Page 97

“What about this Paul Robie guy? The employee June Whittaker fired back in October.” The waitress was on her way toward them with the check. Andy felt for his wallet and realized the snow globe he’d taken from the Whittakers’ was still in the pocket of his parka.

Quinn said, “Mr. Robie is next on our list of social calls.” His brows drew together. “What’s up?”

Andy held up the snow globe like a magician producing a crystal ball.

“Where’d you find that?” Quinn put his hand out, and Andy gave him the snow globe.

“In the bedroom. Right before…”

“Ah.” Quinn shook the globe, turned it upside down, tapped the base. He studied the miniature village. “I don’t think it’s what we’re looking for.”

“I’m sure it’s not. It’s too old, for one thing. We’d be looking for something contemporary. Inexpensive and relatively innocuous.”

Quinn grinned, handing back the snow globe. “I agree. Why’d you pocket it?”

“No idea. Impulse.”

“Ah.Your latent kleptomania kicking in.”

“Ha.” As the waitress reached them, Andy handed over his credit card before Quinn could make a move, and raised his brows at Quinn’s expression.

As she moved away with Andy’s credit card, Quinn said softly, “Wanna go have sex?”

Andy choked on his last mouthful of coffee. Spluttered, “Now?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Jeez, if I’d known picking up the check meant that much to you…”

Quinn laughed. “I guess that’s a no. Then let’s go pay Mr. Robie a visit.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“I don’t think anyone’s home.”

Quinn made a noncommittal noise.

They studied the dingy yellow single story. In the gloom Andy could just make out pea-green ornamental shutters and two sickly orange steps leading to the front door. If ever a place looked like a crime scene waiting to happen… His stomach curled into a ball of dread at the idea that Quinn was probably going to want to break in here too—that they might find a scene similar to that at the Whittaker residence.

Three houses down, a minivan backed slowly, cautiously down the driveway, pulled into the street, and zoomed off into the early a.m. gloom. Watchful silence fell once more.

This rundown neighborhood bore little resemblance to the upscale village where the Whittakers had resided. Here, the houses were worn and weathered, windows closed, shuttered— though, any shutters in sight were purely ornamental. The holiday lawn decorations had a slightly hungover air, like they’d been forced to attend one too many celebrations. Even the snow looked of lesser quality than on other blocks.

Quinn observed, “The walks are shoveled. The driveway is cleared.”

Oh. Right. Andy had been going by the fact that at 5:45 a.m. the windows were dark and there was no car in the driveway. Also, despite all the sleeping they’d done the previous day, he was very tired. There was nothing like unexpectedly stumbling across a body to knock the stuffing out of you.

Quinn, eyes on his side mirror, muttered, “Now this is interesting.”

“What’s up?” Andy gazed into his own side mirror. A pair of headlights were slowly approaching. “Maybe they’re looking for an address?”

“Maybe.” Quinn shifted in his seat, as though trying for a better look.

Andy could just make out a battered red Nissan 300ZX cruising along the residential street in their direction. Unease trickled down his spine. “Wasn’t that car behind us after we left Denny’s?”

“Or one like it,” Quinn answered absently. He pressed the button to roll down his window. All at once he was holding a pistol in his right hand, though Andy hadn’t seen him pull it, hadn’t realized Quinn still possessed a weapon. Which was shortsighted on his part. Quinn probably had guns stashed all over his property. Hell, he probably had weapons stashed all over the county.

The Nissan continued its casual crawl toward them, and Andy’s nerves tightened another notch. At this point, he could believe just about anything, including the possibility of a Wednesday morning shootout.