Stealing the Countess by David Housewright Page B

at me.
    â€œI like that answer. I don’t believe it, but I like it.”
    Are you going to tell him that you stole the line from Wynton Marsalis? my inner voice asked. I didn’t think so.
    Speegle moved to a credenza that was shoved against the wall behind his desk. A bottle of Booker’s and a stack of glasses were on top of it. He filled two glasses and handed one to me without asking. I said, “Thank you,” and took a sip of the bourbon because I’m nothing if not polite.
    â€œAny progress?” Speegle asked.
    â€œI expect major developments at any moment.”
    â€œThat’s what the cops said. I didn’t believe them, either.”
    â€œGive me time, I’ve only been here seven hours.”
    â€œHave you spoken to Heather? What did the Great Lady have to say?”
    â€œI take it you don’t like her much.”
    â€œTruth is, I like her very much. Don’t tell her I said that.”
    â€œYou’ve had your ups and downs, though.”
    â€œWhat did she tell you?”
    â€œThat you’ve had your ups and downs.”
    â€œWe were born six hours apart on the same day in the same hospital, God’s truth—the same doctor and nurses delivered us. Did she tell you that?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’d think that would have created a bond between us.”
    Speegle finished his drink with one giant gulp, turned his back on me, and reached for the Booker’s. A moment later, he spun back and let me see him drink half of the bourbon he had poured into his glass.
    â€œI’ve been thinking how I can help you,” Speegle said.
    â€œI appreciate that.”
    â€œI think you should speak to Zofia McLean. She works for the chamber; handles our marketing and events.”
    â€œYou told me that already, although not her name.”
    â€œI did? Huh. Must’ve forgotten.”
    Speegle took another pull on his bourbon.
    â€œTell me about the Great Lady,” I said.
    â€œHeather…” He drew the name out as if it were a lyric to a song. “You know who you should talk to, really talk to? Herb. Herb Voight. He can tell you a thing or two.”
    â€œWas he here when the theft took place?”
    â€œNo, he wasn’t here, I don’t think. That’s cuz he was out on his goddamn boat like usual. But Herb, he sees things. He’s the nicest guy in the world, but he sees things.”
    â€œWhat does he see?”
    â€œThings. Things. They say the husband is always the last to know. That’s not true. He’s always the first to know, just the last one to admit it.”
    â€œAre you saying that Heather is cheating on him?”
    â€œI didn’t say that. I never said that. Don’t be putting words in my mouth, McKenzie. I didn’t say that about Heather.”
    â€œMy mistake.”
    â€œGoddamn right. But McKenzie. You should talk to him.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Speegle. It’s kind of you to help.” I finished the Booker’s and set the empty glass on his desk. “Thanks for the drink, too.”
    Speegle slumped in the chair behind the desk and balanced his glass on the arm.
    â€œâ€™Sokay,” he said.
    I left the office, being sure to tightly close the door behind me.
    *   *   *
    Ellis caught my arm as I was heading back to the table.
    â€œWhat I said before, about some guys talking about the Stradivarius?” she said. “One of them came back. There were three of them, and they left before the band came on. Now one of them is back, and he asked me, did I know McKenzie?”
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œI said yes but that you weren’t here.”
    â€œIs he still around?”
    Ellis turned and looked down the length of the bar.
    â€œYes,” she said.
    â€œDo you know his name?”
    â€œCurtis Shanklin. He works summers as a guide for Apostle Island Adventures outside town; gives kayak tours of the caves.