After the shots at the Emporium, Mr. Robert had called. He’d called, enticed me to come grab more footage, and then I’d had it stolen less than three hours later by anotherteenager. And the gun that had been fired at the front window…. Calvin suspected the casings had been collected prior to the attacker running off, but what if….
Mr. Robert had antique weapons at his house. They were hanging on the walls for me to see—single-action revolvers from the 1830s and ’40s. And those didn’t have bullets like we know them today. I hadn’t made any mental notes about a space on a wall missing a gun, but that house looked like what I suspected my own would be like in a decade or two. There could have easily been a pistol unaccounted for.
I looked down at the hoodie on the countertop.
That teenager who escaped with my fucking bag was taller than me. Not a huge guy, but he had seemed healthy, especially since I’d no chance of catching him.Hemight have been the partner-in-crime to Casey Robert…. Which meant he’d followed me home last night. And today, by the time I’d visited the grandfather’s house. Maybe even prior to that. Since I left the Emporium for Pop’s? Regardless, he’d have confirmed by Astoria that I had more footage, and must have been waiting for the perfect moment to jump me. It wasn’t a random attack at all.
Was Ihonestlybeing set up by a prune juice-drinking, ninety-year-old man who was using his own grandson to do the dirty work? I couldn’t be sure if Casey’s murder was part of the plan, but… this was bad. Outward appearance was that Mr. Robert certainly wasn’t hurting for cash. He lived in a gorgeous brownstone in a highly desirable neighborhood, with a house full of shit that’d make him the most popular seller at an auction.
But who knows. Maybe he was destitute. What the fuck did I know about his financial situation?
Was it just bad luck that he’d chosen my antique store from a Google search instead of my asshole competition, Marshall’s Oddities? And if that were all true, did that mean the Dickson footage meant jack squat in this modern-day mystery?
No. I refused to believe these long-lost movies were red herrings.
Beth snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Sebastian.”
I blinked and looked at her. “S-sorry… what was I saying?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “How’d you bruise your cheek?”
I furrowed my brow. “Someone tripped me getting off the subway.” I stared at her for a beat. “I have to go.”
“Of course you do.”
I grabbed my things, took a step away, then paused. “Do you have a pair of glasses I can borrow? Mine were stolen.”
She raised an eyebrow and pulled off the ones she wore, the rhinestone chain hanging from them. “Want these?”
I winced. Not my style. “What about more Miss Butterwith books? I still needMiss Butterwith Plants a Clue.” Beth had been helping me reassemble my extensive, old-lady sleuth series I’d lost in February.
“Nada.”
“Gay cops?” I tried.
She reached under the counter briefly, then stood with two paperbacks in her hands. “I knew I’d convert you to romances eventually.”
I leaned closer. “Miss Butterwith will always be my number-one gal.”
“Sure.”
I snatched one of the offerings. “But this looks promising.” I slid it into my plastic bag.
“Get out of here, troublemaker.”
“I’ll see you later.”
I stepped outside and let the door fall shut behind me. I was considering if, in my current state, it was possible to go home to grab my extra pair of glasses while remaining safe and under the radar, when I spotted Neil’s car still parked across the street. I guess multiple shots and shattered glass was more than enough to keep an evidence-gathering detective busy for the better part of a day.
I marched toward the taped-off area surrounding my shop. I peered around a uniformed officer who moved to block me. I only made out a few people through the open door, and there were definitely less cars than earlier in the morning.
“Almost done?” I asked.
“You’ll have to use the sidewalk across the street, sir,” the officer replied.
“Is Detective Millett still inside?”
“Sir.”
