With a couple of hours to go
before meeting Philips, I decided to do a little reconnoitering. Something I
should have done long before this. Not that I'd had the chance all things
considered. First stop, Caiazzo's bookstore.
I wandered in to Endless
Reads as if I was just another person with some time to kill. The place took up
the entire three floors of the building that housed it, and much to my surprise
it was bright, airy and modern. I guess I was expecting some dark, spooky joint
filled with towering, dusty bookshelves, given how I felt about Caiazzo at this
point. The clerks ranged from kids in their early twenties to more mature men
and women, a couple of who asked if they could help me as I wandered around. I
told them no and continued checking out the store.
The third floor had a
bargain book section taking up half the space. Unsurprisingly it was very
popular. The rest of the area was closed off with a door marked 'Employees
Only'. I wondered if Caiazzo was back there somewhere, plotting his next
robbery, and chuckled to myself. Still, it would have been interesting to go
inside to check out his office. Presuming he had one—which was likely. If he
was keeping Philips' book there I could end things real fast. That was highly unlikely.
My next stop was the gallery
where Hugh Williams had worked before his arrest for the theft of the sculpture.
I wanted to get a look at the owner, Mr Eber. It bothered me that he had
supported Williams rather than asking the judge to throw the book at him. If it
had been me I'd have been pissed as hell if a trusted employee had done that.
The gallery was located in
an upscale shopping center about a mile from Caiazzo's store. A few
customers were checking out the paintings hanging on the walls and the art
objects decoratively displayed on shelves or standing on pedestals in the open
space in the center of the room.
There were two clerks, one
behind an impressively large counter to one side of the gallery, the other
talking animatedly with a well-dressed, middle-aged woman who seemed interested
in one of the paintings. Behind the counter was a doorway leading, I figured,
to the inner workings of the gallery. I went over to look at a modern sculpture
on one of the pedestals. From where I stood I had a decent view of the hallway
behind the partially opened door. As I watched, a door opened. A woman I
instantly recognized as Annabelle Dixon, aka 'Ms Bell', was talking to whoever
was in the room. She did not look happy. Then she whirled around, heading
further down the hall. I moved just enough to see that her destination was a
door with an exit sign over it.
I could have made a run
around to the back of the gallery, but I figured she'd be gone by the time I
got there. Instead, I stayed where I was, waiting to see if Mr Eber—because I
was real sure that's who she'd been talking to—appeared.
My wait was rewarded when a
short, dark-haired man came out of the room and entered the gallery. His looked
around, his gaze landing on me momentarily before moving on. Then, he looked at
me again. I knew from the expression on his face he was aware of who I was and
he wasn't happy I was here. He took a step toward me, hesitated, then turned
quickly and beat a hasty retreat, closing the hallway door after him. I heard a
snick and knew he'd locked it.
Of course all of this sent
my curiosity into high gear. Why had Ms Dixon been talking to Eber, and by
extension, what—if anything—did he have to do with the necklace and the book?
Not a question I could
answer right now as I had to meet Philips as planned.
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