Gift of Gold

to the window.
    There was no doubt about it. Quarrel had to be eliminated. He was turning into a major question mark. It appeared that he did indeed have the “touch.” And he was somehow involved with Caitlin Evanger. According to Hatch, he had been invited to the exclusive little get-together being held in two weeks at the house on the cliffs.
    Quarrel could easily be representing a mysterious collector who wanted
Bloodlust.
But that wasn’t the reason Kincaid wanted him dead. Kincaid was confident he could compete financially against almost anyone. He had had Quarrel investigated only because he wanted to know in advance exactly what he would be up against. But now there was something more involved. Kincaid’s instincts were aroused at last.
    Kincaid wanted Quarrel dead because he had seen the look on Quarrel’s face when he held the dagger in his hand. For just a moment Quarrel’s cool, sardonic expression had been replaced with another. It was an expression of sudden, jarring recognition. It was as if Quarrel had somehow
known
the blade at once, not just as a fake but for what it was, the cause of a murder.
    And then there had been that parting crack at the door about the ethics of the “dealer” who had sold Kincaid the dagger.
    Kincaid watched the sailboats on the Bay and drummed his neatly manicured fingers on the glass.
    Whoever Quarrel was, it was plain he knew too much. There was no question about it. Kincaid didn’t understand how or why, but he didn’t question his instincts. He had survived on those instincts for years and he trusted them implicitly. Better to be safe than sorry.
    There were too many factors coming together lately, he reflected. Coincidence was acceptable up to a point, but one too many made a man nervous. The appearance of Quarrel, with his mysterious ability, was too much to swallow in addition to this business of having to go back to the house on the cliffs. Something dangerous was afoot. The more Kincaid thought about it, the more everything seemed to be slowly focusing around Jonas Quarrel.
    It was very disquieting that Quarrel had picked out that single dagger from all the blades on the wall. It gave Kincaid a strange, hunted feeling.
    Rumors stayed alive for years in the world of collecting. Eventually some of them became legends. Kincaid did not like the notion that his dagger might be the basis of some unfortunate rumors that led back to him.
    It was definitely time to get rid of Jonas Quarrel.
    And when he was finished with Quarrel, Kincaid decided, he just might make it a point to get to know the little redhead better. Something about her smile had revived the old thrilling lust, the kind he had once indulged in Sandquist’s house on the cliffs. He hadn’t been able to luxuriate in that side of his nature for a long while.

 
    Chapter Fourteen
     
    A deal for the dueling pistols was made with one Phillip J. Haggerty late Monday afternoon. Jonas presented the buyer’s check to Emerson Ames on Tuesday morning when he and Verity arrived back in Sequence Springs. Emerson kissed the check.
    “I do believe you’ve saved my hind end, Jonas, old pal,” Emerson chortled. “Here, have a beer and tell me all about it.”
    They were standing in Verity’s kitchen as she tried to set up for the luncheon crowd. Verity’s hands were full with a stack of stainless steel salad-mixing bowls. She glared at both men as she was forced to maneuver sideways to get around them. “Jonas can’t have a beer now. He has to help me with lunch.”
    “Don’t pay any attention to her.” Jonas popped the top off the can and tipped back his head to take a long, thirsty swallow. “The Tuesday lunch crowd is the lightest of the week. She just needs something to complain about. You know how it is. Besides, I can wash dishes just as well drunk as sober.”
    Her father chuckled richly, but Verity felt herself flushing as Jonas proceeded to give Emerson the tale of their visit to the city. She turned away to take a potato and pea salad out of the refrigerator. Normally she responded to Jonas’s cracks about her shrewishness with equanimity, but today, she discovered, his words hurt. Maybe she really was turning into a mean-spirited, fussy spinster.
    Or maybe she was frequently sharp with Jonas because a part of her was trying to protect herself from the uncertain future she saw awaiting her. It was easier and far safer to yell at Jonas than to let herself fall in love with him.
    But Verity