He leaned forward. “You see, I trustyou, Mrs. Brodigan. I trust you very much.”
But she scoffed. “You don’t trust me. You won’t even let me see that ring.” She began to stand. “No, Mr. Kenzie. I believe our business is over.”
Damnation.Without letting himself hesitate, Arthur set the briefcase on the table. “Keep it.”
She went still.
“As collateral, until we can meet again.” Every inch of him protested the thought of letting the relic out of his sight, but they couldn’t lose Mrs. Brodigan. Theyneededher.
He leaned closer, and added quietly, “But my conditions, as your client, are that you keep it safe and you don’t try to open it until we can talk.” He swallowed. “I’m afraid I’m quite serious about this part. I’ll need your word.”
She eyed him, weighing him with her bright green gaze. Finally, she nodded. “I suppose it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been asked to do.” She set a hand on the briefcase. “All right, Mr. Kenzie, I accept your terms. I’ll keep this safe and unopened. You have my word.”
He breathed out a sigh of relief even as tension flooded his stomach.Unloaded pistol, he told himself.Dormant volcano.Jade was still going to kill him, but everything Arthur had learned about Mrs. Brodigan implied she was the steadiest, most forthright of souls. He hadn’t lied when he said he trusted her. “Can we meet at your shop this afternoon?”
She shook her head. “I have a driving lesson.”
“Adriving lesson?”
“It’s part of a payment for sorting out a watch. My patrons can be a biteccentric.” She gave him a pointed look. “Tomorrow morning?”
That was much longer than Arthur had wanted to wait. But he supposed when they’d been waiting months, one more night couldn’t hurt. “Tomorrow morning, then.”
He dropped another bill on the table to pay their tab and rushed to catch a cab to Chinatown.
Chapter Three
“—we’d be delighted to look at your brooch, but I’m afraid the pistol is out of the question.As you can see by our sign, it’s strict store policy, absolutely no weapon appraisals—”
“—surely you could make an exception—”
“—I’m sorry, sir, but if it was created to cause pain, we don’t appraise it, and that isn’t up for negotiation—”
Rory cracked an eye. He ached all over, his skin still prickly from a night scrying, his muscles sore from too little sleep and in a chair at that. He felt around on the side table until his hand landed on his new glasses. He slid them on and rested his temple against the chair’s wingback side as he listened to Mrs. Brodigan haggle with a potential customer.
“—but it’s not a very large pistol—”
“—I daresay I might have misspoke earlier; it’s looking like we won’t have time to appraise the brooch either—”
“—wait, wait! All right, just the brooch, I’ll take the pistol somewhere else—”
Rory slouched deeper, feet propped on the battered footstool. He only half listened as Mrs. Brodigan took down the customer’s details, then finally the bell jingled as the front door of the shop swung shut. A moment later, Mrs. Brodigan popped her head in the office doorway. “I thought I heard you stirring.”
He yawned. “Weren’t you meeting what’s-his-name this morning, the high hat rush job?”
“We went to the restaurant on 49th. You deserved some sleep, so I told him the shop wasn’t available.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I trust him yet and I certainly don’t think he ever needs to know about you.”
His tired brain managed some gratitude, mixed in with the persistent irritation that Kenzie had given them such an impossible job. “And did you tell him off for being a colossal time-wasting prick?”
“Language, dear. And yes, I was very cross with him.” She hesitated. “At first.”
“At first?”
“How about I make us a cup of tea?” She was already on her way out of the office.
“What bad news do you have if you’ve got to butter me up with tea?” he called after her.
“So suspicious!”
