Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

hard to ignore.
    “We going out the back or the front?” he asked.
    “The back.”
    “I’ll lock up out here.”
    “Okay. I’m going to check upstairs again. I keep forgetting and leaving the bathroom window open.”
    Ian turned toward the front of the shop, then frowned. The windows and glass-pane door that faced the street had a thin line of wire around all the panes, but that sure wasn’t much of a barrier to someone who didn’t mind setting off the burglar alarm.
    “You ever think of upgrading your security system?” he called out.
    “Why? It’s not like I’m selling diamonds or drugs.”
    He heard her heels clicking lightly on the wooden stairs as she came back down.
    “You’ve got some valuable stuff in here,” Ian said.
    “Only to collectors. The average druggie looking for a quick turnaround isn’t going to haul a movie poster or a reproduction Deco lamp to the local pawnshop.”
    He wanted to argue but didn’t for the simple reason that she was right. There wasn’t much in her shop that would appeal to a smash-and-grab hype. Still…
    “What about you?” he asked.
    “What about me?”
    “You’re collectible and should be better protected.”
    Lacey gave him a sideways look and a sly smile. “Is that why you’re wearing a gun, to protect yourself from being collected by a person or persons unknown?”
    He laughed and gave up the argument—for the moment. As he worked deadbolts and slipped on chains, he made a mental list of some basic security upgrades she really should have. He could get her a good price on everything and the installation would be free. He had several weeks of vacation time stored up and no particular reason to use it, until now. And after he was finished with the wiring and such, maybe she’d like to go up to Bakersfield and meet some other Lapstrakes.
    When Ian heard his own thoughts, he fumbled the last lock. Then hereminded himself that while some women had found him sexy, none had wanted a long-term affair, with or without the benefit of marriage. To be honest, he hadn’t wanted that kind of intimacy either—makeup and pink shaving gear in his sink and too much conversation when what he craved was the rushing silence of his small house in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains.
    “Need some help?” Lacey asked. “One of those deadbolts is sticky.”
    “I’ve got it now.”
    He slammed the bolt home, followed her to the back of the shop, and waited while she armed the security system—a pathetic one, in his opinion—and shooed him outside during the eight-second grace period before the alarm registered an open door and went off.
    “I suppose it’s better than nothing,” he said under his breath.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You’re not making sense.”
    He grinned. “Thank you.”
    She rolled her eyes. “C’mon. There’s a pathway between my house and Woo-woo Central.”
    “Woo-woo Central? Should I ask?”
    “The cosmic calamity next door.”
    He looked at the old clapboard building that was barely larger than a double garage and had a bunch of boxes filled with packing material stacked haphazardly around the back and side. Some of the boxes had been wilted by rain. Others were fresh and dry, though torn. All of them came from places like Mystic Crystal of Arkansas or Vortex Stones of Arizona.
    “You got something against witches?” he asked, stepping around a pile of shredded paper or straw or whatever that nearly blocked the narrow space between the buildings.
    Lacey snorted. “I’m fine with witches. Blessed be and all that. But Lady Marian over there is a real piece of work. Spends her days conning old ladies into her karmic vitamin schemes and then does vodka shooters and smokes wacky tobaccy all night in the back room.”
    “I see what you mean,” he said as he nudged an empty half-gallon booze bottle with his toe. “Doesn’t believe in recycling, does she?”
    “Ya think?” Lacey asked dryly as she picked her way through the trash that lay between the two shops.
    “Don’t see any of the wacky stuff lying around.”
    “You sound disappointed.”
    He snickered.
    “When the offshore wind blows, which it does about all the time, you can smell it when she lights up,” Lacey said. “The wind blows through her place straight to mine.”
    He took a deep breath. Brine and something else, something much sharper. “Smells more like chemicals to me.”
    “My paint stuff. She doesn’t usually toke up until after