watched out of the corner of her eye as Jed left the shop.
An unusual man, she mused. And, of course, the unusual was her stock-in-trade.
DiCarlo raced along the Van Wyck toward the airport, dialing his car phone with one hand and steering with the other. “DiCarlo,” he stated, flipping the phone to speaker. “Get me Mr. Finley.” With his nerves bubbling, he checked his watch. He’d make it, he assured himself. He had to make it.
“Mr. DiCarlo.” Finley’s voice filled the car. “You have good news, I assume.”
“I tracked it all down, Mr. Finley.” DiCarlo forced his words into a calm, businesslike tone. “I found out just what happened. Some idiot clerk at Premium switched the shipments. Sent ours to Virginia. I’ll have it straightened out in no time.”
“I see.” There was a long pause. DiCarlo’s bowels turned to ice water. “And what is your definition of ‘no time’?”
“Mr. Finley, I’m on my way to the airport right now. I’ve got a flight booked into Dulles and a rental car waiting. I’ll be in Front Royal before five east coast time. I have the name and address where the shipment was misdirected.” His voice weakened. “I’m handling all of this at my own expense, Mr. Finley.”
“That’s wise of you, Mr. DiCarlo, as I don’t wish for your mistake to cost me more than it already has.”
“No, sir. And you have my word that this mistake will be corrected expediently.”
“Very well. I’ll expect you to contact me when you reach your destination. Naturally, I’ll want the clerk fired.”
“Naturally.”
“And, Mr. DiCarlo? You do know how important that merchandise is to me, don’t you? You will use any means necessary to recover it. Any means at all.”
“Understood.” When the connection broke, DiCarlo smiled grimly. The way this mess was screwing up his holiday, he was more than ready to use any means. Any means at all.
CHAPTER
FOUR
“T his is quite a mix-up, isn’t it?” While he asked this rhetorical—and to DiCarlo, unamusing—question, Sherman Porter rummaged through his dented file cabinet.
“Guess we’d have caught it here, but we had ourselves an auction going on,” Porter continued as he carelessly destroyed the filing system. “Hell of a turnout, too. Moved a lot of inventory. Shitfire, where does that woman put things?”
Porter opened another file drawer. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to find anything with Helen off for a week visiting her daughter in D.C. You just did catch me. We’ll be closing till New Year’s.”
DiCarlo looked at his watch. Six-fifteen. His time was running out. As for patience, even the dregs of that had vanished. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, Mr. Porter.The return of this merchandise is vitally important to my employer.”
“Oh, you made that clear. A man wants what’s his, after all. Here now, this looks promising.” Porter unearthed a short stack of neatly typed sheets. “See, Helen’s listed all the merchandise we auctioned, the lot numbers, selling price. Woman’s a jewel.”
“May I see that?”
“Sure, sure.” After handing over the papers, Porter pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out a bottle of Four Roses and a couple of dusty jelly glasses. He offered DiCarlo a sheepish grin. “Join me in a drink? It’s after hours now, and it keeps the cold away.”
DiCarlo eyed the bottle with distaste. “No.”
“Well, I’ll just help myself then.”
DiCarlo took out his own list and compared. It was all there, he noted, torn between relief and despair. All sold. The china hound, the porcelain figurine, the abstract painting, the bronze eagle and the stuffed parrot. The enormous and ugly plaster replica of the Statue of Liberty was gone, as well as a pair of mermaid bookends.
Inside his pocket, DiCarlo had another list. On it were descriptions of what had been carefully and expensively hidden in each piece of merchandise. An engraved Gallae vase valued at
An unusual man, she mused. And, of course, the unusual was her stock-in-trade.
DiCarlo raced along the Van Wyck toward the airport, dialing his car phone with one hand and steering with the other. “DiCarlo,” he stated, flipping the phone to speaker. “Get me Mr. Finley.” With his nerves bubbling, he checked his watch. He’d make it, he assured himself. He had to make it.
“Mr. DiCarlo.” Finley’s voice filled the car. “You have good news, I assume.”
“I tracked it all down, Mr. Finley.” DiCarlo forced his words into a calm, businesslike tone. “I found out just what happened. Some idiot clerk at Premium switched the shipments. Sent ours to Virginia. I’ll have it straightened out in no time.”
“I see.” There was a long pause. DiCarlo’s bowels turned to ice water. “And what is your definition of ‘no time’?”
“Mr. Finley, I’m on my way to the airport right now. I’ve got a flight booked into Dulles and a rental car waiting. I’ll be in Front Royal before five east coast time. I have the name and address where the shipment was misdirected.” His voice weakened. “I’m handling all of this at my own expense, Mr. Finley.”
“That’s wise of you, Mr. DiCarlo, as I don’t wish for your mistake to cost me more than it already has.”
“No, sir. And you have my word that this mistake will be corrected expediently.”
“Very well. I’ll expect you to contact me when you reach your destination. Naturally, I’ll want the clerk fired.”
“Naturally.”
“And, Mr. DiCarlo? You do know how important that merchandise is to me, don’t you? You will use any means necessary to recover it. Any means at all.”
“Understood.” When the connection broke, DiCarlo smiled grimly. The way this mess was screwing up his holiday, he was more than ready to use any means. Any means at all.
CHAPTER
FOUR
“T his is quite a mix-up, isn’t it?” While he asked this rhetorical—and to DiCarlo, unamusing—question, Sherman Porter rummaged through his dented file cabinet.
“Guess we’d have caught it here, but we had ourselves an auction going on,” Porter continued as he carelessly destroyed the filing system. “Hell of a turnout, too. Moved a lot of inventory. Shitfire, where does that woman put things?”
Porter opened another file drawer. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to find anything with Helen off for a week visiting her daughter in D.C. You just did catch me. We’ll be closing till New Year’s.”
DiCarlo looked at his watch. Six-fifteen. His time was running out. As for patience, even the dregs of that had vanished. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, Mr. Porter.The return of this merchandise is vitally important to my employer.”
“Oh, you made that clear. A man wants what’s his, after all. Here now, this looks promising.” Porter unearthed a short stack of neatly typed sheets. “See, Helen’s listed all the merchandise we auctioned, the lot numbers, selling price. Woman’s a jewel.”
“May I see that?”
“Sure, sure.” After handing over the papers, Porter pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out a bottle of Four Roses and a couple of dusty jelly glasses. He offered DiCarlo a sheepish grin. “Join me in a drink? It’s after hours now, and it keeps the cold away.”
DiCarlo eyed the bottle with distaste. “No.”
“Well, I’ll just help myself then.”
DiCarlo took out his own list and compared. It was all there, he noted, torn between relief and despair. All sold. The china hound, the porcelain figurine, the abstract painting, the bronze eagle and the stuffed parrot. The enormous and ugly plaster replica of the Statue of Liberty was gone, as well as a pair of mermaid bookends.
Inside his pocket, DiCarlo had another list. On it were descriptions of what had been carefully and expensively hidden in each piece of merchandise. An engraved Gallae vase valued at
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