Page 54 of The Best Trick

“Absolutely,” Harold said. “Fine-instrument makers can go in and out of fashion in the same way that clothes designers or car brands can. Sometimes you go to auction and see something in an instrument that you think you can bring out with a little work and know-how, and maybe that maker will get hot. Not unlike flipping homes, I suppose. You think an address might get hot.”

“So, he did a lot of this sort of speculation?” Odin asked.

“Yes, and he was excellent at it. He invested in the occasional boondoggle, don't get me wrong, but he could usually pick a winner. He enjoyed the thrill of that. Maybe it became an addiction with him. They say that people can get addicted to taking risks with their money.”

“You think he might have been into other forms of gambling?” Thor asked.

Harold glanced at me, brows raised almost supernaturally high. I swallowed, struggling to play it cool.

“Did you ever hear him talking about speculating on other things?” Thor continued. “Cards, ponies…”

“Do you think that's why he got into bed with that mobster?” Harold asked, shocked.

“We're asking you,” Odin said softly. “What do you think?”

“It would explain the situation. He wasn’t the type to turn to crime, and it breaks my heart, because we were very close. And it confounds me on another level, too. The lack of ethics in what he was doing, considering that we grew up surrounded by music and a love of instruments. To think he was out there literally claiming that worthless instruments were worth so much…” More headshaking and brow movement. I stared at a violin display on the wall, unable to take any more of his brows. “I refuse to believe he would lie about the value of an instrument. Instruments, they have souls. They are the beating heart of life.”

“Did he ever say anything to you about money problems?” Thor asked.

“No, but he must have had debts, right? Where did all of that money go? Maybe he speculated on the wrong instrument. Maybe he was under some sort of pressure.”

“Was he into any sports of any kind? Or possibly any sports betting?” Odin asked.

“Come to think of it, he loved that fighting sport—not boxing, but the other one—the more violent one,” Harold said, perking up. “He would play videos for me now and then, but it wasn’t my thing. Maybe he speculated on that, too.” Harold and his brows took on a somber mood suddenly. “I'm sorry that I'm not more help to you.”

I was thinking about that UFC picture in Wilson and Clarice’s home. Had sports betting sent him into a life of crime?

“One last question,” Odin suddenly popped in. “Doyoubuy instruments on a speculative basis? Thinking that they would rise in value or that you could fix them up and flip them?”

“Me?” Harold asked.

“Yes. Is it a practice that's common in the fine-instrument business or was it more something that Wilson did?”

“Well, of course, we all do that from time to time, but...” Harold waved his hand. “I wish I had more answers for you.”

“No, you've been very helpful,” Odin said.

We thanked him and left. After a quick check of the area and we were back in the car

“Omigod, the brows!” I practically screamed, unable to contain myself any longer.

“What about them?” Thor asked as we got on the road.

I slugged him in the shoulder.

“What?” Thor complained, rubbing the area.

“That’s all you got, goddess? The brows?” Odin asked. “You’re so good at reading people. You can’t let yourself be distracted.”

“Well, one thing I noticed—he seems to care about his brother, but is he secretly a bit superior, maybe? Something about how he kept on about the whole speculative and gambling end of things.”

Odin was nodding energetically, like he was glad I said that. “I thought so, too. Possibly even a bit eager for us to follow the breadcrumb trail of gambling?”

“Right? Like he wanted to direct our minds!” I said. “When he wasn’t clouding our minds with his brows, that is.”

“But here’s the question,” Odin said. “Is that man capable of stealing Denko’s dog and blackmailing him for the ledger? Was that a man who would do that kind of thing to get his brother out?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “I’m still hung up on how intense he was on the speculative information.”

---