Venus in Blue Jeans by Meg Benjamin Page A

storeroom, the chief glanced up at the cracked window. “Need to get that fixed, Ms. Kent. Letting your air conditioning out. Good to see you got a new lock on the window, though.”
    Docia nodded. “I put it in yesterday. They’re supposed to fix the window next week. Homer Rathburn’s waiting to get the glass from Houston. What can I do for you, Chief?”
    The chief pulled his notebook out of the pocket of his crisply pressed khakis. “Dub Tyler. Seen him lately?”
    “Dub?” Docia narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. “Last time was a few days ago, I think. Why?”
    The chief was very carefully keeping his gaze on his notebook. Tension began to knot the muscles across Docia’s shoulders.
    “He mention anything about going out of town?” Brody finally raised his gaze to hers, but his cool gray eyes gave nothing away.
    Docia shrugged. “No, but we’re not exactly close.”
    The chief put his pencil down, lowering his notebook slightly. “Clete told me he saw Dub in here last week. Was that the last time you saw him?”
    “No.” Docia frowned. “He came by the shop a couple of times last week. What’s this about?” And why should Clete Morris keep tabs on me?
    “Dub’s gone missing.” The chief’s face was still carefully blank, his eyes flat and dark.
    Docia felt a trickle of ice down her back. “Missing? Since when?”
    “His next-door neighbor saw his front door was open last night. Looked like someone had tossed the place. Dub was gone.”
    Brody’s voice sounded remarkably calm, given that he’d just dropped a small bombshell in the storeroom. The tension spread up from Docia’s shoulders to her neck. “Was there anything…did it look like he’d been hurt?”
    The chief’s lips thinned slightly. “No, ma’am. No blood. No signs of a struggle. Somebody just went through his stuff. Mind telling me what the two of you talked about the last time you saw him?”
    “The whole thing was pretty vague.” Docia remembered Dub’s smug smile. “He wanted me to hold onto something for him, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was or why he needed me to hold it for him or how long I’d need to keep it.”
    Brody frowned. “And you didn’t do it?”
    “No, I’m not that trusting. Damn it, I told that old so-and-so to get himself a security system. He could have afforded it.”
    “Why did he need one?”
    Docia leaned back against the utility table, pushing a coffee mug away from her rear. “Dub’s a rare book dealer. He specializes in Texana, real Texana, not the rinky-dink stuff I sell here. A lot of his stuff is worth big money.”
    Brody’s eyes narrowed. “How big?”
    “Hard to say. Several thousand, anyway. He does most of his buying and selling in direct contact with the customers. He doesn’t advertise. Even people in the business usually don’t know what he’s got or what he’s sold until it’s over. And even then, it’s all rumors. Dub’s never told me exactly what he made on a sale.”
    Brody lowered the notebook again. “So how do you know about the way he does business?”
    “This isn’t the first time Dub’s asked me to do something for him. He’s tried to get me to sell things once or twice before. That is, he wanted me to serve as the middle man between him and a buyer.”
    Brody raised an eyebrow. “And?”
    “And I didn’t do it. I don’t know enough about rare books to do it honestly.” Docia gathered her hair back from her face, fastening it with a banana clip from her pocket. Still early, and she already felt damp and sticky.
    “And you don’t think Dub was?” Brody’s voice rumbled low, his slate-colored eyes hooded.
    “I don’t think he always was, no.” Docia shrugged, feeling slightly guilty even though she knew Dub could be a pain in the rear. “He was a dealer. I don’t think he’d take anything he knew was stolen, but I don’t think he always asked a lot of questions about the provenance of a book or a document. If he needed to, Dub