“So I can knock myself out?” I smiled sweetly.
“You’re so dramatic.” She plucked the book nestled between her chest and a manila envelope. “I picked this up yesterday at a yard sale in Queens.”
I brought the cover close.Miss Butterwith and the Dear Departed.
“I know you already own it,” she continued, tapping the cover. “But look inside.”
I opened the book and on the title page was a scrawled name. I glanced up over the rim of my glasses. “Is this really Christopher Holmes’s signature?”
“Feel better?” she asked, a smirk growing across her face.
“How much?”
“Bring my account up to date, and we’ll call it even.”
“Like hell. You owe me close to a grand.”
“Mr. Snow,” Marc interrupted.
I held a finger up, to which Marc made a sound of offended protest. I nodded my head at the envelope Beth still clutched. “Is that for me too?”
“Hmm? Oh, it’s your mail.”
“What?”
“It’d been stuck between the links of your gate this morning. I took it with me.” She handed it over.
I quickly set my autographed cozy mystery aside and snatched the envelope. “No postage,” I stated, studying both the front and back.
Beth was nodding. “This is a nice neighborhood, but we still live in New York City. I mean, hell! I once saw a man attempt to steal a refrigerator off a delivery truck.”
I turned away and started for the counter, zigzagged around displays, and bolted up the steps. I set the envelope beside the register and crouched. I tossed boxes and bags aside, knocked over a roll of gift wrap and spools of ribbon, before standing with a letter opener.
“What’s going on?” Rossi asked. He pocketed his cell and approached my right side.
“Mr. Snow!” Marc finally sounded pissed and as if he were ready to strangle… well, me.
I sliced across the top of the envelope and unceremoniously dumped the contents out. Half a dozen human teeth skittered across the countertop. The discoloration on them was sure to be blood.
“Son of a bitch,” Rossi whispered.
A plain sheet of paper rested message-up. Spencerian script twisted my gut into a knot so tight, I had to gasp for air.
The Wars could have come to an end.
But he lost his head.
Party A now allots Party B forty-eight hours in which to retrieve the artifact (see message #1.) Failure to safely procure said article within the determined timetable will forfeit Party B’s right to the collection ofa most substantial sum—Calvin Liam Winter—hereby known as Party C.
Hope you’re satisfied.
A Collector.
And underneath… the rendition of a human skull.
Chapter Seven
NO.
