“He had a thriving shop, Miss Alice,” I said. “You could make a go of it.”
“No, thank you, sir. I don’t need all that clutter. I want to simplify my life. I have a pension, some conservative investments, and a frugal lifestyle, but I want to travel and see the world. Anything I can’t fit into a suitcase is merely a bother.” She paused with a wistful smile.
“I do have two cute poodles as pets, but they’re very low-maintenance. I acquired them from a taxidermist.” She opened her purse, rummaged around in the neatly organized contents, and plucked out a photograph of two dogs mounted on stands in perfect poses, heads turned up, tails frozen in mid-wag.
“Very cute,” I said.
Alice retrieved the photo of the poodles after we had adored them sufficiently, inserted it into her purse in its proper place, then snapped the clasp shut. “I want to wash my hands of Timeworn Treasures. Simplify . . . simplify. Minimize hassles, reduce overhead.” She clucked her tongue against her pointed teeth. “My brother used to collect the most inane things. A psychological problem, I believe. When he was a boy, he used to have a collection of lint.”
“Lint?” Robin asked. “Why would anyone collect lint?”
“Heaven only knows. By the time we were teenagers, he had gathered three large boxes of lint, until one day our parents threw them out. Snazz wallowed in despair for weeks. The last time I talked with him, he was still moaning about the collector’s market and how much money he could have gotten for that lint.”
I didn’t want to ask, so I didn’t.
I was, however, surprised Alice had come to us, considering that I had found her brother’s body, but she brushed the worries aside. “I looked in the business listings, and there aren’t many certified and wide-ranging legal offices in the Quarter. The Better Business Bureau had no complaints on record against Chambeaux and Deyer, and that’s good enough for me.” She raised her mascara-caked eyelids in a question. “And I understand from the police department that you’ve just been cleared of all suspicion in the murder?”
“Yes,” I said. “The autopsy confirmed—”
“Good, that’s settled, then. Moving on. I’d like to take care of matters as quickly and efficiently as possible. I expect the evidence technicians will finish their work soon, so that I can retrieve my property and liquidate the assets.”
“We can get you a release from the police department, ma’am,” Robin said. “And once I take care of the appropriate transfers and paperwork, you should be free to dispose of your brother’s possessions.”
“Oh, I won’t merely dispose of them, even though the items are mostly junk. No, I intend to have a large auction as soon as possible. Anyone who wants the items can purchase them for the highest bid.”
I realized this might be my best chance. “Your brother kept a detailed sales ledger. I went to the pawnshop on the evening of his tragic death because I was trying to learn who had purchased a few particular items. I would be grateful if you’d let me have a look at those records.”
Alice held her purse in front of her and regarded me, all business. “Certainly, Mr. Chambeaux. The ledger will be for sale, along with all the other items. You are perfectly welcome to bid on it, and should you make the highest offer, I’d be delighted to help you out.”
Even Sheyenne was surprised and disappointed by her hard-line stance, but gremlins are not known for their compassion. “It’s for a good cause, Miss Alice. You could really help—”
“Moving on,” the gremlin said. “My brother may have had the business, but he wasn’t much of a businessman. I, on the other hand, believe favors are a sloppy and inefficient way of getting things done. We will do this properly, everything in order. You can help me with this, Ms. Deyer?”
“Yes,” Robin said, sounding less enthusiastic now. “I’d be happy to.”
“Good. I have my eye on a Mediterranean cruise. If my brother hoarded enough to pay for a nice trip, then I will consider our sibling rivalry to be water under the bridge.” She snapped open her purse again, took out a card with her contact information, and gave it to Sheyenne for the new-client file. Alice filled out the formal paperwork, signed the contract, and paid a small retainer, then bustled off to get her fur done at the beauty shop.
Chapter 31
I had never been to a bank robbery before, but there’s a first time for everything. Sheyenne and I heard police sirens as we strolled down the street that afternoon. Squad cars roared by, followed by an overloaded van from the Special Response Unit. Sheyenne and I had gone out to lunch at the Ghoul’s Diner; I didn’t need to eat often and Sheyenne couldn’t, but we enjoyed having a moment of nostalgic normalcy nevertheless.
She seemed more emotionally clingy lately. The traumatic experience with Travis had shaken her, I think, and she was also concerned (though she wouldn’t admit it) that I’d been spending so much time at the Full Moon. I couldn’t deny that I remained preoccupied by the plight of the forlorn succubus Ruth, but if I went out of my way to insist that Sheyenne had nothing to worry about, my very earnestness would only make her worry more. It was a no-win situation for me, so I left the issue alone.
As the squad cars squealed up to the front of the Trove National Bank, the commotion drew us—and everyone else in the Quarter, it seemed—like a magnet. It’s not smart to rush toward what is obviously a dangerous situation, but it’s instinctive. Besides, since I was a private investigator, a bank robbery could well be business-related.
The Trove National Bank is the primary financial institution in the Unnatural Quarter, locally owned and unnaturally operated. Many of the old-guard unnaturals had large stashes, as well as valuable antiques and gold-plated magical items that they kept in safe-deposit boxes.
The name of the Trove National Bank sounded like a witty play on words, implying vaults filled with sparkling treasure, but in actuality the name came from the founder, Bernard Trove, a human businessman with long-out-of-style mutton-chop whiskers and very good investment sense.
With guns drawn, cops had surrounded the building and blocked the exits. I could hear a loud schoolbell-type alarm that made the windows rattle. I saw McGoo standing there, his sidearm drawn and aimed at the bank’s main entrance. We worked our way toward him. “What’s going on?” I asked, the most obvious question I could think of.