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He recognized the evasive flicker of Quinn’s eyes. “Nothing dramatic. I realized it was time to head out. There wasn’t anything—” He stopped, and even seemed to lose a little of that wind-whipped flush.

“Wasn’t anything to keep you here?” Andy’s tone remained pleasant as he completed Quinn’s sentence. “True enough.”

Quinn opened his mouth, but then seemed to rethink what he was going to say. “Anyway. I heard what happened here last night. How’s Cutty?”

A lot of the fight went out of Andy at that reminder. “Too soon to know. He’s still in a coma, so…not great.”

“I’m sorry. Do the cops have any leads?”

“The prevailing theory is local kids broke in to rob the place, and beat him to a pulp when he came downstairs.”

“Kids?” Quinn looked taken aback.

Andy said dryly, “Sure. Haven’t you heard? Kids are different these days. It’s all those video games and the internet.”

The old Quinn would have snorted outright. The new and improved Quinn made a more discreet but equally dismissivesound. “Right. And what are these kids supposed to have been after?”

Andy shook his head. “Maybe I’ll have a better idea once I finish taking inventory. Or maybe not. Uncle C. wasn’t always meticulous about his record keeping. They don’t appear to have tried to get the safe open.”

This reminded Andy that he’d taken the police at their word on that. He hadn’t bothered to check the safe for himself. He’d do that once Quinn left, which ought to be—would hopefully be—any minute.

“Speaking as a former—and I quote Chief Millard—young hooligan, I don’t buy it.”

Andy shrugged.

“Are you sayingyoubuy it?” Quinn looked surprised.

“I don’t have a better theory. It’s not like Uncle C. had any enemies.”

“It’s hard to imagine.”

“Whoever broke in, emptied the cash register. I can see kids doing that. What I can’t see is why anyone would bother breaking in here for any other reason.”

Quinn nodded as if in agreement, but said, “Do you mind if I take a quick look around?”

Andy asked blankly, “Why?”

Quinn offered one of those broad, pointless smiles. “Curiosity?”

Andy’s strained patience came to an abrupt end. “Sorry. We’re not open to sightseers. But thanks for stopping by.” He turned, then jumped as Quinn’s hand closed on his arm.

That skittishness was another part of Marcus’s legacy. Marcus was a big believer in the element of surprise.

Quinn let go at once. “Sorry.”

Andy couldn’t hide his exasperation. “You keep saying that.”

Quinn was standing way too close to him. Close enough that Andy could smell his aftershave—something aromatic and woodsy, reminiscent of cedar and oak moss and sunlit sand. His eyelashes were longer than Andy recalled, and somewhere through the years, Quinn had picked up a small white scar right between his eyes.

Maybe his grandfather really had tried to shoot him. He’d threatened—well, according to Quinn—the old man had threatened to do that very thing.

Amazingly, Quinn said, “I think I owe you something.”

It was the most unsettling thing he’d said so far.

“That’s okay. Not necessary.” Andy backed into the shop. To his alarm, Quinn followed.

“The thing is, I have some experience with this.” Quinn’s nod seemed to take in everything from the haphazard rearrangement of furniture and bric-a-brac to the blanket of fingerprint powder.