The Dom Project by Heloise Belleau, Solace Ames Page B

rushed on. “A colleague of mine told me that you were interested in having a collection of rare photographs and letters appraised. I’d love to discuss some options for—”
    “Who are you? Where are you from?” The whites of his eyes were yellowed, like old paper.
    “My name is Robin Lessing,” she said, slowly. “I’m the Head of Special Collections at Saylor University.”
    “A university? Bullshit.” Anger flared in her, and she shifted her feet so that she stood taller. “It’s all about the T-shirts— eh , eh —and the lunchboxes. You think I don’t know?” All right, so maybe he wasn’t being sexist, just deranged.
    She kept her voice even and slow, despite her growing anxiety. “Here’s my business card.” He wouldn’t take it. “You can look me up on the university website. There’s even a picture of me. The university is prepared to pay for an independent appraisal. If you’ve dealt with unethical people before, I can promise you this is going to be different.”
    He stood frozen, harshly breathing and looking off into the distance. Then he nodded once. Turned his back on her and shuffled into his apartment. Since he didn’t close the door, she figured there was still hope, so she cautiously stepped over the threshold.
    “She died when I was young,” he said. “She told me no one really understood why she did it. It wasn’t about the money. Goddamn.” He turned again, transfixing her with his jaundiced glare. “How did you find out about the appraisal?”
    She’d gotten this far by being honest. “You threw it away. My colleague picked it up. I know it’s—”
    “ Eh , eh . Get out!” He ripped her business card in half, and she finally flinched and backed out. What could she have done differently? No. She’d done everything right. She couldn’t let this...
    “You damn vulture! Damn vultures, this is a new one!”
    “Please—” She tried to placate him, backing down the sidewalk with her hands extended in peace offering as he advanced on her.
    If he fell... If he laid a hand on her, even...
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa, now!” John came barreling down the sidewalk toward them, palms out and a nervous laugh in his voice. Trying to defuse the situation, of course. “Come on Mr.— Al? Al-fucking-Steelhammer? ”
    Alfred had stopped up short too. Robin stood between the pair of them, looking back and forth in bewilderment.
    “Johnson?” Alfred-or-maybe-Al said, screwing up his eyes to peer at John. “My God, it is you. I haven’t seen you in—since—wow, you’ve been working out.”
    John flexed his biceps, gave it a kiss and then the two men fell into embrace, clapping each other on the back. “Didn’t recognize you without the chaps and chest harness and the rest of it,” he said, making Al laugh in between the wheezing.
    “I didn’t recognize you without women crawling around at your feet. Oh! Unless—” Extricating himself from the hug, he gave Robin a mischievous, wondering look. She bristled.
    John raised his eyebrows and sucked in a breath. “No, no, no. She’s a colleague of mine at the university. Strictly professional.”
    “Right. Saylor, was it?”
    Robin forced herself to be diplomatic. As strange as this encounter was going, she still had an important acquisition to make. “Yes, sir. Saylor University, like I said. Do you two mind explaining what’s going on, here?”
    Al looked to John for guidance.
    “Oh, um,” John said. “Well, Al— Alfred —and I know each other. From the scene. He’s a veteran—”
    “Leather Daddy, I believe they call me,” Al said with a wink, and took Robin’s hand in both his own. The man had done a complete one-eighty since John had stepped in. “If Johnson says you’re all right, I’ll think about getting another appraisal. The first one was a piece of shit.”
    “In my professional opinion,” said Robin, squeezing his hand, “that about sums it up. It was insulting. But I can assure you I’m not here to