Copper Beach

strain in Diana Radwell’s eyes. Not much longer now, he thought. Soon they would all be forced to confront the enormity of their impending financial doom.

    It would be interesting to see what happened when the bankruptcy ax fell. The old lady would probably have a heart attack, for starters. And it was a known fact that major financial problems often caused divorce. The Radwells’ marriage would no doubt be the next casualty. Dawson was already awash in guilt and viewed himself as a failure. There was no telling where that might lead. It was not unheard of for a man who had lost everything to commit suicide. The pretty blond twins would no longer be able to afford the sky-high tuition at the private college they attended. In the end, the picture-perfect Radwell family would be devastated.

    The hot acid sank back into the bottom of the well. Lander suddenly felt much better. The person ahead of him in line thanked Radwell for the signed book and moved out of the way. Dr. Brandon C. Radwell smiled.

    “How would you like the book inscribed?” Brandon asked.

    “Would you mind making it out to ‘Lander, who will one day choose a family of his own’?”

    “Certainly.” Brandon wrote quickly and signed the book. “Good luck to you, Lander. Remember, family is everything. Choose wisely.”

    “I’ll do that, Dr. Radwell.”

33

    FROM THE OUTSIDE, THE NIGHTCLUB LOOKED LIKE A LOW-RENT dive. It resembled a lot of the other clubs in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. The door and the street-front windows were painted black. But when Sam ushered Abby inside, they were greeted with a comfortable, upscale space warmed by a large stone fireplace. The back bar gleamed with polished wood and glass.
    A grand piano occupied one corner of the room. A middle-aged woman dressed in a beaded gown, her blond hair piled high, played a classic show tune. Her makeup was elaborate. Rhinestones dripped from her ears and draped her throat and wrists.

    The clientele was a surprising mix of male and female, but the body language made it clear that the men and women at the tables were friends, not dates. The dress code was eclectic, tending toward high-end designer jeans, shirts and slouchy jackets for the men. The drinks were mostly variations on martinis and cosmopolitans.

    A few heads turned when Sam and Abby walked into the room, but after a brief, discreet scrutiny, everyone went back to their drinks and conversation.

    Nick sat alone in a booth at the back of the room. There was a blue martini on the table in front of him, but it appeared to be untouched. Abby slid onto the seat across from him. Sam sat down beside her. Nick gave him a bored look.

    “I see you’re still hanging around,” Nick said.

    “Sure,” Sam said. “I live in hope that one day you and I will be friends.”

    “Don’t count on it.”

    “I’m crushed, of course,” Sam said. “But I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

    Abby leaned forward. “What’s going on, Nick?”

    “As of five-thirty this afternoon, I am no longer your competition,” Nick said. “I fired my client, and I stopped looking for that hot encrypted book. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll quit looking for it, too.”

    “What happened?” Abby asked.

    “Benny Sparrow had a heart attack and died in his shop last night.”

    “Not Benny, too,” Abby whispered.

    “Yeah.” Nick took a small taste of his drink and set the glass down. “I was willing to overlook Webber’s heart attack. He was an old man and in bad health. Stuff happens. But now that Benny has checked out the exact same way, we’re looking at one too many coincidences.”

    “Who was Benny Sparrow?” Sam asked.

    “One of the three or four deep-end dealers most likely to be using the alias of Milton,” Nick said.

    “The killer must have gotten Benny’s name from Thaddeus,” Abby said.

    “Looks like it,” Nick said.

    “Do you think Benny had the notebook?” Sam asked.

    “If he did, the killer has it now,” Nick said. “We won’t know one way or another until we find out if the auction is still on. So far, there hasn’t been any update.” He turned to Abby. “This thing is way beyond a deep-end deal. We’re talking the Mariana Trench. Time to bail, my friend.”

    “I can’t, Nick,” Abby said.

    “Listen to me, Abby. You need to dump Coppersmith here, and get the hell out of Dodge. Like right now. I’m leaving town tonight. You can come with me.”

    “If the book is locked in