The Body in Bodega Bay Read Online Free PDF

from Russia who had missed the auction and might be interested in making the buyer an offer. Well, I handled that the same way. I called the buyer and delivered the message and gave him the guy’s number. And that’s all I know.”
    Dan would be interested in that piece of news. “Do you still have the number?”
    â€œNo, I jotted it down somewhere but didn’t keep it. Look, we’re talking about an eight-hundred-dollar sale. How was I to know it would cause so much trouble?”
    How, indeed? “Do you remember anything else about the call?”
    He shook his head in the negative.
    â€œWhat about the voice? Did the man with the accent sound young, old?”
    â€œIt was a deep voice. Not too young, not too old.” He shrugged.
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œNo, that’s it. I’ve told you everything I know.” He reached for another tissue and blew his nose again. This time he balled up the tissue and clenched it.
    â€œAll right, Mr. Spears. Thank you for your help. If you think of anything else, please call Deputy Ellis at the number on his card.”
    â€œIs that it for now?”
    â€œThat’s it.” I rose to go. Spears withdrew a half-eaten cheese sandwich from the top drawer of his desk and waved me out. The cheese was pretty ripe. I could smell it.
    I left a message for Dan, fed the parking meter to give me time for lunch across the street, then headed back across the city to the Golden Gate and 101 north. Toby and I had arranged to meet back at his shop. The fastest way up to Duncans Mills from the city is to take the freeway as far as Cotati and then cut over to 116 going west. The afternoon traffic wasn’t half-bad.
    â€œHow’d it go?” Toby asked when I got back to the gallery.
    I gave him an account of what I’d learned at Morgan’s.
    Toby grew more alert with each detail. “I wonder if Charlie got in touch with the consignor, or if he ever called this Russian guy.”
    I wondered too, and hoped that the consignor of the icon would be willing to talk to us. If not, she’d have to talk to Dan. Meanwhile, I asked Toby how things had gone up here.
    â€œNo big news. I filed the robbery report, waited for the locksmith, talked to the other shop owners. Nobody else had a break-in. No one heard or saw anything suspicious. Obviously, whoever broke in and stole the icon did it late Friday or Saturday night. This place is a ghost town after the restaurants shut down. I’ve also been going through Charlie’s desk but haven’t come up with anything. I’m ready for a break.”
    â€œCoffee?”
    â€œGood idea.” In his half of the gallery, Toby had a nook set aside for his office, where there was a little refrigerator and a coffee machine. We were sitting on a divan, sipping and collecting our thoughts, when the door opened and in walked Tom Keogh, Charlie’s ex-partner. “This could be trouble,” Toby grunted under his breath. Toby got up and walked over to offer Tom a handshake. Tom wasn’t reciprocating. I decided to sit this one out. I had a ringside view.
    â€œTom, what can I say? I’m really sorry about Charlie.” To me, Toby sounded sincere and compassionate, but Tom didn’t take it that way. He looked enraged.
    Tom had the hawkish bearing of an aging Irishman. In fact, he reminded me of a photo I’d seen of the playwright Samuel Beckett. He was tall and lean, with a thatch of stiff hair, an aquiline nose, and piercing blue eyes. His fair complexion burned red at this moment, but I could see that in a calmer moment he would be handsome, even compelling. “Shit, Sandler,” he spat out bitterly. “Charlie’s dead, and you report me to the cops as a suspect. Don’t try your sympathy act on me.”
    â€œThat’s not what happened, Tom. I just told Dan he should talk to you. I didn’t know Charlie as well as you did. That’s all I