A Finder's Fee by Jim Lavene, Joyce Page B

straightened my shoulders and went into the main area. I plastered a big smile on my face, sure this was the best thing to do.

Chapter 7

    “H ello, Dae.”
    Dillon Guthrie was no doubt a bad man, but he looked more like a comic book superhero with his thick dark hair and square jaw. His icy blue eyes swept over the shop. Maybe he was making sure we were alone.
    “Mr. Guthrie. Thanks for coming.” I admitted to being a little scared of him. He’d never done anything to me personally, but I had it on good faith that he was a killer, smuggler and thief.
    “Why so formal?” He removed his gray wool coat and tossed it to the nervous-looking young man who closed the shop door then ran to catch the coat. “I thought we were through the courtship phase. You know me. I know you. Call me Dillon.”
    I thought of him that way, when he wasn’t around. Face-to-face was a different story.
    He sat on one of the wood chairs near the burgundy sofa. His suit and shoes might have been worth more than everything in the shop—except the bells.
    “I got your email. What can I do for you?”
    “I wanted to discuss some business with you. And there’s the little thing about my giant face on the water tower.”
    He smiled at me like a shark might smile at its prey before swallowing it. “What’s the problem? You don’t like the artwork? I think they did a good job capturing your likeness. Think it’s too small?”
    “You’ve been financing my mayoral campaign ads, haven’t you? I need you to stop. I don’t think it’s legal.”
    “Legal?” He laughed. “Of course it’s legal. I’m your Super PAC. Anybody can pay for someone else’s campaign now. You have nothing to worry about. Not that you didn’t take care of it yourself. Getting your opponent framed for murder was brilliant.”
    “I didn’t know the race car was down there. I was looking for something else.”
    “Well, it was fortuitous then, wasn’t it? Looking for treasure? Did you find something? Is that part of the business aspect of this conversation?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” I didn’t plan to let the conversation get away from my problem with him. “I appreciate that you were trying to help me with the election, but I can’t accept it.”
    “Okay. I get your point. When I offered you cash for what you needed last year, you turned me down. I’m your friend. I didn’t want to see you lose.”
    “I can take care of it myself, thanks.” I watched as he signaled the thin young man, who brought him a bottle of water.
    “What else can I do for you?” He took a swallow of water and smiled at me. “Have you found the third bell?”
    This was the part I hated most. “I need to raise some capital. It’s a lot for me—not something I can take out of the cash register.”
    I told him about Kevin being fined and that I wanted to return the money to him. “What I’m proposing is selling you my bell from the St. Augustine monks. Of course, you can take yours with you too.”
    He whistled. “For five thousand dollars? You and I both know that’s a steal. You must really love Brickman. What is it about him? Maybe the law enforcement connection—like your grandfather?”
    That brought my chin up. I needed his help financially. I didn’t need him to tell me who I should and shouldn’t see. “That doesn’t matter. My personal life is personal. Will you help me or not?”
    “I would rather spray-paint the
Mona Lisa
than take those bells away from you. You convinced me that the third one is coming your way. I’m not buying your bell, or taking mine. What I can do is loan you five thousand on account. You can pay me back when you’re ready or when we get the third bell.”
    I thought about his proposal. I probably shouldn’t have, but I shouldn’t have been there trying to sell the bell to him in the first place. I was holding his property. It was worth a lot more than five thousand dollars. Maybe it would be okay this once to take advantage of