Midnight Jewels

safe to say these cards don't belong to Dallas. Lance probably has a few stray souvenirs in his wallet, too." She bit her lip. "Where is Lance?"
    Croft rose smoothly beside her. He nodded in the direction Lance had run while firing his gun. "At the other end of that row of buildings."
    "Unconscious or…" Mercy glanced uneasily down the narrow path. She realized she was afraid to complete the question.
    "Unconscious," Croft said. . "Thank heavens." Mercy wasn't aware she had spoken aloud until Croft responded, his voice still devoid of inflection.
    "Did you think I'd killed him?"
    Mercy hugged herself. "I didn't know what to think. He just went racing up this little alley and disappeared. You've mentioned your interest in the philosophy of violence and I—"
    "I'm interested in violence. Not death."
    "Is there a difference?" she snapped, goaded.
    He looked at her. "They're frequently linked, but yes, there is a difference. All the difference in the world."
    She knew he could see her expression much more clearly than she could see his. Mercy turned away, lifting her hands to clasp herself against the chill. She realized she was still holding the stick she had used to defend herself.
    "Where did you find that?" Croft asked, taking the stick from her and examining it briefly.
    "I found it in that horrible cabin where you left me. I couldn't stay in that place, Croft. It was awful. I couldn't stand it another moment."
    He wasn't paying any attention. "It looks like a shovel handle."
    Mercy stared at the piece of wood as Croft tossed it aside. Images of a dead miner flowed back into her mind. The miner's personal possessions were stacked on a table. Camping gear. A battered hat. A shovel.
    "Let's get out of here, Croft."
    "As soon as we tie these two up and leave them in one of the buildings. The general store would be a good place, I think."
    "What are you planning to do about them? We ought to call the sheriff's office."
    "We will. An anonymous tip. We'll tell the authorities that if they're interested in solving the motel robbery, they might check the general store in Drifter's Creek. We'll let the sheriff take it from there."
    "As good citizens, we ought to go straight to the authorities. We shouldn't turn in an anonymous tip over the phone."
    "Good citizenship is not high on my list of priorities at the moment." Croft stepped out into the corridor between buildings. "I have other things to do."
    "Croft, you can't handle this sort of thing on your own. You're supposed to call the cops when you get into a situation like this." Mercy hurried after him as he made his way down me alley. "We've got proof that Dallas and Lance were probably involved in that motel robbery and some indication that Erasmus Gladstone might be Egan Graves or at least connected to him. We should turn everything we've got over to the sheriff and let him take it from there."
    "Take it where? He might be able to build a case against Dallas and Lance, but they're unimportant. Gladstone is the one who matters, and Gladstone is too well protected to be hurt by Dallas and Lance. He would never let himself be vulnerable in that way. If the sheriff questions him, he'll simply say he's shocked to learn he'd hired two thieves to work for him. No one will believe that Gladstone sent his hired help to steal a couple of wallets and open the empty safe of a rundown motel. It's obvious he doesn't need the few dollars and the stolen credit cards."
    "I guess you've got a point," Mercy said uncomfortably. "And Gladstone's already paid for the book, so who would think he'd want to steal it. It will be obvious to everyone that Dallas and Lance were probably operating on their own. No one would think Erasmus Gladstone was a common thief. But what about what happened to you tonight?"
    "I got drunk and fell in the pool."
    "You were poisoned or drugged."
    "There are forty or fifty artists at Gladstone's estate who will say I was drunk when they last saw me."
    Mercy chewed on her lower lip. "Maybe blood tests would turn up some evidence of poison or drugs."
    "I doubt it. Whatever Gladstone used will probably look like alcohol in my blood, if there's even enough left of the stuff to detect in a test. These new designer drugs are getting more sophisticated every day. Just like Gladstone to be at the forefront of the technology."
    "You're looking for excuses. You don't want to go to the authorities," Mercy accused.
    "You're right. I don't deal well with authority. I prefer