Vultures at Twilight by Charles Atkins Page A

on it.’
    â€˜Hank, if something comes from it, you’ll let me know?’
    â€˜I can’t make a promise like that.’
    â€˜How about I have you over for lunch?’ I suggested, wondering what I was getting myself into.
    â€˜Let me think about it.’
    â€˜How about tomorrow?’
    â€˜Lil!’ I heard the laughter in his voice. ‘I’ll get back to you.’
    â€˜Thanks, Hank.’
    â€˜You take care, Lil.’
    â€˜You too.’ And he hung up, just as my cell buzzed from my purse. I wasn’t even going to pick it up, knowing there’d be no answer, and unknown name/unknown number in the readout. They’d been coming more frequently, at least one a day, sometimes two or three. I tried to tell myself it was a telemarketer, which made no sense because the few times I did pick up no one spoke, just a pause and the sense that someone was on the line before it clicked dead. I thought about calling back Hank and asking him if there was anything I could do to track down my mystery caller. But I figured with two murders on his hands, my hang-up caller wouldn’t rate. It’s probably nothing , but I couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that someone was checking on me, and for the life of me, I could not imagine why.

TWELVE
    C arl McElroy sweated as he fidgeted with the ledger. Despite knowing Hank Morgan for years, having two law officers crowded in his small, unfinished office at the back of the auction house, had his adrenalin pumping. What did they know? What did they suspect? ‘It was pretty shocking,’ he said, trying to stay composed. ‘You say it was Conroy’s finger?’
    The female detective eyed him closely. ‘Yes, had you considered that yourself ?’
    â€˜No,’ he lied, watching his own fingers slowly shred the edges of the ledger. He pushed it away, and thought longingly of the bottle of Canadian Club in his bottom right drawer.
    They said nothing; the silence stretched.
    â€˜How could I have known?’ he blurted.
    â€˜That’s what we’re here to find out,’ Detective Perez stated. ‘You seem nervous, Mr McElroy. You always sweat like that?’
    â€˜Well –’ pools of warm liquid under his arms soaking the fabric of his plaid shirt – ‘two people I know have been murdered.’
    â€˜Yes.’ The boxy detective leaned on the desk, and stared down; she said nothing until he finally looked up and met her gaze. ‘Two people you knew; two people in . . . your business . . . Two customers . . .’ Her voice trailed.
    â€˜So? What does that mean?’ he asked.
    â€˜An observation,’ she stated coldly.
    Hank Morgan smiled, his gaze on the no-nonsense detective maneuver. ‘She has a point, Carl. If I were an antique dealer in Grenville, I might be getting nervous.’
    â€˜No kidding.’ He was relieved to hear a friendly voice, and wondered how much longer they’d be there. God, I need a drink.
    â€˜So that’s why you’re so nervous,’ Detective Perez commented, deftly picking up Hank’s opening. ‘Look at you, your hands are shaking.’
    â€˜Yes, that’s right,’ the auctioneer agreed, glad for the pat explanation.
    â€˜It wouldn’t be something more immediate?’ Her dark eyes bore into his blood-shot blue. ‘Some say the finger was a warning.’
    Carl’s breath caught.
    â€˜In fact,’ she pressed, ‘some say it was a warning for you .’
    The pale auctioneer sputtered, his cheeks turned red. ‘A warning for what?’
    â€˜Good question. Any ideas, Carl?’
    â€˜No! Why are you doing this to me?’
    â€˜Carl.’ Hank stepped in, cooling things down. ‘Just trying to look after your interests. Can you think of anyone who might have it in for you? After all, yours can be a tricky business. There was that unpleasantness a few