Stealing the Countess by David Housewright

violin comes first.”
    â€œSo you’re willing to reward the thieves for stealing the Stradivarius—the very thing Renée is loath to do.”
    â€œI tend to deal with the world as I find it, not as I wish it were.”
    â€œThat’s an exceedingly practical attitude.”
    â€œLook up the word in the dictionary and you’ll find my photo next to it.”
    â€œWhat kind of woman is she?”
    â€œWho? Ms. Peyroux? I spoke to her only for a few moments.”
    â€œWhat is your impression?”
    â€œButton-down, I think.”
    â€œDoes she strike you as someone who likes to have fun?”
    â€œDefine fun.”
    â€œWhat would she give up for love?”
    â€œNothing. She would want it all.”
    Heather grew quiet; her eyes focused on something on the wall that I couldn’t see.
    â€œWhy are you here, McKenzie?” she asked.
    â€œI thought the letter made it clear.”
    â€œNo, why are you here speaking to me?”
    â€œI’m looking for help.”
    â€œDo you want me to tape an announcement on the front door next to the poster promoting the city’s annual fish fry? Wanted, one used Stradivarius?”
    â€œNot that kind of help.”
    â€œWhat, then?”
    â€œHeather, why did they find the Countess Borromeo’s empty violin case on the street where you live?”
    She got that faraway look in her eyes again, although it didn’t last very long.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said.
    â€œYou must have a theory.”
    â€œWhy must I?”
    â€œHuman nature. Most people like a world that’s neat and orderly and easily explained.”
    â€œMr. McKenzie, I have no explanation as to how the violin case ended up in front of my home, and I do not care to speculate. It has nothing to do with me.”
    In the next fifteen seconds, Heather slid off the stool, patted my arm, wished me well in my endeavors, and disappeared into the kitchen of her restaurant. She didn’t offer to pick up the tab as Speegle had done at his place, but then I hadn’t expected her to.
    *   *   *
    I paid the bill, left the Hill House, and walked the two blocks to Lakeside Tavern. The music started early in Bayfield and lasted only until 11:00 P.M. I heard it through the bar’s open door from fifty yards away, a four-piece band trying hard to channel Stevie Ray Vaughan with mixed results. I stepped inside. The place was crowded mostly with younger tourists, although there were a few thirty- and forty-somethings sitting toward the back. Ellis saw me standing in the doorway and waved me to a small table that I presumed was in her section.
    â€œLong shift,” I said.
    â€œI don’t mind. If I weren’t working I’d probably be sitting at the bar. Oh, and I want to thank you. That was the best tip I’ve received all month.”
    â€œI remember what it was like to be a struggling college kid.”
    â€œWould you like another South Shore?”
    â€œSure.”
    I settled in while Ellis fetched my pale ale. From where I sat, I could watch both the stage and the front door. There was no bouncer at the door, and I noticed some of the younger customers wandering in and out while carrying their drinks, something you never see in the Cities. A man stepped across the threshold. He and I might have been the only two men in all of Bayfield County who were wearing a sports coat. In fact, except for the color of his Dockers and shirt, he was dressed just like me. I tried not to hold that against him
    He stood still while his eyes adjusted to the tavern lights. A kid brushed up against him, nearly spilling a beer on his jacket, yet he barely noticed.
    That’s because he’s looking for someone.
    The kids on the stage were finishing up another selection from the Stevie Ray Vaughan catalog. Three of them played drums, bass, and lead guitar exclusively, while the fourth alternated between guitar,