Breaking and Entering 101 (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 4) by Honor Raconteur

Author:Honor Raconteur [Raconteur, Honor]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Raconteur House
Published: 2020-03-19T23:00:00+00:00

Monday started with us working on our next lead. The Raskovnik was a dead end as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t find any report of it stolen or missing anywhere in the city or in Bristol. The stamp wasn’t all that remarkable, true, but it gave us a possible lead to follow.

Gibson met me at the train station, looking better for having gotten some rest over the weekend. I greeted him with a wave as I crossed the street. “Morning!”

“May it be a good one,” Gibson answered, holding his palms together in prayer fashion. “Morning, Clint.”

Clint sat on my shoulder as usual and waved a paw. “Morning, Gibs!”

“Where do you want to tackle first?”

“There’s a stationery shop here in the station and another across the street,” Gibson said. “Surely they wouldn’t have been so stupid to buy a stamp from their own station shop.”

“I’d sure friggin’ hope not. But let’s try it first, just in case. I want to know if this is common or not. And I don’t know where all the stationery shops in Kingston are.”

“Me neither.”

If neither panned out, I’d consult my Kingstonpedia (Henri).

“Just so you know, you’ve unduly tempted our queen.”

I looked at him askance before stepping through the station doors. “You’ve got to be more specific than that, Gibs.”

The man snorted. “I suppose you do that on a regular basis. What I meant was Clint.” To the cat, he explained, “She’s heard stories about you before, but now having met you and seen how charming you can be, she’s enthralled with the idea of having her own.”

Clint gave him a regal nod, as if this was only to be expected and was the proper response to his personage.

Gibson had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “She messaged me last night asking for an update and mentioned again that she wanted one.”

Queen Regina really did get a lot of use out of that pad. “Well, RM Jules Felix is the one who creates them. I’m sure he’d give her one.”

“Talk to her about it, won’t you?” Gibson requested, looking both ways before crossing the very busy street. “She’s hesitant about asking now and distracting you from the case.”

“But she’s willing to bend your ear about it?”

“I’m tried and true about multi-tasking,” he deadpanned.

Chuckling, I gave him a pat on the arm. “I’ll message her when we stop for lunch. Let’s find out if our stamp impression is a helpful lead or not.”

The stationery shop was not a large one, taking up only a narrow section of the interior of the station, opposite the ticket counters. It was more a glorified street stall than anything, although granted, larger than a street stall could ever be. A large white sign above the open doors proclaimed Morter’s Stationery Shop in gold letters. Quite a few customers meandered up and down the aisles, shopping for pens and paper and the like, so we garnered no notice as we entered. I made a beeline for a person in a candy-striped shirt and brown apron.

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