Midnight Jewels

knot."
    "Mercy."
    She ignored him as she listened to the familiar voice on the other end of the line. "Hi, Dorrie, how's everything going? Any messages yet?"
    "Just got one," Dorrie said easily. "Wait a second until I find my note. Here it is. A Mr. Glad called. Is that the person you were expecting to hear from?"
    Mr. Glad. Mercy's gaze swung to collide with Croft's. It had to be Gladstone. At that point Mercy realized she hadn't really expected Gladstone to contact them. Obviously an example of wishful thinking. "That's him, Dorrie. What's the message?"
    Croft was hovering over the phone as if he wanted to snatch the receiver out of her hand. He gave Mercy a pen and a pad of motel paper. "Get everything down."
    Mercy nodded, listening intently.
    "Just a short note," Dorrie said. "You're to call him at this number." She rattled it off. "Got it?"
    "Got it. Thanks, Dorrie."
    "Hey, what's going on? I thought this deal was all settled."
    "So did I," Mercy said with a sigh.
    "I guess this is what it's like in the big time world of rare book negotiation, huh? Offer and counteroffer and all kinds of maneuvering. It's exciting, isn't it?"
    "Yes," Mercy said softly, "it's exciting." She hung up the phone and sat staring at Croft, the note pad clutched in her hand. "He wants us to call."
    Croft snapped the note from her hand. "He's still at the estate."
    "How can you tell?"
    "I checked the number on the phones while we were there. This is it. It's unlisted, naturally, but even people who worry about their numbers getting out still make the mistake of putting them on the phones where any visitor can see them."
    "Perhaps Gladstone wasn't all that concerned about his number getting into me wrong hands," Mercy said.
    Croft nodded abruptly. "He's been fairly safe tucked away up there in the mountains with only a few handpicked people around him. Probably learned his lesson about the risks of trusting a multitude of not-necessarily devoted followers. I wonder what kind of games he's been playing with that artist colony he runs."
    "You think it's a front for something illegal?"
    "I think it's a front for something very profitable and very illegal and very rough. Gladstone is still Graves inside. He needs power and money. Lots of it. And he's learned how to get it. He's using those artists for something. The setup is too similar to what he had going down in the Caribbean. The money making end of things probably includes drugs this time around, too, just as it did last time. It's the field Gladstone knows best. At least we know for certain where he is now. And we've forced him to make the first move. That makes him a little more vulnerable." Croft studied the number in his hand. "So he wants us to call, does he?"
    "Just like you said."
    "Yes." Croft reached for the phone. "Let's not keep the man waiting."
    Croft saw the expression on Mercy's tense face as he dialed the number on the note pad. She was scared. Not of him, but of what was going to happen next. She probably had a good hunch about the next logical step in tins deadly game. He wished he could quiet her fears but that was impossible now. Things had gone too far to turn back. He hadn't been able to turn back since the day he had seen that ad for Burleigh's
Valley of Secret Jewels
. She seemed to realize that, but it wasn't going to make her any less fearful of the final outcome.
    The phone rang once. It was answered by Isobel, her low, husky voice clear and controlled. "Hello."
    She knew who was calling, Croft thought. "Let me speak to Gladstone." There was no sense revealing he knew that Gladstone was really Egan Graves. The goal now was to assure Gladstone that Croft was just an opportunistic hustler who had lucked into the biggest deal of his life.
    "We've been expecting your call, Mr. Falconer. Just a moment."
    So much for being on a seductive first name basis. Croft waited quietly until Gladstone's warm, charming voice came on the line.
    "Ah, Mr. Falconer. Why do you wish to cause me all this trouble?"
    "We aren't all born rich, Gladstone. Some of us have to take advantage of our opportunities as they arise. I assume you're interested in getting your book back?"
    "You assume correctly. I'm a reasonable man. You have a certain figure in mind?"
    "I have a large figure in mind."
    "I was sure you had. That book is very important to me, Mr. Falconer, as you must have guessed by now. It has great sentimental value."
    "That's the first time I've ever heard anyone call