Priced to Move

We? Is there really going to be a we here? And why? “How do you think we should go about doing that?”

He wiggles two fingers in the air. “Let your fingers do the walking. Check the phone book. I’m sure there are government listings. We’ll start there.”

“No. Better yet. Let me call Roger. If no one’s talked to him yet, then we know something weird’s really going on.” I flip out my cell phone. “I’ll try his cell. He never goes anywhere without it.”

The phone rings a couple of times, three, then, “Hello?” Dulcet feminine tones do not equal Roger. “Tiffany? Where’s Roger? Or did I dial your number by mistake?”

“Andie?” She sounds as surprised as I am. “Ah . . . I wasn’t expecting the phone to ring. Neither was Rog. He’s, um . . . unavailable. You do realize it’s late, right?”

“It’s not that late. Could I please speak with him? I only have a question or two for him. I won’t keep him for long.” Tiffany sniffs. “I can tell you’ve never been a bride, Andrea. We need our privacy.”

Eeuw! TMI. “All right, all right. I’ll call him in the morning.” Then, to make my discomfort even greater, Max looks at me. “Well?”

I blush hotter than . . . well, than the fire of a Burmese ruby. “Trust me, Max. You don’t want to know. It has to do with the two of them and their privacy.”

To my mischievous delight, Max turns pigeon’s-blood red. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.”

Neither one of us speaks, and the grinding of our mental gears is almost deafening. Then something comes to me. “You know what else I want to know?”

He leans forward, empty glass in hand. “What’s that?”

“Who Chief Clark’s silent shadow is. Aren’t you curious?” Max leaves his glass on the table, sits back in his chair, tents his fingers. He doesn’t answer right away. When he finally speaks, he does so in a quiet and thoughtful voice.

“Maybe he’s one of the Feds on the case. They have to be involved. The chief even brought up Interpol, like you said. That guy with him looks like a Fed. He’s always worn a suit, white shirt, and navy tie. He’s almost a cliche.”

“Well, the chief wears his dress shirt and tie, but I think the missing suit jacket’s his style choice.” Or lack thereof. “But wouldn’t an FBI agent ask his own questions? Wouldn’t he introduce himself? How about homicide detective? Maybe that’s what he is, but in some junior, training job.”

“No way. The detectives came in right after the chief and the responding officers the first night. I think you were just too out of it to notice them collecting evidence.”

“And the chief’s the one that keeps coming after me. Interesting he’s not let the detectives take over. At least not with me. Sounds like control issues, you know.”

Max chuckles, but says nothing.

I go on. “Okay, if he’s a Fed, like you say, why didn’t he question me?”

“I’ve heard all these different law enforcement types tend to be territorial. The Fed might be deferring to the locals, as long as he feels everything’s being done right.”

“Still sounds strange to me.”

He pushes away from the table and stands. “Nothing about this is normal. Strange is the least I’d call it.”

“Then I know I’m not missing anything.”

“Unless I’m missing the same thing.” He shakes his head.

“I guess I’m just not cut out to be a detective.”

I wink. “Or a gemologist.”

“Not fair! I asked for lessons, but the accident got in the way. How about we start those up?”

If tonight is anything to go by, I think I’d survive. “Okay. Tomorrow looks good.”

“After the show we’ll get a phone book, check out some government agencies, eat, and do gems.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

A sudden awkwardness hits us both, and just as my cheeks start warming, he smiles and heads down the hall. “I’d better get some sleep,” he says. “Otherwise Allison’s job tomorrow’s going to be harder than usual.”

“You’re not worming any compliments out of me.”

He winks. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Good night, Max.”

“Good night, Andie.”

As I close the door behind him, I can’t make myself believe he’s the killer.

“Lord? Am I right? Because if I’m wrong, I’m really wrong. You know what I mean?”

The silence is thick, but I remember Peggy’s duct tape. I’m hanging. Still.

Faith. It’ll see me through.

The next day, our show goes off with less nastiness than usual. True, Max teases me a couple of times. I give him grief right back on his lack of knowledge. But I go easy on him. After all, most people would think a gem-quality kunzite looks like a washed-out amethyst.