“I have to go,” Aubrey murmured, looking suddenly exhausted. “Nap. I’ll text you in about fifteen minutes.” He waved briefly before the video call ended.
Max sighed. “Aubrey’s so cute. I just want to pet his head and feed him cookies. Is that weird?”
I glanced sideways at Max. “Yeah, a little.” I held up the picture of Richard. “If the weapons he tried to sell to an antique shop and legit pawn shop fell through, I wonder if he’d try someplace less savory?”
“But then what?” Max asked. “Sounds like a dead end.”
“Unless Aubrey’s old manager has an idea of where to go with hot items you need to unload fast.”
Max frowned when I looked at him. “So why is Calvin letting you poke around? This doesn’t have anything to do with that Roger guy I looked up for you on Facebook, right?”
“No, totally different situation.”
Max reached out and nudged my arm roughly. “And?”
“A security guard at the Met was murdered. This guy—Richard.”
“Holy fuck.”
“Yeah. The person behind the bricks and notes—they’re offing suspects from Calvin’s cold cases and then making me prove the victim was guilty of murder themselves.”
Max scrunched his face up, looking horrified. “This is like—like some fucked-up horror movie or something.”
“Let’s save that description for when I’m eventually kidnapped and forced to chew off my own hand to escape.”
“Don’t joke, Seb!” Max ran a shaky hand through his hair. “So… who did Richard kill?”
“Cal and I think it was an old museum employee from several years ago.”
“How do we prove it?”
I looked up at Max curiously. “We?” I echoed.
“If you think I’m letting you run off by yourself, you’re out of your mind.”
“I’m not supposed to go anywhere,” I pointed out.
Max snorted. “As if you hadn’t planned on heading out to wherever Aubrey tells you after he wakes up from his beauty sleep.”
“I’m not letting you come. It’s dangerous.”
“Calvin gave me permission to disobey you. Got a problem with me tagging along, you take it up with Ginger Cop.” He grinned widely.
“You’re a pain.”
“Now you know how we all feel about you.”
AUBREY WASback in the land of the living about fifteen minutes after his necessary nap. His text message was the address of his old job here in New York, the name of his boss, and a string of emoji I didn’t understand. Max was reading the text out loud as I lowered the gate on the front of the Emporium.
“Then there’s a kissy face, the face wearing sunglasses, a thumbs up, and a snail.”
“Does all of that together mean something?”
“No. I think he’s just messing with you.”
“Jerk,” I muttered.
After the gate was down, Max handed me back my phone, and we turned around, nearly bumping into Beth from next door. She put her hands on her hips and stood before us looking mighty displeased.
