Page 17 of Already Lost

“That’s correct,” Nate said, steppingforward. He flashed his badge, but didn’t put it down like Laura had. “SpecialAgent Nathaniel Lavoie. I read online that you sell gramophones here.”

“We do,” he said, perking up. His backseemed to go even straighter, if that were possible. “We have all kinds ofmodels here. Many of them are in good working order.”

“All originals?” Nate asked.

“Of course,” he said, seeming to takeoffense. “I wouldn’t sell cheap modern imitations.”

“Right, of course,” Laura said, trying tomollify him before he took them off on some tangent about the state of thegramophone industry. “We’re looking to see if there are any customers who havebought from you recently. They would have made at least two purchases of thesame gramophone. Do you recall anyone like that?”

He frowned slightly. “Am I allowed to tellyou that?”

“We’re FBI agents,” Laura said, findingherself frowning at him. “What was your name, sir?”

“Artur Oreyo,” he said, drawing himself uponce again. Then, he delivered a stiff and formal nod. “At your service. I justwasn’t sure if I would be breaking some kind of customer confidentialityaccord.”

“Like I said, we’re investigating a veryserious crime,” Laura told him. She was starting to feel impatient. Usuallywhen it took this long to get someone to agree to fetch their records, it wasbecause they were trying to hide something. What was going on here? “If youcould show us your customer purchase records, that would be fantastic.”

Artur cleared his throat, and from thesound and movement behind the desk, Laura could almost swear he had clicked hisheels together smartly. “We keep paper records,” he said. “I know it’s a bitold-fashioned, but I don’t like to have modern machinery anywhere near myvintage beauties. It upsets the balance of things. It might be a littledifficult for you to go through everything.”

Why did Laura get the feeling that he wastrying to avoid bringing them out? “All the same, we’d like to see them.”

Artur nodded with an uncomfortableexpression, like he was straining too hard to keep the polite smile on hisface. “I’ll fetch them from the back room. How many years of sales would youlike?”

“Just one would be fine,” Nate said, andLaura could sense a tension in the thick muscles of his neck that suggested hewas probably trying to resist turning to look at her incredulously.

Then Artur glided away through a blackcurtain behind the counter and out of sight again, and Nate turned to give herthat exact look she had been expecting.

Laura shot him a warning glance of her ownand moved closer, stepping around a box of old cassette tapes until she wasright next to him. “He might still be able to hear us,” she whispered.

“I don’t like him,” Nate whispered back.“He’s got a vibe.”

“A vibe?” Laura said with a sidewayssmirk, though she knew exactly what he was talking about. There was somethingoff about Artur Oreyo, like he was from a distant era. Someone obsessed withthe past. Maybe it just went with the territory of being an antique storeowner, but…

Maybe it was the hallmark of a killer whoseemed to want to create some kind of macabre old Hollywood scene with everylife he took.

Laura started to walk between the rows ofshelving and stacked equipment in the store. It was dim inside and hard to seeuntil you were right up close to the shelves; it was as though Oreyo didn’twant any light to come in and damage his precious antiques. Laura didn’t knowmuch about preserving them, but it did seem odd that he wouldn’t have theoverhead lights switched on brightly to make up for it. How else would hiscustomers see what they were going to buy?

Laura ran her hands idly over a shelf ofrecords, feeling how the thin spines stacked against one another. She startedto flip through them, looking at the titles on the fronts of the covers. Mostof them, she’d never heard of before. Old songs, judging by the fonts and theway the paper was yellowed and faded. Most of them didn’t even have pictures onthe front, just words.

They all had those fascinating old titles,too, making Laura wonder about what the songs must sound like.Way Down inOld Milwaukee Way, Time for a Change of Heart, The New Dance That EverybodyLoves.

And then she stopped, her hand hoveringready to push the next one aside, unable to quite believe what she was seeing.

“Nate,” she hissed.

He came to her side quickly, putting downsome kind of brass horn with a clatter. He looked at what she had found andgave a low whistle. “My Man and the Roseby Nena Flora,” he read aloud.“That’s the song.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be kind of rare? Allbut forgotten, these days?” Laura whispered.

“Yeah,” Nate said. “But, just to playdevil’s advocate, isn’t that exactly the type of thing you’d normally find inan antique record store?”

“Yes,” Laura said, glancing over hershoulder to check that Oreyo wasn’t back yet. “But he’s taking an awfully longtime, and I didn’t get the sense he wanted to show us his books. And he hasthat vibe.”

“Yeah,” Nate said. He paused, his handtraveling to his hip to check that his gun was still holstered there under hisjacket. “Maybe I should go back and see what’s taking so long.”

There was a short pause as Nate began towalk towards the counter, and then Oreyo exploded from out of the black curtainwith a theatrical wave of his hand. “I have it!” he exclaimed, and Laura foundher own hand going to her hip too, her racing heart only cooling down when sherealized he was being melodramatic and not threatening.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions aswell,” Nate said, reaching out for the black leather-bound record book inOreyo’s hands and taking it. “Where were you yesterday around two in theafternoon?”

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