Page 65 of Murder on the Page

He clucked his tongue. “Love isn’t always, in his case. It’s good quality and generic enough that I can resell it easily. I gave him top dollar. Now”—he leaned forward on his elbows—“ifyou’d like to show me that 1920s beauty you’re touting, I’ll be interested.”

I promised I’d bring it in when I found it. “I didn’t lose it,” I added hurriedly. “It belonged to Marigold Markel.”

“The lady who died.”

“The same.” I explained how she’d removed it from her safety-deposit box, and it was missing.

“If you’d like, I can send you a text with the list of jewelers she might have taken it to.”

I thanked him and left.

Over the next few hours, I finished up my deliveries. The sisters who owned Whispering Winds cooed over the coffee lace cookies and instantly ordered more, adding that they would recommend my wares to all of their friends, including Blessed Bean. I assured them I’d already snagged that account and would pitch the cookies to the owner myself.

By the time I arrived at Feast for the Eyes, it was close to noon. I strolled in and held the door for two entering customers. I said hello to Chloe, who was helping a young woman in the YA aisle, and greeted a customer who was browsing the endcap by the mystery aisle, after which I went in search of Tegan. I found her in the office, sitting at the desk, the Internet browser open on the laptop computer.

Yet again, she’d donned the black-colored, thigh-length anime sweater that was three sizes too big. She was deep in concentration. Her forehead had creases, and she was sucking on her lower lip with her teeth.

“Hello,” I said.

She looked up, startled.

“Sugar for the weary.” I set a box of assorted cookies on the desk and nudged them toward her.

“Thanks.” She took a coffee lace cookie and bit into it. “Delish.”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m doing a deep dive on Graham Wynn. Have you ever been in his store, GamePlay?”

“Nope.” I didn’t play video games. I liked crossword puzzles and Sudoku. “You have, I’m presuming,” I said, given her fascination with comic books. I’d lost my interest in them around the age of ten, too enthralled with novels to find time to read anything else.

“It’s a great place, packed with Funko collectibles, bobble-head dolls, and board games.”

I enjoyed board games, in particular, Clue.

Tegan swiveled the laptop slightly so I could read more easily the link she’d clicked on. “Here’s an article about when he first opened the shop ten years ago. TheTribuneinterviewed him. He comes from humble means. No father. His mother worked full-time as a nurse, but she passed away. He didn’t say what happened to her, although he said, because she worked nights when he was a boy, he pretty much found himself playing games to stay out of trouble. He’s never been married. He doesn’t outright say he’s a virgin, but he refers to himself as a ‘monk for life.’ ”

“That might explain his interest in clerical fiction,” I kidded.

“Be serious.”

I sobered. “Did you find anything criminal in his past?”

“He’s a fiend for double-parking.”

I had tried to skirt the law in that way a few times, until I’d grasped it wasn’t worth the financial penalties I’d incurred.

“He was in a bar fight during college. No arrest was made. And he likes to gamble.”

“You found all that online?”

“Yep. He posted pictures of himself in Atlantic City on a video game junket, but the pix weren’t from the conference. They were all taken atblackjack tables.”

I thought of the missing hundred K Marigold had withdrawn from the bank and how Celia Harrigan hinted that Graham’s business was suffering. Was it possible he killed Marigold to get his hands on the money? “Can you pull up info on his finances?”

“No. I’m not that savvy. I also couldn’t come up with anything pertaining to a drug habit.”

Which left us no closer to the truth.

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