I looked around the Emporium, did a quick headcount of customers, and made sure Max wasn’t inundated at the counter, before saying to Calvin, “So there wouldn’t be a forgotten box somewhere in the Property Clerk’s Office?” I tried.
Calvin shook his head. “There’s very little, in terms of cold cases, prior to the 1990s.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “A lot of reasons. Fires, auctions, improper storage and disposal… take your pick.”
“It feels wrong to not do something about it,” I said.
And thankfully Calvin agreed. “I know.”
“Maybe I’ll call the shipping company.”
“Seb—”
“Hey, as far as I am concerned, I’m being held responsible for the condition of the Kinetoscope,” I said quickly. “I need to find the owner.”
“But that’s all,” Calvin answered with a touch of reluctance. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I echoed.
“If I get a call from an irate clerk at the property office this afternoon, we’re going to have words.”
I DIDnot exasperate a property clerk.
Mostly because I had been too busy running a business that afternoon to dedicate any time to the task.
Oh, and I’d sworn off sleuthing. Of course.
“Boss.”
“What.”
“It’s quarter to six.”
I looked up from sorting mail at the counter.
Max was standing in front of the register. “Pete,” he reminded me.
“For fuck’s sake.” I set the stack of envelopes down and reached for the shop phone. “Remind me next year to tell the fair to go suck an egg.”
Max tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll update the lingo.”
I dialed Pete’s number and waited as the line rang. “I should have backed out of this event,” I told Max. “It’s been nothing but a headache for the past month.”
“Pete stopped answering calls from my cell once he figured out I worked for you.” Max put his arms on the counter. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.”
“You had to have done something, because Greg is a bronze-level sponsor and he seems to be getting the princess treatment. You’re gold, and the fair isn’t touching you with a ten-foot pole.” He leaned close. “Did you spurn Pete’s advances?”
“He hasn’t been around tomakean advance.” I hung up when I got said man’s voicemail. I dialed the number again and put the phone to my ear.
“Maybe Greg slept with him,” Max muttered. He grabbed the mail and sifted through it. “He’s way too hairy for me.”
“Insight into the inner workings of Max Ridley.”
“Dude, he’s got more hair on his feet than a hobbit.”
