Cheryl Bradshaw - Sinnerman

I told her about the return of Giovanni and the events that occurred the previous day. When I was done she titled her head back and laughed so hard I thought some of her food was going to come back up.

“Honestly Sloane, you have the most vivid imagination of anyone I know,” she said.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” she said. “That’s why it’s so funny.”

“You tell me what line of work he’s in then,” I said. “He drives a car that’s worth more than my house, and one of his suits is probably the equivalent of my entire wardrobe.”

She tilted her fork toward me.

“Minus your shoe collection, of course,” she said.

“You know what I mean.”

“And that makes him some mafia person who takes people out for a living?” she said.

“I don’t know if he kills anyone,” I said, “maybe his posse takes people out for him.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t call it a posse,” she said.

Maddie stabbed two spoonful’s of eggs onto her fork and placed them inside her mouth on both sides of her cheeks. She scrunched up four fingers, pressed them into her thumb and held them in the air and transformed herself into a character from The Godfather.

“Listen to me Sloane Monroe,” she said, “I have this like amazing kind of offer that you—”

“Nice accent, and you’re not even close by the way.”

“I thought that was pretty damn good,” she said.

“Look, the guy is into something, I just can’t figure out what.”

“So, you’ve tried?” she said.

“What?”

“To find out who he is?” she said.

I shot her a wink.

“What kind of PI would I be if I didn’t?”

“You run a background check while you were at it?” she said.

“Maddie, be serious.”

“You did!” she said. “I can tell. You need to chill. From what you’ve told me about this guy he’d be much more inclined to whisk you away somewhere for dinner in his private jet than bust a cap in your ass.”

“Nice.”

She smiled.

“I want to show you something,” I said.

“Don’t tell me,” she said with a wink, “you have a secret peg board here too?”

“Better.”

I pulled out the folded piece of paper I uncovered at the park. Maddie raised an eyebrow.

“Is that what I think it is?” she said.

I nodded.

“I can’t believe they let you keep that,” she said.

I glanced at her but said nothing.

She brought her hand to her mouth.

“Sloane…?”

“What?”

“They don’t know about it, do they?” she said.

“No, and I intend to keep it that way. They have all the others, and this one isn’t going to reveal some major clue that they just had to know.”

She held her hand out, and I gave her the note.

“Well I, for one, applaud you,” she said. “You know me; I’m all about going rogue. Does anyone else know about this?”

“Giovanni.”

“How?” she said.

“You can add that to all the other mysteries of the universe that I haven’t solved about him. I have no idea how he knew, he just did.”

“So where’d you get this?” she said.

I told her.

“I can’t believe you found it like that,” she said. “What a fluke.”

“He knew I would,” I said. “It’s like he knows how I think—how I work. It’s almost like he’s in my head and I can’t get him out.”

CHAPTER 24

Two hours later I was in front of the counter inside The Pretty Pen, an old-fashioned shop in a weathered stucco building decorated on the inside in painted stripes the color of milk chocolate and baby blue. I frequented it often since they peddled two of my favorite things—books and customized stationary.

A black-haired boy was hunched over the opposite side of the counter with his eyes fastened on a page of a Stephen King novel. His hair had been shaped with great attention and a lot of grease, and he had holes in his ears the size of nickels. When he stood upright, I got a peephole view of the shelf of books on the wall behind him. It was like looking through a magnifying glass without any magnification. After a minute or two it became clear that he either didn’t see me or he didn’t care, and my patience was spent.

“Excuse me,” I said.

He made an upward whipping motion with his head in my direction, but his hair didn’t move an inch.

“What’s up?” he said, or tried to say. Given the fact that he mumbled the words under his breath, I couldn’t be sure.

“Robert around?” I said.

“Yeah, but he’s chillin’ in the back right now with like some boxes of books that came in and I think he’s busy with that so he told me to come out here and help the customers.”

The operative word being help, as in to actually offer assistance when needed.

“Can you just tell him Sloane is here? He knows me.”

“Oh uh, I dunno. He said not to bother him, and he gets kinda mad when I do, so…”

I crossed to the other side of the counter and walked toward the back room. The kid seemed put off by this and shouted out after me.

“You can’t go back there,” he said.

“No worries,” I said, and I pushed open the partition that separated the main part of the store from the back room.

A voice from the back sounded off.

“Dammit Kyle, I told you not to—”

“Kyle’s still up front,” I said. “It’s just me, Robert.”

The man poked his head around one of the boxes and looked up at me.

“Oh Sloane, how are you?” he said.

He grabbed a paper towel from the green Formica countertop next to him and wiped his hands off and then stood up.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming back here,” I said.

He swished the air in a downward motion with his hand.

“Naw,” he said. “You’re my best customer.”

“Who’s the new kid?” I said.

He rolled his eyes.

“My nephew. I promised my sister I’d give him a job for the summer. He’s only here for another five days or so.”

“Sounds like you’re counting them down,” I said.

“You have no idea. I’d pay him not to come in at this point.”

“Wow, that bad, huh?”

“I got what you asked for.”

“Really?” I said. “You found it?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I sure did. Come over here and take a look.”

I followed him over to his desk. He opened the drawer and pulled out a big piece of cloth and set it in my hands. I unfolded it and stared in wonderment at the book before me.

“Well,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I can’t believe you were able to find one in such good condition,” I said. “I’ve dreamed about owning this for years.”

“Sorry it took so long to procure it for you,” he said.

“Don’t be. It was worth the wait.”

In my hand I held a UK first edition copy of Agatha Christie’s first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. I’d collected her works for years and always hoped one day I would be able to afford the first book she ever wrote.

“It’s too bad I wasn’t around when it first came out,” I said. “I would only owe you seven shillings and sixpence.”

He laughed.

“You missed that by a good ninety-some years, I’d say.”

I wrapped the cloth back around the book and placed it in the protective case it came in.

“I need to ask a favor,” I said.

“Another book?”

I shook my head.

“This is far more important,” I said.

I reached in my bag and lowered my volume to a whisper.

“I need you to take a look at this,” I said.

Robert withdrew the pink paper from my hands and held it flat on his palm while he walked over to his desk and put his glasses on. He held it a few inches from his face and scrutinized every part of it without uttering a word. After some time, he glanced up at me.