“Questions? What about?”
“Mr. Pak. He’s dead, you know.”
Surprise makes him step back, his mouth doing a reasonable facsimile of a goldfish.
“And the minor matter of a parrot.”
He shakes his head. “A what?”
“You heard me. A bird.”
“That’s . . . different.”
“Oh, and maybe some rubies too.”
That’s when he plops his butt on his desktop.
I join him inches away, prepared to wait.
I want info, and Roger’s been known to be a fount thereof. At times. And on his terms.
His office clock
1300
Finally he pulls himself together. “You’ve lost your mind,” he says in a stunned voice.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you want me to . . .” He waves. “Oh, I don’t know. Help you? Beats me what you think I can do, but at any rate, I need to know what you’re up to before I can begin to think up some answers.”
“What? You can’t read my mind?” I give him a sheepish smile. “I guess I do have to bring you up to speed. Maybe then you can tell me if you still think I’ve lost my mind.”
In very broad strokes, I paint a word picture of my last couple of weeks. Aside from a bunch of head shakes, some groans, and a few “I don’t believe thises,” he keeps his mouth shut and lets me spew. It feels good to go over all the insanity that’s struck me since I left New York. Even though the telling makes nothing any clearer than it was before.
At the end, he shakes his head. “Why would you think I’d have answers for you? I’ve been here, where you should have been all this time, I might add, while you’ve been . . . oh, practically everywhere.”
“I just thought since you’ve known Mr. Pak for such a long time that you might know something, maybe have names of people he knows—knew—or maybe he said something sometime during those years . . .
“I agree.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
He gives me an exasperated look. “What exactly is it you want me to say, Andie? That Mr. Pak stopped here on his way there, told me he was the victim of a massive international plot, that he was carrying stolen goods—no, crown jewels! That’s better. That he has some never-heard-of country’s crown jewels or its soon-to-be crown jewels, and that a swarm of killers is after him. Is that what you want?”
I give him a crooked grin. “That’s exactly what I want, but it does sound pretty far-fetched when you glue it all together like that.”
“Of course it sounds far-fetched. I don’t know why he went down to see you. Unless he had some stones he wanted to sell you for the network. Maybe some thief found out what he does for a living, followed him, and then stole the gems.”
“That’s as good a theory as any. But who would have done it?”
“That’s the best I can do. I have no idea who would want to kill him. And I don’t know any more than what you’ve told me.”
My shoulders slump. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“I don’t blame you for anything—other than quitting and leaving me in the lurch.”
“Oh, give me a break, Rog. Just think of my departure as my donation toward Tiffany’s little splurges. And don’t talk about exorbitant raises you can’t afford. Look at it this way. Now that I’m gone, you don’t have to pay me, so the store’s profits go farther.”
He runs a hand through his steel-colored hair. “Don’t even mention Tiff. I’ve been working so many hours, I’m in the doghouse.”
“Uh-oh. I bet I’m in trouble with her too.”
His smile was smug. “She knows who left me to work all those extra hours.”
“You know what, Rog?” I cross my arms and arch my right brow. “Your pathetic efforts to guilt-trip me back to work for you aren’t going to work. And . . . Tiff’s
He mirrors my pose. “And the dead ruby vendor’s yours.”
My spirits deflate. I start to pace. “I don’t know why I thought you’d have answers for me. My gut tells me Mr. Pak was murdered for the—”
I catch myself. I haven’t mentioned the parcel stolen from the mine. There’s no point bringing it up.
A shrug, and I go on. “I’m sure he was killed for his rubies. But if that’s the case, the killer has to be someone who knew he’d have stones with him.”
