Vultures at Twilight by Charles Atkins

continued, ‘I was thinking more like one fifty, without the painting.’
    â€˜I’ll go halfway,’ he countered. ‘One and a quarter, but that’s it, especially with the economy being what it is.’
    â€˜That’s close to what I was thinking, so yes,’ Ada agreed.
    After they hung up, Tolliver removed all three of her messages. It made the pile less bulky and he felt a small sense of accomplishment. As he flipped through the others, there was one among the dozen that caused his gut to churn. ‘ We had been having problems, ’ he had told the intense detective, unable to tell her more.
    He reread the message:
    Â 
    To: Mr Jacobs
    From: D. Preston
    Re: What we discussed.
    He hated everything the message implied; all it meant, all of the changes that had crept into the business, a rot that he’d allowed to happen. He knew that he would have to get back to her; he was in too deep, both he and Philip; is that why this happened? Unable to think of any reason why someone would hurt his beautiful Philip.
    Was it this? Over the last few years, the playing field of local dealers had changed. Strange affiliations and tacit agreements had sprung up creating questionable alliances as everyone jockeyed for shrinking inventory.
    Yes, he thought – picturing Detective Perez – we were having problems. And motivated more by fear, than by anything else, he called Delia Preston.

TEN
    I waited in Ada’s front hall as she and Aaron got ready. Pretending to fix my face in the mirror – hair twisted up into its habitual bun, a bit of lipstick – I glanced into the living room, hunting for traces of Ada’s face in her grandson’s. His black and blue made that difficult, and I had the good sense not to ask questions. I also knew that Ada would fill me in on the details later.
    It felt good to see her focused on something other than Evie’s estate or her mother’s proposed move to Nillewaug. She fussed over Aaron, trying to get him to put on a garish knit cap and scarf she’d made.
    â€˜Are you ready?’ I asked, buttoning my chocolate brown leather coat.
    â€˜I am,’ said Aaron as he joined me hatless in the hall. ‘I’m not wearing this,’ he said, stuffing the red, green and orange stocking cap into the pocket of his navy blazer.
    â€˜It’s a little loud,’ I agreed, ‘but remember, there are few people in this world who will ever love you enough to actually knit you something.’
    â€˜I know,’ he said, his voice low, ‘but next time see if you can’t get her to pick better colors. Black is good. And ditch the pompoms.’
    â€˜I’ll see what I can do,’ wondering why he thought I’d have input into yarn selection. We watched as Ada made the circuit of her condo, turning out lights and checking to make sure her electric teakettle and shredder were unplugged. I’d seen her do this so many times, it seemed dance-like, and bordered on obsessive.
    â€˜I know I’m forgetting something,’ she said. ‘You sure you wouldn’t rather I fix something?’
    Aaron shot me a glance, which let me know he had few illusions about his grandmother’s culinary skills. Ada had many talents, cooking was not among them.
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘We’re going. My treat.’
    â€˜If you insist.’ She joined us at the door. ‘And don’t you look nice,’ she commented and proceeded to pinch her grandson’s cheek. ‘What did you do with that hat? It’s Merino wool; I made it myself.’
    â€˜Grandma,’ he complained.
    â€˜Sorry, but it’s nice to see you in something other than jeans and a tee shirt.’
    â€˜You said I couldn’t wear them to the restaurant.’
    â€˜True, and you look very handsome,’ she said, taking in his blazer, chinos and button-down light blue oxford-cloth shirt.
    On the way to my car, Ada stopped