Gnome Alone by Kirsten Weiss

Author:Kirsten Weiss [Weiss, Kirsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery, amateur detective, amateur sleuth, traditional detective, whodunit, murder, killing, crime, Christmas, holidays, UFOs
Publisher: misterio press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

“Faberge.” I leaned one hip against the kitchen’s butcherblock counter. “Like the egg. Like crazy valuable.”

“I never understood why someone would buy a jeweled egg.” Arsen, still in his suit from the memorial, uncorked an oversized jug of eggnog. He jerked away, blinking, his hazel eyes reddening. Hastily, he replaced the cork. Arsen coughed. “How much is it worth?”

“I found a similar set online. Well, it's hard to tell how similar it was. I didn't get that good a look at Briony's silverware. But she said hers was pre-Russian Revolution.”

“How much?” He opened my refrigerator and set the jug inside.

“A quarter million dollars.”

Arsen straightened from his perusal of the fridge and whistled. “People have killed for less.”

“I know.” I rubbed my eyebrow. “But if Briony did kill her sister and stage that robbery, why not take the silverware then?”

“Because it would be stolen goods, and she knew she'd be able to get it from Redmond later, fair and square?”

“I'm not sure she did know Redmond would give it up so easily.” I glanced out the window. It was only four, but my automatic porch light had gone on, illuminating falling snow. “Shoot. I really wanted to talk to that snowplow driver.”

“Tank won't be plowing now,” Arsen said. “He'll wait until there's more snow. We can catch him at Antoine’s bar.”

“Is Tank his real name?”

He laughed. “Not a chance.”

*****

As Arsen had predicted, we found Tank at Antoine’s western bar. The large man sat in a corner booth and nursed a mug of beer. If Tank had a neck, it was well hidden. Sweat beaded his bald head, and a blue knit cap lay on the table beside his beer.

I checked my watch. We only had forty minutes before choir practice at Wits' End, and I hadn’t had a chance to change out of my memorial dress. This would have to be a quick interview.

We crossed the sawdust-covered floor.

“Hey, Tank,” Arsen said. “How's it going?”

“This has been my best December in two decades.” He chortled. “Usually I have to drive all the way to Bear Valley for work. This snow has cut my commute.”

Arsen grinned. “I'll bet. Mind if we join you?”

“Only if you tell me why you’re in a monkey suit.” Tank motioned to the bench opposite.

We slid into the booth, Arsen ducking to avoid the hanging, tin lamp.

Tank waved to a waitress, and she approached our table. “Hi, folks. What can I get for you?”

“I'll have a beer,” Arsen said.

“Water,” I said, and glanced again at my watch.

“I suppose you need your street plowed.” Tank hitched up his belt.

“Not yet,” I said. “Do you plow the parking lots for the shops on Main Street?”

“Yep. Except for the lot behind the old bank building. The owner likes to plow it himself.”

“What’s it like being a snowplow driver?” I asked.

Tank snorted. “People don't appreciate the challenges of snow plowing. Some nights, I'm up every hour checking on how a storm is moving.”

The juke box came to life, warbling a Patsy Cline tune.

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