Book Deal by Les Standiford Page A

past months—if you don’t let it, it can’t hurt you, be safe, be safe, be safe—these pitiful voices of reason flying away in the face of the welling emotion that threatened to crash down upon him like one of those huge breakers the surfers dare to fall…
    “Janice,” he murmured, might have been about to add, I love you, nothing can change that, nothing can be too terrible if that holds…
    And that was when he heard the voice at his shoulder.
    “Mr. Deal?”
    Deal glanced up to see an older man in a white suit and Panama hat standing beside them, an expression of concern on his face. A jewelry salesman, Deal found himself thinking. An undertaker’s front man.
    “I’m Richard Levitt,” the man said quietly as Deal continued to stare. He seemed apologetic for interrupting, yet made no move to step away.
    Deal shook his head, uncomprehending. He felt Janice pulling from his grasp.
    “Richard,” she said, her voice weak, still choked with emotion. Her gaze went to him, then back to Deal.
    Deal glanced across the street then, saw the car drawn up to the curb, in front of a crowd of curious bystanders that a uniformed cop was keeping at bay. The front of the car was angled toward him this time, so that no plate was visible, but it was the same Japanese luxury car he’d seen yesterday, gliding up in front of Arch’s to take his wife away. There was a moment of silence, the three of them exchanging glances, a piece of very bad theater, or so it seemed to Deal.
    “You’re the gallery owner,” Deal said finally. “From Sarasota.”
    Levitt nodded, cut his glance at Janice. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said softly. Then he added, “Are you all right?”
    Janice nodded.
    Levitt seemed uncertain, compelled to move toward her, yet wary of Deal’s presence at his side.
    He turned to Deal. “I’m really not certain…can you tell me what’s happened?”
    Deal shook his head. “Arch Dolan was killed,” he said, gesturing at the mess inside. “It might have been a robbery.”
    “My God,” Levitt said. His hand went automatically to his head. He pulled his hat off, gazed in through the open door in dismay.
    Levitt’s hair was snowy white, but thinning. Deal could see liver spots dotting his scalp, noticed them on the back of the man’s hands as well. Well kept, but sixty-five if he was a day. Deal shook his head, confused at the welter of thoughts that coursed through his mind. Did he need to be jealous of this man? He glanced at Janice, who had moved away a bit, held a hand against the store’s facade to steady herself.
    “Janice discovered it,” Deal continued. “She didn’t tell you?”
    Levitt shook his head, still reeling himself, apparently. “No…I got a call that there was trouble…” He broke off, turned back to Janice.
    “I’m not feeling very well,” she said, her face pasty.
    It was enough for Levitt. “Come sit in the car,” he said. He glanced at Deal, but he was already moving toward her.
    Deal fought an irrational urge to step in his way. But what was he going to do, shove the old man away? Deck him? Shout, foot atop his silk-shirted chest, “Hell, no, she can’t sit in your Japanese car!” The whirl of emotions within him seemed beyond what any reasonable person should be asked to contend with. Arch murdered, Janice here beside him, in his arms one moment, being whisked off by a man he’d fantasized beating to a pulp more than once…
    “Yo, Deal.” He heard the gruff voice behind him then, and turned to see Driscoll in the doorway of the store, beckoning.
    Driscoll seemed surprised at Deal’s hesitation. “Come on, it’s okay,” he said, impatient.
    Janice was already moving unsteadily across the street, one of Levitt’s hands on her arm, the other wrapped about her shoulders. Levitt was bent at her ear and seemed to be whispering encouragement. Anyone else might see a gentle, elderly man comforting a distraught woman, might be heartened by the thought of loving