Sunken Pyramid (Rogue Angel) by Archer Alex

Author:Archer, Alex [Archer, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2013-11-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Annja finally pushed open the shop door, stepped inside and saw an incredible jumble of...stuff.

“Help you?” This came from a bearded middle-aged man with a bald head that gleamed in the overhead fluorescent light. He had a slight paunch, rounded shoulders and was wearing a Batman Lives T-shirt that had seen many better days.

The shop smelled fusty, and Annja forced down a sneeze. She walked across a wooden floor that creaked with each step, stopping in front of the counter. “I hope you can help. I’m trying to find out about—” The word Joe died in her throat. On display in the glass counter in front of her were coins. Most of them were quarters issued to commemorate the various states—and most of those were the Wisconsin variety—with a few silver dollars in the mix. There were a couple of silver certificates in plastic sleeves, and against a piece of velvet was a gold circle a little larger than a silver dollar showing a half-wolf, half-man figure—the same size as the circles Edgar had. She was surprised she spotted it, what with all the other items strewn around it.

She pointed to the coin.

“Oh, that’s reeeeeeeeeeeeal valuable,” Sully said. “It’s reeeeeeeeeeal gold. If it was for sale, well, that’d cost you a cool thousand. And it’s not for sale.”

“Do you have more?”

“Ones like that? I did. Sold them late last summer. Keeping this one for myself. It looks good in the counter, don’t you think? Sentimental, you understand. My cousin gave them to me.”

“Your cousin Joe gave them to you?”

“Yeah, Joe. Rest his soul.”

“Them. Gave them to you. How many did you have?”

He gave her a mean look. “What’s it to you? I’m not selling this one. Last real good thing I got of my cousin’s. That and an ugly old pot that I’m using for a spittoon.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a silver flask, unscrewed the top and took a long drink. “To Joe,” he said as a toast, taking a second swallow then putting the cap back on.

Annja smelled the whiskey.

She glanced around. To her left was a shelf filled with political memorabilia, including a bobblehead Ronald Reagan, a plush Bill Clinton doll and a case of presidential campaign pins, some of them quite old—Harding, Coolidge, “Let’s Back Ike” and a Landon Knox Kansas, whom she’d never heard of. Amid the junk, Sully had some truly expensive and valuable pieces. She hoped he had good security.

“Where did Joe get the gold circles?” she asked. “Do you mind telling me that?”

He shrugged.

Annja looked around for something to buy. “I’ll take that old postal coupon. How much?”

“Twenty.” He took it out of the case.

She paid for it and put it in her purse. “The woman across the street told me Joe was killed last fall.”

“Sucked,” Sully said. “Sucked a big onion, it did. Not just killed. Murdered. Still haven’t caught the guy. Probably thought Joe was loaded.”

“Because of the gold circles?” Annja pointed to the glass case.

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