Miz Rhonda was back on the job. None the worse for wear judging by her appearance. The usual customers came and went. Miss Lupe still managed the operation a couple days a week and ragged on her boyfriend every time he called the shop. Nothing out of the ordinary to raise a red flag.
The cowboy had a mind to change that same old, same old in a big way. He was still smarting from the shellacking he’d taken at Miss Cassie’s hands and was itching for some payback. He left late in the day for the antique store. He wanted to time his arrival just as the shop was about to close for the night. It wouldn’t do for customers to be hanging around while he was trying to get some info out of Miz Rhonda. He grinned at the thought of her reaction. Since he’d been out of sight for so long, his unexpected return would send her into a tizzy. Maybe the shock would be enough to make her spill the beans. So far, he hadn’t gotten a glimpse of who her partners in crime were. He might be able to shake that out of her tonight too —one way or another.
The Gold Coast high rises were casting long shadows when Hunt turned down the avenue where the antique store was located. He parked across the street and climbed out of his truck, anticipating some fun. What he saw left him blinking in astonishment. He just stood on the curb, slack-jawed and uncomprehending.
There was no merchandise in the plate glass window. There was no sign over the door. The place looked dark and empty. He took off his hat and scratched his head then decided to cross the street for a closer look. He peered through the display windows like a kid in front of a candy store. There was nothing. Nothing at all inside. The place had been completely cleaned out.
Hunt shook his head, trying to clear both his vision and his thinking. What in the Sam Hill was going on here? He looked both ways down the sidewalk to see if any pedestrians were watching him. The street was empty. He walked around the building and cut down the alley until he came to the store’s loading dock. Nobody was around, so he jimmied the lock and let himself in. The back storeroom was picked as clean as the front of the shop. Not a stick of furniture, not a scrap of paper, not so much as a rogue dust bunny in any of the corners. Somebody had done a proper job of vanishing Miz Rhonda and her establishment off the face of the earth. Hunt glanced up at the ceiling. His fake smoke alarm was still in place. No doubt if he looked close enough, he could see his own baffled face reflected in the camera lens.
He parted the storeroom curtains and moved into the front of the shop. Silent as the grave. He slid his hand under the display case and found his bug right where he’d left it. The other smoke detector over the front door was still in place too.
He leaned an elbow against the counter and pondered the situation. How in blazes had they managed it? Somebody who was a whiz with computers had substituted the live surveillance feed for fake activity. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know who, but it was an elegant job. He’d give them that much.
He searched every corner of the shop, high and low, for any clue as to who might have arranged this little show for his benefit. Nothing to be found anywhere. There wasn’t even a For Sale or For Rent sign in the window. They’d slipped away without a trace.
Hunt felt as if he’d charged straight at a brick wall and been knocked silly. A wave of frustration surged through his system. He’d been all ready to pummel Miz Rhonda to get some info, and now there was nobody to pummel. There wasn’t even any furniture to break. On impulse, he rammed his fist against the wall, denting it slightly. Then he did it again. And again. The only result was a bloody knuckle. He felt deeply cheated. Somebody was going to pay for this. In one final gesture of annoyance, he threw his hat on the floor. He raised his leg, preparing to stomp on the Stetson. That hat was his prized possession. It cost him five hundred bucks. He relented.
Retrieving the hat, he penitently brushed the dust off the brim. He wasn’t thinking straight. That was his problem. That had been his problem during this whole trip. Letting a little girl get the drop on him—twice. Letting his only lead slip through his fingers. Neither of those things would have happened if he’d been thinking straight. But his brain was addled, and he knew the reason why. He hadn’t been drinking! The whole time he was gone, he couldn’t get properly drunk because there wasn’t a decent bottle of hooch to be had in all of North Africa.
He’d hardly touched a drop since he got back either given the way the old man had been breathing down his neck. He’d needed to stay sober so long as he was on Abe’s radar but all that was about to change. He remembered an old saying the Romans had. “In vino veritas.” In wine there is truth. That proverb was dead on the money. Leroy stuffed his hat back on his head and sauntered toward the rear exit. There was nothing to be gained from hanging around here. His next destination was the neighborhood bar right around the corner from his flat. He intended to go on a three-day bender to set his wits back in order. He knew that the best way to get Miss Hannah in his crosshairs again was by squinting through the bottom of an empty whiskey bottle. If he was still fuddled
