Briggs.”
Her hand stopped halfway down his neck. “Ralph Briggs—owner of The Compleate Antiquarian?”
“Yeah. That’s the place.” He watched the painted white line slip past the car. “You know Ralph?”
“I met him once, at a party.” She frowned at the Ute. “I understand that he shows his private collection only by appointment. To special friends.”
“Well, me’n Ralph are old buddies.” It went a bit deeper than that. Once upon a merry time, Charlie Moon and Scott Parris had done an interesting piece of work with Ralph Briggs. The process was not entirely legal, but, with the assistance of the antique dealer, a modicum of justice had been done. That had been back when he was still an officer with the Southern Ute Police Department—a long time before he’d gotten the title to the Columbine, and let the Southern Ute chairman Oscar Sweetwater talk him into doing part-time work as tribal investigator. He slowed the Expedition as they neared a blind curve, switched the headlights to low beam.
Miss James flashed a smile at her man. “I am terribly impressed that you are acquainted with Ralph Briggs.” She clasped her hands like a child about to look under the tree on Christmas morning. “I can hardly wait to see the inside of The Compleate Antiquarian. There are rumors that Briggs has three priceless Tiffany lamps from the collection of—”
“Sorry, you can’t come in.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to wait outside.”
There was a taut silence before she said, “Charlie—tell me that you are joking.”
Moon shook his head. “This is serious personal business. Between me and Ralph. But I’ll see if I can get you inside next time.”
“Golly gee, thanks a bushel and a peck.”
“Sounds like you’re a little upset.”
“I am not a little upset.” She pouted. “I am severely miffed.”
“So what do you do when you get severely miffed—throw a fit?” He reached across the seat.
She took his hand in hers. Put it on her knee.
Moon swerved, hit the shoulder, came within inches of taking out a Do Not Pass sign before he got the big car back onto the blacktop.
“You really should concentrate on your driving.” She offered this sober observation in the prim tone of a maiden who has very nearly been taken advantage of.
Moon was surprised to find both hands on the wheel. He remembered that it had been hilarious when SUPD officer Jim Wolfe had run off the road. Guess I had it coming .
The woman smiled. Charlie is such a darling man—and so terribly cute . “I still cannot believe you are such a brute. The very idea—leaving me sitting outside in the dark while you browse around in a fabulously exclusive antique shop with your old chum.”
It took him a few heartbeats to find his voice. “I won’t be doing any browsing. And it’ll only be for ten minutes, tops.” He took a deep breath. “Then we’ll go have a fine dinner.”
Miss James leaned over and whispered in his ear, “You still have not told me where.”
He adjusted the rearview mirror until he saw the oval of her face. “How about the Blue Light?”
“That sounds very nice.”
He had no doubt that it would be. It was a first-class joint. No one had been murdered there for almost a year.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SERIOUS BUSINESS
Ralph Briggs was seated on a balloon-back rosewood chair, his knees under a Chippendale mahogany desk. The antiquarian was nattily attired in his customary work clothes—a three-piece gray wool suit, a pale blue linen shirt. A black bow tie was skillfully knotted at his collar; simple platinum links pinned his cuffs. He was quite the elegant figure—a fashion plate suitable for the cover of American Antique Dealer’s Monthly Journal . Except for one detail: Like Huck Finn lolling on the riverbank on a muggy August afternoon, Ralph Briggs was barefoot. This very deliberate man did nothing without a purpose; there was a sensible reason for the naked feet. The meticulously neat housekeeper
Her hand stopped halfway down his neck. “Ralph Briggs—owner of The Compleate Antiquarian?”
“Yeah. That’s the place.” He watched the painted white line slip past the car. “You know Ralph?”
“I met him once, at a party.” She frowned at the Ute. “I understand that he shows his private collection only by appointment. To special friends.”
“Well, me’n Ralph are old buddies.” It went a bit deeper than that. Once upon a merry time, Charlie Moon and Scott Parris had done an interesting piece of work with Ralph Briggs. The process was not entirely legal, but, with the assistance of the antique dealer, a modicum of justice had been done. That had been back when he was still an officer with the Southern Ute Police Department—a long time before he’d gotten the title to the Columbine, and let the Southern Ute chairman Oscar Sweetwater talk him into doing part-time work as tribal investigator. He slowed the Expedition as they neared a blind curve, switched the headlights to low beam.
Miss James flashed a smile at her man. “I am terribly impressed that you are acquainted with Ralph Briggs.” She clasped her hands like a child about to look under the tree on Christmas morning. “I can hardly wait to see the inside of The Compleate Antiquarian. There are rumors that Briggs has three priceless Tiffany lamps from the collection of—”
“Sorry, you can’t come in.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to wait outside.”
There was a taut silence before she said, “Charlie—tell me that you are joking.”
Moon shook his head. “This is serious personal business. Between me and Ralph. But I’ll see if I can get you inside next time.”
“Golly gee, thanks a bushel and a peck.”
“Sounds like you’re a little upset.”
“I am not a little upset.” She pouted. “I am severely miffed.”
“So what do you do when you get severely miffed—throw a fit?” He reached across the seat.
She took his hand in hers. Put it on her knee.
Moon swerved, hit the shoulder, came within inches of taking out a Do Not Pass sign before he got the big car back onto the blacktop.
“You really should concentrate on your driving.” She offered this sober observation in the prim tone of a maiden who has very nearly been taken advantage of.
Moon was surprised to find both hands on the wheel. He remembered that it had been hilarious when SUPD officer Jim Wolfe had run off the road. Guess I had it coming .
The woman smiled. Charlie is such a darling man—and so terribly cute . “I still cannot believe you are such a brute. The very idea—leaving me sitting outside in the dark while you browse around in a fabulously exclusive antique shop with your old chum.”
It took him a few heartbeats to find his voice. “I won’t be doing any browsing. And it’ll only be for ten minutes, tops.” He took a deep breath. “Then we’ll go have a fine dinner.”
Miss James leaned over and whispered in his ear, “You still have not told me where.”
He adjusted the rearview mirror until he saw the oval of her face. “How about the Blue Light?”
“That sounds very nice.”
He had no doubt that it would be. It was a first-class joint. No one had been murdered there for almost a year.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SERIOUS BUSINESS
Ralph Briggs was seated on a balloon-back rosewood chair, his knees under a Chippendale mahogany desk. The antiquarian was nattily attired in his customary work clothes—a three-piece gray wool suit, a pale blue linen shirt. A black bow tie was skillfully knotted at his collar; simple platinum links pinned his cuffs. He was quite the elegant figure—a fashion plate suitable for the cover of American Antique Dealer’s Monthly Journal . Except for one detail: Like Huck Finn lolling on the riverbank on a muggy August afternoon, Ralph Briggs was barefoot. This very deliberate man did nothing without a purpose; there was a sensible reason for the naked feet. The meticulously neat housekeeper
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