Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

any luck?”
    “No.”
    “Neither am I.”
    “The gold was kept in those boxes we found at Cherelle’s place,” Risa said bleakly. “I sensed it.”
    Shane didn’t point out that she hadn’t said anything about it. He didn’t have to, because he had sensed the same thing.
    And everything they found tied Risa’s old friend more tightly to a theft that had ended in murder.
    “Cherelle must have gotten the gold from Virgil O’Conner,” Risa said unhappily. “That’s what Socks meant when he said something about her getting it in Sedona. But where did Virgil get it? And how? This isn’t the home of a man who has millions to spend on solid gold antiquities.”
    Shane pulled out his communications unit. “No cell coverage,” he said. “Figures.” He recorded a voice message that would go out to Rarities as soon as the unit got within range of a cell. “Let’s see if we can find anything personal here that would speed up a Rarities search on him. If not, they’ll have to make do with the addresses on the box. Do you have any gloves?”
    “I always carry exam gloves in my purse. They won’t fit you.”
    “Then I’ll just have to watch over your shoulder.”
    “And tell me what to do,” she muttered as she opened her purse.
    “I was looking forward to that especially.”
    “Ha ha.” She snapped on the gloves. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you I feel like slime going through someone’s house this way.”
    “I’m not wild about it myself.”
    “But you’re going to do it.”
    “If it would make my neck stop itching, I’d turn this place upside down.”
    “I’d help,” she admitted.
    Risa started her search right where she was. She flipped through the books with the efficiency of someone accustomed to sorting through pages filled with dense text and artifacts.
    As promised, Shane looked over Risa’s shoulder. The books covered everything possibly gold and probably related to Celtic style from 1000 b.c. to 1000 a.d. The pages that detailed figurines, brooches, torcs, bracelets, knives, and masks were often dog-eared. Other than that, and notes in the margins written with a kind of cramped desperation, the worn books held nothing of Virgil O’Conner’s life before today.
    There were no drawers, wastebaskets, boxes, or any other place in the main living area where papers might have collected.
    Or gold hidden.
    “Was there a desk in the other room?” she asked.
    “No.”
    “Telephone?”
    “No.”
    “Then I’ll start in the kitchen.”
    It didn’t take long. The kitchen was smaller than the bedroom. The phone was a primitive wall model that didn’t even have a speed-dial feature. The counter below the phone was stacked with bills and materials marked “Occupant.” O’Conner didn’t have an active social calendar.
    “Electricity,” Risa said, flipping through the messy stack of papers, working backward in time. “Telephone. No water bill, so he must have a well. No personal letters. Property tax bill, soon to be overdue. Bank account statement showing three hundred dollars and thirty-one cents. Savings account with one hundred and one and sixteen cents. Repair bill for a new tube on a bike tire. Random grocery receipts scattered through the rest. End of papers.”
    “No credit card bills,” Shane said. “No vehicle payments. Wonder if he even had a driver’s license.”
    “Maybe he kept business stuff somewhere else.”
    “Maybe,” Shane said, “but I’ve got a feeling he kept everything that mattered to him right here.”
    “A feeling.”
    “Yeah.”
    She sighed and began going through kitchen drawers and cupboards. It didn’t take long, because there wasn’t much to see. None of it was useful, unless you cared that Virgil O’Conner liked pinto beans and rice, with occasional cans of grapefruit juice to spice things up. The electric stove had pots and pans and burned-on food. The refrigerator was small and empty but for a few pickles floating in cloudy liquid. A gel-filled knee brace and a tray of ice cubes waited in the freezer.
    “I really don’t want to paw through his closet,” she said.
    “He doesn’t have one. Just a dresser.”
    “Oh, goody. I feel so much better.”
    Shane watched her walk into the bedroom, sensed her shiver of recognition more than saw it, and waited, wondering if she finally trusted him enough to share what she had spent a lifetime trying to hide.
    “O’Conner kept the gold here,” she said in a low