The Collectors

Caleb nodded slowly. “Yes, he would. Do you think he was part of the spy ring? And that’s why he was killed?”

Annabelle started to protest, then seemed to think better of it.

“I don’t know, Caleb.” Stone rose. “What we need to do now is act. Caleb, call Jewell English and tell her you’ve found her glasses where she dropped them in the reading room. Tell her you’ll bring them by to her.”

“Tonight? It’s already nine o’clock,” Caleb said.

“You have to try! It’s clear to me that we’re operating on a very tight time frame now. And if she’s made a run for it, we need to know.”

Annabelle said, “Oliver, that might be dangerous. What if she’s still around and suspects something’s up?”

“Caleb will wear a listening device. I know that Milton has some of those gadgets at his home.” Milton nodded. Stone continued, “Milton will go with him to English’s but remain hidden outside. If something happens, he can call the police.”

“What if the something that happens is bodily harm to me?” Caleb whined.

“You described her as an elderly lady, Caleb,” Stone reminded him. “I think you should be able to handle the situation. However, I believe the more likely scenario is that you’ll find she’s gone. If so, try to get into her house and discover what you can.”

Caleb was squeezing his hands nervously. “But what if she hasn’t left? And what if she has some big thug around who attacks me when I go to see her?”

Stone shrugged. “Well, of course, that would be unfortunate.”

The librarian turned crimson. “Unfortunate? That’s easy for you to say. Pray tell what will you be doing while I’m risking my life?”

“Breaking into Albert Trent’s home.” He glanced at Annabelle. “Are you game?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Annabelle said, smiling broadly.

“What about me, Oliver?” Reuben said pitifully. “I thought I was your Tonto.”

Stone shook his head. “You’ve been arrested once and you’re still a suspect, Reuben. We can’t risk it. You’ll have to sit this one out, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Reuben grumbled, slapping his thigh in frustration. “Some people get all the fun.”

Caleb looked ready to strangle the big man.

CHAPTER 56

CALEB PULLED HIS NOVA WITH the rattling tailpipe to the end of the quiet cul-de-sac and shut off the motor, glancing at Milton nervously. His friend was dressed all in black with his long hair bunched under a knit ski cap; he’d also darkened his face.

“My God, Milton, you look like a poster boy for Criminals Are Us.”

“It’s just standard-issue surveillance dress. How’s the wire?”

Caleb rubbed his arm under his jacket where Milton had attached the listening device. He also had a power pack stuck in the back of his waistband. “It’s itching the crap out of me, and the power pack’s making my pants so tight, I can barely breathe.”

“It’s actually probably just nerves,” Milton commented.

Caleb glared at him. “You think?” He slid out of the car. “Just make sure 911 is on your speed dial, burglar boy.”

“Roger that,” Milton replied as he took out a pair of night binoculars and scanned the area. He’d also brought a high-speed camera and a Taser gun.

Jewell English had answered Caleb’s phone call and seemed delighted that he’d found her glasses. Tonight would be fine regardless of the late hour, she’d said. “I don’t sleep much,” she confided to Caleb on the phone. “But I might be in my nightgown,” she added in a girlish voice.

“That’s nice,” he’d answered dully.

As he walked toward her home, he took note of the other houses. They were all aged tiny brick ranches with cookie-cutter yards and darkened interiors. A cat snuck across one lawn, startling him. He took several deep breaths and muttered, “She’s just an old lady who lost her glasses. Just an old lady who lost her glasses. Just an old lady who could be a spy with henchmen waiting to slit my throat.” He glanced back at the car. He couldn’t see Milton but assumed his sidekick was busily snapping photos of a suspicious-looking robin lurking on a tree branch.

The lights were on in Jewell’s home. He could see lace curtains in the windows and through the big living room glass, knickknacks and bric-a-brac positioned on the painted fireplace mantel. There was no car in the rusty carport. He assumed she’d either quit driving or her ride was in the repair shop. Her lawn was neatly cut, and two columns of rosebushes guarded the front of her house. He rang the bell and waited. No one came. He rang it again. No footsteps reached his ears. He glanced around. The street was empty, quiet. Maybe too quiet, as they say in the movies; right before you’re shot, stabbed or eaten.

He’d called her a little over an hour ago. What could have happened in the interim? He’d heard the bell buzz, but maybe she couldn’t hear it. He knocked on the door, hard. “Jewell?” He said her name again, louder. From somewhere a dog started barking, and he jumped. It wasn’t from inside the house, though, probably a neighbor’s mutt. He knocked again, harder, and the door swung open.

He turned, poised to run. You never ever went into a house when the door just opened like that. The next sound nearly pushed his heart into defib.

“Caleb?”

He shrieked and grabbed the handrail on the front stoop to avoid pitching over into the bushes in his fright.