their reactions. “We don’t know nothing,” Lou said.
“You were here when my father came in.”
“Oh, that.” Lou took a mouthful of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Like I told the police, Fred came in and ordered a St. Pauli Girl like he always does.”
“And you two were just having a conversation.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“A conversation about Denise.”
“So?”
“So I find the timing a little odd.”
Lou’s expression went blank. “Huh?”
“I find it odd,” Matt said, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly, “that since you had been at Pat’s for a whole hour, you picked the exact moment when my father came in to start talking about Denise’s affair with Steven Hatfield.”
“Maybe we were finished with our other conversation,” Cal said, and let out a laugh.
“Or maybe somebody put you up to it, told you what to say and when to say it.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Can’t.” He spread out his hands. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“How did you find out about Denise and Steven?”
Lou licked his lips. “Don’t remember.”
Matt turned to the other man. “What about you, Cal? How’s your memory?”
Cal shrugged. “Hanging ’round here, you hear lots of stuff.”
Matt grabbed him by the collar. The man weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, but Matt lifted him out of his chair as if he were a rag doll. “You don’t want to piss me off, Cal. You don’t know what I can do when I’m pissed off.”
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Cal yelled.
Matt was about to drag him out when a firm hand stopped him.
“Easy, Matt,” Eddie said. When Matt’s grip didn’t lessen, he squeezed harder. “Let him go.”
Matt expelled a long breath and let Badger go. The expression in the man’s eyes was one of regret. The bastard had been spoiling for a fight.
“Come on.” Eddie dragged Matt away. “Your beer is getting warm.”
Calmer now, Matt returned to the bar.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Eddie said when he was back behind the counter. “I’d love nothing more than to see somebody give that jackass a good workover. I just don’t want that someone to be you.” He filled a bowl with cashews and put it in front of Matt.
Matt popped a handful of nuts in his mouth. “Because you think I couldn’t take them on?”
Eddie laughed. “You forget that I’ve seen you make bigger men than Cal beg for mercy. No, I stopped you because right now, Josh is looking for any excuse to throw you in the slammer. Don’t make it easy for him.”
Eddie was right. A public brawl with those two morons wasn’t the answer. There were other ways to find the information he wanted. For now, Matt would have to be satisfied knowing that his visit here had rattled them up.
Fourteen
A n unexpected flow of visitors had kept Grace busy for most of the afternoon, and while she had not sold any more paintings, the Arroyo continued to attract interest. She was saying goodbye to a dozen senior citizens on an art tour when a dark-haired, wide-shouldered man with a scowl on his face walked in.
“I’m Victor Lorry,” he said, his attitude as unpleasant in person as it had been on the phone a few hours earlier. “We spoke—”
He came to an abrupt stop when he saw the Arroyo, his expression a mixture of dismay and anger. He turned to face Grace. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, knowing damn well what he meant.
“The price!” He pointed an accusing finger at the discreet tag beside the painting. “I precisely told you not to change it, but you went ahead and did it anyway.”
“And I tried to tell you before you hung up on me, that we had a binding agreement, one that clearly states that the gallery reserves the right to change the price of any work it takes on consignment.”
She started to ask him why he was in such a
“You were here when my father came in.”
“Oh, that.” Lou took a mouthful of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Like I told the police, Fred came in and ordered a St. Pauli Girl like he always does.”
“And you two were just having a conversation.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“A conversation about Denise.”
“So?”
“So I find the timing a little odd.”
Lou’s expression went blank. “Huh?”
“I find it odd,” Matt said, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly, “that since you had been at Pat’s for a whole hour, you picked the exact moment when my father came in to start talking about Denise’s affair with Steven Hatfield.”
“Maybe we were finished with our other conversation,” Cal said, and let out a laugh.
“Or maybe somebody put you up to it, told you what to say and when to say it.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Can’t.” He spread out his hands. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“How did you find out about Denise and Steven?”
Lou licked his lips. “Don’t remember.”
Matt turned to the other man. “What about you, Cal? How’s your memory?”
Cal shrugged. “Hanging ’round here, you hear lots of stuff.”
Matt grabbed him by the collar. The man weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, but Matt lifted him out of his chair as if he were a rag doll. “You don’t want to piss me off, Cal. You don’t know what I can do when I’m pissed off.”
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Cal yelled.
Matt was about to drag him out when a firm hand stopped him.
“Easy, Matt,” Eddie said. When Matt’s grip didn’t lessen, he squeezed harder. “Let him go.”
Matt expelled a long breath and let Badger go. The expression in the man’s eyes was one of regret. The bastard had been spoiling for a fight.
“Come on.” Eddie dragged Matt away. “Your beer is getting warm.”
Calmer now, Matt returned to the bar.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Eddie said when he was back behind the counter. “I’d love nothing more than to see somebody give that jackass a good workover. I just don’t want that someone to be you.” He filled a bowl with cashews and put it in front of Matt.
Matt popped a handful of nuts in his mouth. “Because you think I couldn’t take them on?”
Eddie laughed. “You forget that I’ve seen you make bigger men than Cal beg for mercy. No, I stopped you because right now, Josh is looking for any excuse to throw you in the slammer. Don’t make it easy for him.”
Eddie was right. A public brawl with those two morons wasn’t the answer. There were other ways to find the information he wanted. For now, Matt would have to be satisfied knowing that his visit here had rattled them up.
Fourteen
A n unexpected flow of visitors had kept Grace busy for most of the afternoon, and while she had not sold any more paintings, the Arroyo continued to attract interest. She was saying goodbye to a dozen senior citizens on an art tour when a dark-haired, wide-shouldered man with a scowl on his face walked in.
“I’m Victor Lorry,” he said, his attitude as unpleasant in person as it had been on the phone a few hours earlier. “We spoke—”
He came to an abrupt stop when he saw the Arroyo, his expression a mixture of dismay and anger. He turned to face Grace. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, knowing damn well what he meant.
“The price!” He pointed an accusing finger at the discreet tag beside the painting. “I precisely told you not to change it, but you went ahead and did it anyway.”
“And I tried to tell you before you hung up on me, that we had a binding agreement, one that clearly states that the gallery reserves the right to change the price of any work it takes on consignment.”
She started to ask him why he was in such a
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