I strolled up to the front of the store, nonchalantly, and peered in the open door.
Gordon’s front room was just as I remembered it, a cluttered warren without any apparent theme or organization. Priceless antiques stood next to items I’d have assumed were tacky pieces of junk except that their presence in Gordon’s stock meant they were actually valuable collectibles. Chinese brush paintings hung beside painted velvet renditions of bullfighters and paint-by-number oils of puppies and kittens. Rare art pottery and Ming vases shared shelf space with vintage Coke bottles. Enameled samovars and hookahs shouldered a humongous scale model of the Starship Enterprise, and tiny bronze Degas ballet dancers loitered in corners with the sort of elaborate, special edition Barbie dolls that would probably run away screaming if a small child ever tried to pick them up.
There were at least a dozen more rooms much like this one, though the most obscenely expensive stuff lived in the front room, where Gordon could show it off. And where it might catch the eye of a passing collector.
Come to think of it, that was the theme—stuff Gordon could sell for obscenely high prices.
Though one room always felt different—the one where Gordon kept the used and rare books. I remembered it as way in the back, so I had to go through five or six other rooms to reach it, but perhaps deep in the heart of the shop would be a more accurate description. Was it only my bias that made this room feel like a serene oasis in a chaotic jumble? Or did it reflect how Gordon felt about the books? Endicott, his former partner, did say books were Gordon’s first love.
I could relate to that. I’d noticed in the last several weeks that books were among the few material objects I didn’t feel ambivalent about. In fact—
Stop it, I told myself. I was on the verge of feeling sorry for Gordon, and apart from being a strange and disturbing feeling it wouldn’t help me find his murderer. And I didn’t have time to worry about it now. Chief Burke was standing inside the shop, and I’d lingered long enough at the door that he’d turned and spotted me. Too late to slip away quietly, so I waved and smiled at him.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Give me strength,” Chief Burke said, rolling his eyes upward. Then he lowered them, fixed them on me, and frowned. “Just what are you doing here?”
“Rubbernecking,” I said. “Morbid curiosity.”
“Not trying to solve the murder case yourself?”
“I have every confidence that by the time you finish your investigation, you’ll be convinced that Giles had nothing to do with Gordon’s death,” I said. “Of course, if I come across any information that will help speed up the process …”
“You’ll pass it along, instead of going off half-cocked and getting yourself in a world of trouble,” Burke said. “Naturally.”
He didn’t sound as if he believed it.
“Naturally,” I said. “So what’s going on?”
“Someone broke into Mr. McCoy’s antique store,” Burke said. “I don’t suppose you remember what you were doing last night around midnight?”
“Michael and I were over at Giles Rathbone’s house, having sherry and discussing his case,” I said.
“Having sherry with your boyfriend and my prime suspect,” Burke said, nodding. “Figures.”
“Why would you suspect me of breaking into Gordon’s store?” I asked.
“Looks like your style,” he said. “There wasn’t anything missing or damaged, and he had plenty of things a real burglar would have taken—a fair amount of cash, not to mention some nice jewelry and silver. But whoever broke in last night just disarranged some of the papers in his office. I figure it was someone snooping around for information.”
“And you assume that someone was me?”
“If you didn’t do it, I apologize, and point out that it wouldn’t exactly be out of character, and if you did, I do hope you were careful and wore gloves.”
“I always do when I’m burgling,” I said. “Incidentally, that was a joke.”
“Hmmm,” the chief said, studying me.
“What was the burglar looking for?” I asked.
“If I knew that, I’d know who did it, wouldn’t I?” the chief said. “They were messing around in his business records.”
“Maybe it was someone who felt cheated by Gordon,” I suggested. “And wanted proof so they could file a claim against the estate.”
“Like as not,” the chief said, nodding. “Of course, that doesn’t narrow down my field of suspects. I have yet to find anyone who didn’t feel cheated by Gordon.”