The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) by Victoria Abbott Page A

out his hand. “Harry Yerxa.”
    “Billy Bishop,” Kevin said. “Glad to meet you.” The World War One flying ace was a hero of his, but I worried that it was just a matter of time until someone recognized the name.
    “The flying ace!” Harry Yerxa said.
    “Yup. Named for him. My father was a big admirer.” Kev knew well enough, as we all did, not to elaborate too much. It’s the details that can trap us. I hoped he wasn’t going to blow our cover.
    Still, I was impressed despite myself. Although he was probably one of the world’s best improvisers, he sounded like he knew a thing or two. He may have had the neighbor fooled, but I’d kind of fallen for it too.
    While he was being his distracting best, I used my iPhone to take a couple of good shots of the Adams house from the sidewalk. It was not only heartbreakingly beautiful, it was also very photogenic. Then, leaving Harry Yerxa to fend for himself, I dashed up the path to the front door and pretended to leave a note. Actually, I was checking out the place in case I needed to have an “informal” and unauthorized visit at a later date. I was surprised to spot two separate dead bolts on the door. What a shame to see them marring that wonderful red front door. I rang the doorbell, just in case. I heard the bell echoing from the inside. I waited and then glanced around surreptitiously before peering through the small panes in the top third of the door. I couldn’t see a thing. Next I knocked loudly and long. Finally I tried peeking in the windows. I noticed that the windows were alarmed as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed a wall-mounted camera and then another tucked behind the exterior light. That’s a good trick. Amateurs disable the first camera and don’t realize that there are more. I wasn’t likely to fall for that, but I would be clearly visible on both of them. I was very glad I had the wig and hoped that my features wouldn’t be identifiable on the recording of my visit. I pulled a piece of paper and a pen from my bag and pretended to attempt to write a note. I thought I simulated the frustration of having my pen run out of ink. “Darn,” I said loudly. “My pen’s not working. Honeee!”
    I headed down the walk and interrupted Uncle Kevin and Mr. Yerxa, who were in a deep and meaningful discussion about the spectacular specimen of burning bush on the front lawn. I said, “So sorry to interrupt, but I just realized we are very late for our appointment with the lawyer. And you know what? My stupid pen ran dry so I couldn’t leave a note for the Adamses.” I smiled winningly at Mr. Yerxa. “Would you be kind enough to mention to the Adamses that we were here? Thank you so much. Must run! I’ll drop off a card later.”
    Kevin responded instantly, and within a second we were in the Kia and around the corner.

Chapter Three

    “T HAT
WAS
A good hedge. I like boxwood,” Uncle Kev said. “What’s our hurry?”
    “Crazy security there. I didn’t want to be too identifiable on the camera. So I hope he really does mention that some Realtor was here.”
    “What kind of security? Cameras?”
    “Yup. And not just one, plus double dead bolts. Not to mention connections on the windows and who knows what else. They’d even removed the foundation plantings. No one could hide there to gain access through a window.”
    “They had a murder in the neighborhood, Harry told me.”
    “A murder? In Burton?”
    “Yeah. Some guy got himself stabbed not a block from here.”
    “That’s terrible. Was it a robbery? A domestic assault?”
    Kev said, “Doesn’t look like it. Harry thinks it was some drifter. I figure more like a falling-out between gangs, but I kept my opinion to myself. The neighborhood’s spooked.”
    “I’m not surprised. So maybe that’s what the Adamses are worried about. But something tells me they also have stuff they don’t want stolen, such as a collection of first editions that includes some pristine Sayers