Venus in Blue Jeans by Meg Benjamin Page B

could always talk his way out of trouble.”
    “Provenance?”
    “Pedigree, sort of. Who owned a book when and who sold it to whom. Most rare books come with a list.” Docia folded her arms again. “Dub could be kind of cagey about that sometimes.”
    “Well, let’s hope he hasn’t gotten himself into something he couldn’t talk his way out of this time.” Brody closed his notebook, sliding it back into his pocket, then nodded at Docia. “Thanks for your time, Ms. Kent.”
    The bookstore was still full of lookers when Docia came out of the storeroom. She noticed a little girl holding her waffle cone perilously close to the coffee-table books, ignoring the sign about leaving food outside. Docia started toward her and then stopped.
    To the child’s left, a man was standing in front of the Business and Economics section, his broad shoulders blocking the aisle. His khaki slacks weren’t quite as crisp as Brody’s, but she’d bet they cost a lot more, as had his dark blue knit shirt, judging from the discreet embroidered logo. His graying red hair was clipped short, hugging the outlines of his smooth, tanned face. He turned his head and looked at her, one corner of his mouth sliding up in a sardonic grin. “Hi there, darlin’.”
    Docia sighed. It had only been a matter of time, after all. “Hi, Daddy, welcome to Konigsburg.”
     
     
    Horace Rankin made a quick scan of the waiting room in his animal hospital. Most of the chairs were filled, as usual, and the parking lot was jammed. He needed to get back with Hobie about the bid on that lot next door. Horace’s lips spread in a slightly predatory grin hidden by his moustache. He purely loved negotiating.
    The pet owners sitting in the waiting room today were still about ninety percent women, even though Toleffson had left for lunch. Horace shook his head. Most of their pets were more or less healthy, but at least they’d get their shots on time for once. And some of the owners might remember to get the animals’ teeth cleaned.
    As long as it wasn’t Margaret Hastings and her Chihuahua. Horace shuddered briefly at the memory of the Teeth Cleaning From Hell. As if he’d deliberately conjured her up, Margaret walked in the front door, carrying her wharf rat dog in its wicker basket.
    She gave him one of those creepy smiles of hers where she didn’t show her canines. “Good morning, Dr. Rankin. How are you today?”
    “Tolerable, Margaret. How’s the dog?” Horace couldn’t bring himself to look at the poor thing. What kind of dog had to be carried around in a basket, for God’s sake? It went against nature!
    “Oh, he’s doing very well. Very well. Wonderful care you give here.” Margaret’s gaze darted around the waiting room, her brow furrowing slightly as she noted the number of women already waiting. “Is Dr. Toleffson in this morning?” Her lips stretched in another of those smiles. They made Horace’s skin crawl.
    “Out to lunch,” Horace harrumphed. “Gone to Allie Maldonado’s place most likely.” Let Toleffson deal with her. No reason Horace had to put up with problem pups like that Chihuahua when they were clearly Cal’s problem. Wasn’t that why he’d taken on a partner to begin with?
    Margaret blinked. Then smiled again. “Well, thank you so much. We’ll go find him there. Won’t we, Precious?”
    Horace made the mistake of looking at the dog, catching the full brunt of those anguished eyes. Help me help me help me.
    Well, horse crap! Not his business, drat it. We just fix ’em, we don’t save ’em .
    “Tell Toleffson I said hello,” he snarled.
     
     
    Her father favored Docia with one of his patented, buy-a-tract-of-land-from-this-man smiles. “Was that an officer of the law I just saw leaving your back room there, missy?”
    “Yes sir, it was. The chief of police, actually.” Docia concentrated on flexing her hands, which had unaccountably balled themselves into fists at her sides. She was suddenly aware that her