Loose Screw (Dusty Deals Mystery) by Lori Devoti, Rae Davies Page A

sitting on her desk, face to the breeze. Beside her was a group of pictures in ruffled frames. Everything on her desk was neatly stacked and in order. Even the pictures were evenly spaced.
    When she saw me approach, she jumped off her desk. “They keep it so hot in here I just can’t stand it.”
    “Thanks for getting those quotes last night.” I plopped down in the space she had vacated. “And the sidebar was great too.”
    Marcy nudged her coffee cup an inch or two away from my side.
    “I have a couple of other things I was hoping you might be able to follow up on for me,” I continued.
    She moved the pictures too. Then stared at me, her arms crossed over her chest. I stared back, completely at a loss as to what she was doing. Eventually, she sighed, slid the drawer of her desk out and removed a notebook and pen.
    I shared what I had discovered that morning. “How do you want to go about this? Researching the Bozeman connection, I mean.”
    “I could call his wife. She’s in Denver. I have her name in here somewhere.” She sighed again, this time louder and longer, but then she thumbed through her notebook. “Here it is, Bonnie Smith. She must have gone back to her maiden name. I guess you want me to give her a call.”
    Choosing to completely ignore the sarcasm in her tone, I flashed her a smile. “Thanks for offering.” Then to show her I could be considerate too, I pulled a rumpled sheet of paper out from under my fanny and handed it to her. “I’ll try and get a hold of Bill Russell. Rhonda saw him with Crandell Monday. He might know something.” I couldn’t bring myself to call Bill a suspect.
    “He might have killed him.” Frowning, Marcy ironed the wrinkles out of the paper with her hands.
    Et tu, Marcy? You got no points for being a nice local boy anymore, did you?
    “How about the police? Are you going by there today?” Marcy tugged on the remaining papers buried under my rump.
    Go by the police? Be humiliated? That was tempting. “I wasn’t planning on it. Why?”
    “We need the official statement. You want me to call again?”
    Finally, she was starting to get the idea. I hopped up and left her to rescue her papers.
    o0o
    It was still early, but my stomach started to grumble. I swung by a little hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop, then hightailed it back to my office to enjoy a hard-earned break. The portabella sandwich was warm and gooey and just downright delicious. Hunger sated, I popped the tab on my Dr. Brown’s and took a sip. Leaning back in my chair, I almost purred with contentment.
    A knock on the door brought me back to a more dignified sitting position. Betty stuck her head in. “I thought I heard you in there. Are you going to be around for a while? I thought I’d go out to lunch with Everett.”
    I waved her on and got up to take charge of the shop. The sales spawned by the discovery of Crandell’s body were beginning to dwindle. The shop was quiet for the moment. I decided to take advantage of the lull and try to get ahold of Bill. I needed a cover story though. I wasn’t comfortable just calling him up and saying, “Hear you were talking with the dead guy. Did you kill him?”
    I didn’t know a lot about Bill Russell’s personal life, but I did know he had both Native American and Helena-area collections. I figured that was the best way to approach the situation. I logged onto the web and entered eBay’s address into the browser. Within minutes, a couple of promising items—a brass presentation spear tip and a peace medal—popped onto the screen. I printed them out so I wouldn’t forget the details and flipped through the phone book for Bill’s number. He answered on the second ring.
    I dazzled him with a confusing monologue about wanting to get a Native American collectible for my dad and not knowing what was a good deal and what wasn’t.
    “Did you have a particular piece you wanted to ask me about?” he asked.
    “Yeah.” I described the two items I’d