Page 20 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
The wind cut through my wool overcoat, and my Italian leather shoes weren’t exactly ideal in the snow. But inside the diner was warm, and it smelled like buttery toast and coffee.
A young woman with a blond ponytail—Heidi, according to her name tag—came to the front. She opened her mouth, presumably to ask me if I’d like to be seated, but all she could get out was a flustered giggle.
“Um, hi.” She giggled again. “Would you like to… I mean, do you want…”
The corners of my mouth lifted. “Breakfast.”
“Right, yes. Of course.” She fanned herself. “Sorry. Is it hot in here?”
I didn’t reply. Just waited for her to continue.
“Do you want to sit at the breakfast bar?” she said, finally. “Or would you like a booth?”
“Booth.”
“Okay. I can do that.” She grabbed a large, laminated menu. “Right this way.”
I followed her to a booth and took off my overcoat, laying it on the seat next to me. I sat facing out, where I had a good view of the rest of the dining room. Blushing furiously, Heidi handed me the menu. She spun to go back to the front and almost crashed into a server heading for my table with a carafe of coffee.
I didn’t comment. Just watched with an amused half grin.
“Coffee?” the server asked. She had short gray hair and smile lines around her eyes.
“Absolutely, love.” I pushed the white coffee mug closer to the edge of the table. “Thank you.”
She gave me an I-know-your-type grin and poured. “Do you need a minute to look over the menu?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Our holly jolly snowflake eggnog scones are popular at Christmas. They’re filled with red currant jelly and dusted with powdered sugar.”
“I’m sure they’re delightful, but they sound rather sweet.”
“My favorite is the eggs Benedict.”
“I’ll take that.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get that going for you.”
“Thank you, love.”
She shook her head slightly as she took the menu and left, heading for the kitchen.
I sipped my coffee and glanced toward the front. The hostess watched me while whispering excitedly to one of her coworkers. Customers glanced in my direction as well. One woman at the breakfast bar stared at me with her mouth open.
And there I was, not even trying to cause a stir.
I knew how to get attention when I wanted it. Eye contact, a subtle smile, a well-placed wink. And body language could speak volumes. But in this case, it didn’t serve my purposes to benoticed. I didn’t have any reason to believe the thief would know who I was, but I didn’t want to tip him off that I was on his trail, either.
Ignoring the curious glances and whispering townspeople, I focused on the job.
Maple had sent over the dossier compiled by my associates. Local law enforcement had told the client there wasn’t much they could do, but they’d keep the case file open. That was where we came in. Using our resources, my associates had traced the thief to a commercial flight into the States. He’d then boarded a plane that had landed at the small, private airport in Tilikum.
Suspect was believed to be a Caucasian male, mid-thirties. He’d almost certainly traveled under an assumed identity. That meant he wasn’t a total amateur. But he didn’t appear to be someone we knew. He was either a new player and this was his first big score, or he was someone who’d evaded our notice until now.
The latter was possible, although the former more likely.
My question, as I reviewed the evidence they’d gathered, was one of motivation. In my experience, two types of thieves stole the sort of high-value items I was hired to find—wealthy private collectors who wanted rare items for their collection and typically paid someone to get them, or those hoping for a big payday by selling the contraband on the black market.
