A ROGUES GALLERY: A JAZZ & GIN COZY MYSTERY (book 2) by Carolyn L. Dean

Author:Carolyn L. Dean [Dean, Carolyn L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Freeform Publishing
Published: 2019-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

THE WOODEN STAIRCASE was narrow and creaky, the hall short and unadorned. As they walked toward the door Cavendish pushed Edwina behind him. She sputtered a bit in protest, but the policeman gave her a stern look. “Fishing cash out of your underwear may be charming but it only goes so far, Edwina,” he said. “Not everyone can be seduced by watching you wave a five-dollar bill under their noses, no matter where you had that money stashed.”

Edwina glared at him, but stood a bit behind him, as he'd requested.

“Mr. Randall?” Cavendish called, as he knocked heavily on the paneled door. “Are you home?”

There was a loud grunt of protest from inside the room, then the sound of shuffling feet slowly coming toward the door. They could hear the bolt being turned, then the door opened with a jerk.

A man just a bit taller than Edwina peered back at them under a thatch of straw-colored hair, the door only opened wide enough to stick his face through. Wrapped in a striped terrycloth robe, Randall was unshaven and smelled faintly of stale beer.

“What do you want?” he asked in a raspy voice. “I've already paid my rent.” He scratched his neck and coughed. “I think.”

“We're not here about your rent, Mr. Randall. I'm looking for a guy, and we've been told you might know him.”

“We? You got a mouse in your pocket?” Randall asked, then peeked around the doorframe. His eyes widened when he saw Edwina standing in the hallway. “Oh, sorry, miss. I didn't know you were there.”

Edwina smiled, hoping to set Randall at ease, and he glanced back at Cavendish. “Now,” Randall said, “what was it you were saying about looking for someone?”

“You ever heard of a man named Bernard Abbot? Or seen someone around here with a small gold earring and a Navy tattoo? He might’ve been talking about selling a painting, or about an art gallery.”

“Abbot?” Randall stroked his chin, considering. “Nope. Never heard of him.”

Edwina's heart sank. So far, Randall was the only connection they had to the dead man's real identity.

“Are you sure, sir?” she wheedled, hoping her tone and friendliness might somehow help him dredge up more information from his beer-soaked brain. “The man downstairs said you might be friends with him.”

“Well, I don't know no guy named Abbot, but I do know there's a guy 'round here who works at some art gallery. Real weirdo stuff for sale there.”

Cavendish's eyebrows went up. “Someone who works at an art gallery? Do you know his name?”

Randall looked at Edwina, then back at Cavendish. “Gee, I'm not so sure I can remember that...”

Stifling a laugh at the obvious ploy, Edwina clicked open her handbag and retrieved her wallet, finally pulling out a battered ten-dollar bill. Randall's eyes lit up at the sight of it, and he held out his hand eagerly while Edwina gave it to him.

“Does that help your memory, Mr. Randall?”

“It might, it might,” he said, tucking the money into the front pocket of his corduroy slacks.

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