again she smiled at Rickman. “You said Zach just got in from Montana?”
“That’s right,” Rickman said.
She smelled of a light floral fragrance that Zach hadn’t associated with old ladies until now. Clare
“They could be new and made to look like antiques. If they were engraved—” Zach began.
“Yes, that could be forged. The con could be anything from just scamming her for the money she’d spend at the auction, to setting her up for more sales, to getting a foot inside her door to rob her. We did the security on her home, but she only has one full-time person in her place, a housekeeper nearly as elderly as she.”
“Sounds like the seller who contacted her is a real confidence man,” Zach said.
“That’s right. All you have to do is attend the auction with her, keep your eyes open.”
“I can look at the stuff, but I’m not an antiques expert by any means.”
“Look at the seller and any accomplice he might have. The auction house is clean, but they allow consignment sellers. You’re a people person, you can spot cons.”
“Why me?” Zach asked. “You must have other . . . operatives.”
“Actually I don’t have one right for this job. Some of my guys like a lot of danger in their lives, a lot of action. A simple case like this wouldn’t interest them—and most are ex-military more than ex-cop. Different mind-set. That matters.”
“Yeah.”
“You ready to meet Mrs. Flinton?”
“You’re offering me the job?”
“That’s right. And it looks like you’re interested. Beats sitting around, doesn’t it?”
“And you want to see how I work. Work with clients and with you. Handle myself.”
Rickman just did a one-shoulder shrug at Zach’s stating the obvious. “Now let’s have you meet the client.” He reached over and pushed a button on his desk.
The door opened. Too late now to give voice to second, third, hundredth thoughts about taking the job.
But if he didn’t like the client—a client, not a victim . . . or was she?—he’d walk away.
Rickman straightened and Zach slid to his feet. She came in leaning on a walker. The tall woman, dressed in a quality but dated pantsuit, wore her thin silver hair in a wavy style. Her carefully made-up face showed a far-too-innocent expression for a woman of her years.
Her gaze went straight to Rickman as she took one careful step, then another. “Are you sure this is a scam?”
Tony inclined his head, gesturing to Zach. “May I introduce my associate, Zach Slade? He’s an ex–deputy sheriff and policeman. Zach, what’s your professional opinion of the setup?”
Angling toward her, Zach said, “I believe someone is playing on your sentiments to line his pockets.”
Her lips quivered. She really should be less wide-eyed at this time in her life.
“With your permission,” Rickman said, “I’d like Zach to accompany you to the auction tonight.”
Now
her blue eyes narrowed as her gaze fixed on Zach. She clumped toward him, chin stubborn, and held out a white hand with blue veins showing beneath. He took her fingers, felt a warm, strong clasp.
“Oh!” She grinned, and while her hand clamped around his, her glance went to Rickman. “I should have known you wouldn’t have given me to one of your regular guys, Tony.” She met Zach’s eyes. “You have a touch of the
sight
, don’t you?”
What the hell did that mean? The back of Zach’s neck itched. He shot Rickman a narrow-eyed look and got a bland expression. Just what kind of place was the PI running, and just what had he and the sheriff discussed about Zach? “No, I don’t have any sight,” Zach said.
Mrs. Flinton removed her other hand from her walker and wrapped it around Zach’s. “You’re in denial, are you? You’ll be fine with me. I promise.” Her silver brows twisted a bit. “Hmm.” Again she smiled at Rickman. “You said Zach just got in from Montana?”
“That’s right,” Rickman said.
She smelled of a light floral fragrance that Zach hadn’t associated with old ladies until now. Clare
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