Page 6 of Pay Dirt

Chapter 3

After a restless sleep, I rose the next morning and showered, taking extra care of my wounds. Overnight, the dark purple bruise under my right eye had turned a yellowish green tint. My lip bore an angry jagged line where it Tanner’s ring had split it open. I looked rough. I lifted my mug and hissed at the sting on with my busted lip. Aggravation seeped down my spine while I tried to drink my coffee using only the left side of my mouth.

I should’ve taken a picture. I should blow it up and add a section on my fridge of things not to do when working. Most times, I knew my mark as well as I knew my sisters. I studied their habits before approaching them. There was nothing ever left to chance. Except for yesterday.

Bill Tanner didn’t even own a gun, much less have a license-to-carry permit.

I stood at the fridge staring at pictures of past clients. They all smiled, holding up objects thatI’d helped find. The thought of one of them being dead rattled within my chest like pennies in a Mason jar. Was it my fault they’d gone looking in the first place?

A knock pulled me from my morbid thoughts. I turned and strolled to the door with coffee in hand and pulled it open. FBI Special Agent Nathan Murray stood on my porch.

“Here to put me in handcuffs again, Agent Murray?”

His gaze landed on my busted-up face. He flexed his hand and slid them into his pockets as if to stop reaching for my wounds. “I should have never let it get that far.”

“I shouldn’t have either, especially when there was a glass on the counter within reaching distance.” No way would he have known I would get into a fistfight with a weather man who wore more rings than my grandmother. Unless of course,Agent Murray was prone to premonitions like my sister. “What are you doing here, Agent?”

“Nathan,” he said, sliding his hands out of his pockets. “Can you spare a few minutes?”

“Sure.” I stepped out onto my porch. The delicate floral smell of my rose bushes drifted tomy nose on the morning breeze. One neighbor, dressed in a dark blue striped robe, ambled to his mailbox to get his newspaper with his faithful dog jogging happily by his side.

My neighborhood was quiet most days until Sundays when, like clockwork, members of each family would be out working in the gardens or lawn. I wasn’t one of those people, but I’d wave on occasion.

“We didn’t get to finish our questioning yesterday.”

My ego fell like a sack of potatoes. Any hope he’d come to ask me out on a date fizzled and dried up like yesterday’s sun showers over hot coals. The steam was apparently only one-sided. “How can I help?”

I sat on the swing, folding my legs beneath me, and sipped my coffee, waiting for him to find the right words.

“How long had Herbert Guillot been your client?”

“Is he the one who died?” I asked. Him being late made more sense.

“You know?”

“Fillpot told me it was one of them. He just didn’t give me a name.” I swallowed hard. “But to answer yourquestion, I’d guess maybe two months, but I’d have to check to be sure of his first appointment.”

“Do you remember what he was looking for the first time he came to you?”

“Sure, only because it was odd. It wasn’t the typical lost piece of jewelry or missing relative. It was something more unique.”

Nathan pulled a coin out of his pocket and held it between two fingers to show me.

It wasn’t a coin from this century, heck, probably not even the last. It was pure gold and looked like a Spanish doubloon or one from a pirate treasure. I knew it. “Herbert wanted to see if I could locate more gold coins.”

“And did you?” Nathan asked.

“You know the answer to that, Special Agent,” I answered. “It was all over the newspapers. I’m just glad he kept my name out of the equation.”

“It didn’t upset you thathe hadn’t told the press thatyou were the person responsible for giving him the location?”

“Upset me?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee. “He referred to me as his own personal compass. Like I told you yesterday, I don’t mind helping people find things or missing people as long as it’s legal. Herbert was more like an armchair treasure hunter. I just helped nudge him in the right direction. That’s all.”

Nathan sat down beside me on the swing instead of taking one of the other chairs. He slowly rocked us as I sipped.

“The reason we were at the restaurant was because we were following you.”

“Why would you do that? My life is far from exciting.” Most days I took client phone calls from my house. Only on occasion did I have appointments that had me leaving the confines of my walls. Not to mention once-a-weektrips to the grocery store. How much fun or interesting could that be?

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