Page 25 of Edge of Whispers

Oh, please. What did I have to lose by obliging him? I picked it up and took a bite.

We talked, carefully, about neutral topics. I managed to eat almost three quarters of my sandwich. When the bill came, he snatched it from my hand and looked offended when I tried to pay my share. Wow. I’d never met one of those guys, although I’d heard that they existed in the wild.

Liam opened the truck door for me, then climbed in. “Where’s the jeweler located?”

The paperwork was now buried in the rubble at Lucia’s house, but the name, Baruchin’s Fine Jewelers, was burned into my mind, and the search engine on my phone revealed that it was a couple of towns away. The time it took to drive there was spent in conversation that was probably calculated to keep me calm, but it didn’t work.

We pulled up in front of the jeweler’s storefront, but the metal sliding doors were down. Closed, on a Saturday at noon? Those were prime shopping hours. Everything else around was open and bustling with activity.

My neck prickled as I got out of the truck. A small restaurant, Tony’s Diner, was next door. I went inside and slid onto a stool at the counter. Liam followed.

A middle-aged lady with a dark red bouffant came over with a coffeepot. I smiled and held out my cup. “Coffee, please. I have a question. I need to speak to the jeweler next door about a delivery. Are they on vacation, or something?”

Hot coffee slopped out of the pot and onto my thumb. I jerked back with a gasp as the red-bouffant lady’s face crumpled.

She set her coffee down, covered her face, and fled into the kitchen.

I glanced at Liam as I sucked on my scalded thumb. “Not a good sign,” I said.

“It sure isn’t,” he agreed grimly.

After a moment, a bent, scowling elderly man with bushy white eyebrows and a paper cook’s cap came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. He scanned the counter and headed straight for us.

“You folks was askin’ Donna about Sol Baruchin?”

“That’s right,” I said. “I don’t know Mr. Baruchin personally. I just needed to ask a professional question?—”

“Old Sol’s dead,” the man said heavily. “He got murdered.”

Cold silence seemed to grip the entire room. Everyone was frozen, listening. Not a spoon clinked.

“M-m-murdered?” I echoed, in a tiny whisper.

“When?” Liam asked.

“Last night sometime. Hell of a thing. Him, his wife and his mother-in-law, all three of ‘em. Christ, the mother-in-law was bedridden. Musta been ninety, ninety-five years old. Goddamn animals. I got this cop buddy, comes here for breakfast. He tipped me off about it. Frickin’ horrible mess. Just horrible.”

I covered my mouth with my hands. I couldn’t breathe. Cold pooled in my belly and spread in every direction. My vision swam.

“Sol’s been having breakfast and lunch in this joint every day for the last thirty-five years,” the old man said, his voice dull. “Donna’s all broke up. Christ, it’s hard enough at my age, with friends dropping like flies from heart attacks and strokes, without some sick bastard murdering ’em. So, anyhows.” He shook his head, his wrinkled mouth compressed into a grim line. “Sol’s shop ain’t gonna be open anytime soon, miss.”

I tried to answer him politely. Nothing would come out of my mouth.

Liam smoothly filled the gap for me. “Thanks for telling us what happened,” he said. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your friend.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” The old man turned and shuffled back toward the kitchen, shoulders bowed.

I stumbled out into the street, desperate for a gulp of air, but it was worse out there, with the murdered Baruchin’s shuttered shop right in my face. “Let’s get away from here.”

“Sure thing.” Liam unlocked her door, hoisted her in. “Where to?”

“I don’t care. Anywhere.”

Chapter Nine

Liam

I took her at her word. Old Tony’s bombshell had rattled the hell out of me, too. My mind raced madly with ominous possibilities.

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