the media.”
“I doubt if he will, sir. Al is an intelligent man, and prudent when it comes to dealing with Beach millionaires. He’ll tell the reporters Rubik’s death was probably due to an attempted robbery. The stamp dealer put up a fight and was killed. That will protect Lady Horowitz and also give the perpetrator a false sense of security. Rogoff likes to come on as a heavy, but he can be foxy when it’s called for.”
“I’m glad to hear that. In view of the murder, do you wish to continue your discreet inquiries?”
I was offended. “Of course,” I said heatedly.
My father turned to face me. “I am not questioning your courage, Archy,” he said quietly. “I am merely suggesting that this case has taken on a gravity we didn’t anticipate. Our firm will do its best to protect our clients’ interests, but I am not certain that includes a homicide investigation.”
“Sergeant Rogoff will handle that,” I told him, “and I will try to solve the Inverted Jenny theft. Al and I agreed on that.”
Another long pause for heavy ratiocination.
“Very well,” the lord of the manor said at last. “Let’s do it that way. Please keep me informed.”
I nodded, and he started out, then paused to look back at me.
“Be careful,” was all he said, but I appreciated even that small expression of his concern.
I waited a few moments, watching out the window. When I saw the Lexus pull away, I dug out his telephone directories again. This time I consulted the Yellow Pages for North Broward County. There were a half-dozen stamp dealers listed. I tore the whole page out of the directory and stuffed it in my pocket.
This was my reasoning:
If Rubik had discovered that a block of Inverted Jennies was suddenly being offered for sale, there seemed to be no reason why another stamp dealer couldn’t do the same thing. But I didn’t want to endanger the skull of another local philatelist. I figured employing a dealer miles away from the scene of the crime would offer sufficient protection—unless I was followed, and I intended to make certain I wasn’t.
Usually the trip from Palm Beach to Fort Lauderdale along A1A is one of the most scenic drives in the Sunshine State. As you proceed south, the Atlantic Ocean is on your left, and on your right are the lavish dormitories of the rich rich. On one side: nature; on the other: civilization. But the depredation of the beachfront didn’t bother me. I figured that sooner or later nature would even the score with a juicy hurricane.
But that morning I had little time for environmental musings. As I drove along at a lively clip, I revised the agenda I had drawn up for my investigation. The brutal killing of Bela Rubik had shuffled my priorities and, despite my agreement with Sgt. Rogoff, I decided the homicide took precedence over the theft.
Incidentally, during my trip southward I passed through Delray Beach and made a mental note to get cracking on Kenneth Bodin, to prove or disprove that Mr. Deltoids was involved in this meshugass. I also remembered to check my rearview mirror frequently to see if I could spot a tracker. Nothing.
I had selected the Lantern Stamp & Coin Shop in Fort Lauderdale only because I found the name attractive. And when I found the place on East Commercial Boulevard, I was pleased to see an antique lantern hanging over the entrance. I approved of that since I am a great fan of Diogenes. But lettered on the plate-glass window in gilt script was the legend prop.: H. LANTERN . So apparently the store had been named for the owner, not the lamp.
The door was locked, and when I rattled the knob a formidable fiftyish lady came forward and peered at me through the glass. I held up my business card so she could read it. She unlocked the door and allowed me to enter.
“Yes?” she said.
“May I speak to the owner, please?”
She stiffened. “ I am the owner,” she said haughtily.
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I assumed that—”
“I know
“I doubt if he will, sir. Al is an intelligent man, and prudent when it comes to dealing with Beach millionaires. He’ll tell the reporters Rubik’s death was probably due to an attempted robbery. The stamp dealer put up a fight and was killed. That will protect Lady Horowitz and also give the perpetrator a false sense of security. Rogoff likes to come on as a heavy, but he can be foxy when it’s called for.”
“I’m glad to hear that. In view of the murder, do you wish to continue your discreet inquiries?”
I was offended. “Of course,” I said heatedly.
My father turned to face me. “I am not questioning your courage, Archy,” he said quietly. “I am merely suggesting that this case has taken on a gravity we didn’t anticipate. Our firm will do its best to protect our clients’ interests, but I am not certain that includes a homicide investigation.”
“Sergeant Rogoff will handle that,” I told him, “and I will try to solve the Inverted Jenny theft. Al and I agreed on that.”
Another long pause for heavy ratiocination.
“Very well,” the lord of the manor said at last. “Let’s do it that way. Please keep me informed.”
I nodded, and he started out, then paused to look back at me.
“Be careful,” was all he said, but I appreciated even that small expression of his concern.
I waited a few moments, watching out the window. When I saw the Lexus pull away, I dug out his telephone directories again. This time I consulted the Yellow Pages for North Broward County. There were a half-dozen stamp dealers listed. I tore the whole page out of the directory and stuffed it in my pocket.
This was my reasoning:
If Rubik had discovered that a block of Inverted Jennies was suddenly being offered for sale, there seemed to be no reason why another stamp dealer couldn’t do the same thing. But I didn’t want to endanger the skull of another local philatelist. I figured employing a dealer miles away from the scene of the crime would offer sufficient protection—unless I was followed, and I intended to make certain I wasn’t.
Usually the trip from Palm Beach to Fort Lauderdale along A1A is one of the most scenic drives in the Sunshine State. As you proceed south, the Atlantic Ocean is on your left, and on your right are the lavish dormitories of the rich rich. On one side: nature; on the other: civilization. But the depredation of the beachfront didn’t bother me. I figured that sooner or later nature would even the score with a juicy hurricane.
But that morning I had little time for environmental musings. As I drove along at a lively clip, I revised the agenda I had drawn up for my investigation. The brutal killing of Bela Rubik had shuffled my priorities and, despite my agreement with Sgt. Rogoff, I decided the homicide took precedence over the theft.
Incidentally, during my trip southward I passed through Delray Beach and made a mental note to get cracking on Kenneth Bodin, to prove or disprove that Mr. Deltoids was involved in this meshugass. I also remembered to check my rearview mirror frequently to see if I could spot a tracker. Nothing.
I had selected the Lantern Stamp & Coin Shop in Fort Lauderdale only because I found the name attractive. And when I found the place on East Commercial Boulevard, I was pleased to see an antique lantern hanging over the entrance. I approved of that since I am a great fan of Diogenes. But lettered on the plate-glass window in gilt script was the legend prop.: H. LANTERN . So apparently the store had been named for the owner, not the lamp.
The door was locked, and when I rattled the knob a formidable fiftyish lady came forward and peered at me through the glass. I held up my business card so she could read it. She unlocked the door and allowed me to enter.
“Yes?” she said.
“May I speak to the owner, please?”
She stiffened. “ I am the owner,” she said haughtily.
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I assumed that—”
“I know
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