St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

Frost.”
    “Then why are we here?” she asked.
    “Garland Frost.”
    Zach’s tone didn’t encourage more questions. Jill thought about hammering on him just for the entertainment value, then decided against it. Instinct told her that an angry Zach Balfour wouldn’t be entertaining.
    The big Dodge turned onto a quiet street that ran alongside a head-high adobe wall. At the center of the block, a wide gate in the wall opened into a courtyard filled with cottonwood and evergreen trees. He stopped outside the front door of a sprawling adobe house and turned off the engine.
    “Now what?” she asked.
    “We see if we wasted jet fuel.”
    “Someday you’ll give me a real answer.”
    “Wasting jet fuel is as real as it gets.”
    He opened the car’s rear door, worked the hinged door on one of the crates, and pulled out a metal suitcase. The green wood of the crate grumbled and squeaked, but closed again. The plywood sides of the box concealed the fact that it was now empty.
    As soon as Jill was out, he locked the car with the remote security key and went to the front door of the house. Ignoring the electronic doorbell in favor of the old bronze captain’s bell, he rang it three times, hard.
    And settled in to wait.
    Nearly a minute later the door opened. A tall, silver-haired man in blue jeans, worn hiking boots, and a blue work shirt stood in the fading light. Lean, erect, fit, he had eyes as black as a night without stars.
    He looked at Zach, then at Jill, then once more at Zach.
    “So you came back after all,” he said. His voice was raspy, neither deep nor high, just rough. “At least you brought somebody nice for me to look at, since I don’t much care for the sight of you.”
    “Mutual,” Zach said. “You going to let us in?”
    The older man looked at Jill. He smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Garland Frost.”
    She blinked and found herself smiling in return. Bet he was a real hottie when he was young. Even now, that smile could melt a glacier. She took his hand and shook it briefly. “I’m Jill Breck, and I’m pleased to meet you even if Mr. Surly isn’t.”
    Frost gave a bark of laughter. “He knows me.”
    “That’s why I’m surly,” Zach said.
    “Come on in,” Frost said to Jill. “I like you already.”
    “What about him?” she asked.
    Frost looked at the silver suitcase in Zach’s hand. “Did you bring me something?”
    “Why else would I be here?”
    Something flickered in the older man’s eyes. It could have been anger, curiosity, hurt, impatience, or a combination of all four.
    Jill didn’t need her years of summing up clients on the river to see that whatever it was that lay between Frost and Zach, the emotion was as complex as it was painful.
    “Why else indeed?” Frost said roughly. “I should shut the door in your ungrateful face.”
    “Then you’d never know what I brought you.” Zach smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “And that would irritate the hell out of you.”
    Frost turned his back on Zach, took Jill’s arm, and led her into the house. “Welcome to Taos. Amazing that such a good-looking young woman would put up with Zach Balfour.”
    Since Frost hadn’t slammed the door in Zach’s ungrateful face, he followed Jill inside.
    He didn’t hurry to catch up. He knew exactly where and how Frost was going to test Jill. The great room was great in more than space. If anyone wasn’t fascinated by it, then Frost had no time to waste on that person.
    Jill passed the test.
    Silently she stared at Frost’s great room. She hoped her jaw wasn’t hanging open, but wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.
    In one corner a fire crackled in an unscreened fireplace. The scent of burning cedar infused the room with a clean, natural perfume. Dozens of paintings hung high on the pale plaster walls. Beneath them, at eye level, display cases filled with earthen pots, cowboy bronzes, and Indian artifacts stood shoulder to shoulder around the perimeter of the room.
    From what she could see, everything inside the cases was of museum quality.
    Library tables covered with stacks of books and partially assembled pots took up much of the rest of the floor space, except for ahuge wood desk that looked out like an observation post. The desk was on a platform that was raised two steps above the floor of the great room.
    “She likes it,” Frost said to Zach. “Your taste in women has improved.”
    “She’s a client,” Zach replied. “I’m on assignment.”
    “Still