Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

Shapiro’s show windows were barred, the blue neon sign advertised payday loans, and the storefronts on either side were taken by a travel agent and something called Woman’s Needs, which could have been anything from a sex shop to a free clinic.
    Shane darted into a parking spot on the street a block away from Shapiro’s business. The red Lexus that had been following them had no place to hide, no choice but to roll on by while Shane memorized the license plate. Without taking his eyes off the car, he keyed a number into his cell phone, waited until someone answered, and read out the plate number.
    A slanting sideways look was Risa’s only comment, but curiosity got the better of her. “Was that Factoid or one of your own computer moles?”
    “Factoid. No point in duplicating his efforts. He’s cracked every motor-vehicle registration bureau in every state of the union. Canada, too. He’s working on Mexico but claims the system is so corrupt that no one drives the vehicle the plate is issued to. I told him he just doesn’t understand the system yet.”
    Shane looked back toward Shapiro’s business. If there were any lights on inside, they didn’t show up against the glare of daylight.
    “It looks closed to me,” Risa said.
    “Yeah.”
    He keyed in another command on his hand unit, checked the numbers that had called him, and accessed Ian’s message. It wasn’t chatty, but it was long. Phone to his ear, he listened with growing intensity.
    Watching Shane’s face, Risa wondered what had gone wrong. She knew something must have. Other people might not be able to see past Shane’s impassive expression, but she could. With rising impatience she waited until he put the cell phone down.
    “What?” she demanded.
    “Joey Cline was murdered.”
    “Do we know him?”
    “Not directly, but whoever killed him left bloody marks from the pawnshop murder site to 113 Oasis Lane, and whoever lives at that number knows Cherelle. My guess is that Cline bought the gold and turned it to Shapiro, who turned it to Covington, who turned it to Smith-White.”
    Risa forced herself to breathe. “You’re sure about Cherelle. She’s linked to a murdered man.”
    They weren’t quite questions. Shane answered them anyway. “A neighbor on Oasis Lane recognized Cherelle from the photo. A man called Socks—the one you call Bozo—was also recognized. Mrs. Seton, who is probably related to the man who killed Cline and left bloody marks in the alley, lives at 113. Her no-good son visits occasionally, according to the neighbor. Cherelle comes with the no-good son.”
    “Seton,” Risa said, remembering the brochure Cherelle had left behind. “Tim Seton. He’s Cherelle’s partner in the channeling business.”
    “What about Socks?”
    “Bozo?” Risa laughed shortly. “He wasn’t mentioned in the brochure.”
    “He drives a purple car with a loud muffler.”
    Risa’s fingers drummed on her thigh. She didn’t like what she was hearing. She liked what she was thinking even less. “All right. So we have Socks in a purple car, Cherelle probably in an old Bronco, and Tim at the motel and then at the house on Oasis Lane. What does Mrs. Seton have to say for herself?”
    “She isn’t home. A black limo came for her yesterday afternoon. From what Ian could gather, Cline was probably killed yesterday. Rigor mortis had already come and gone.”
    Risa grimaced. “What about the guy who left bloody marks? Where is he?”
    “Ian will check the house tonight, but I’ve got a hunch it was Tim who was hurt, so his mama loaded him into a limo and took him somewhere for some real quiet doctoring.”
    “A hunch, huh?”
    “Yeah.”
    “The kind that made you into a multimillionaire?”
    “Yeah.”
    She blew out a breath so hard her hair shivered. She couldn’t think of a single comforting reason for Tim crawling away from the site of a murder covered in blood. The memory of Cherelle’s full, wild laugh when she found out how much Shane’s collection of Celtic gold might be worth was equally uncomfortable.
    Damn it, Cherelle. Why didn’t you come to me? I could have helped you. You didn’t have to get tied up with . . . whatever it is you’re tied up with.
    Then Risa realized that Cherelle had come to her, and in doing so had sicced a thug on her.
    Maybe she didn’t have any choice.
    Risa’s mouth turned down. You always had a choice.
    And sometimes the choice you made was bad.
    “Why wait for night to check the