“Guess I can’t blame him for that.” Ben brought the pot of coffee to refill their cups.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Haley said after she had another cup and looked more settled. “I’m happy to be yourghost connection whenever I can be of help.” She grinned. “I feel like I’m part of a secret club that protects the community.”
“You’re not far off,” Ben replied. “Thank you both.”
“We truly appreciate your help,” Erik added. They walked Haley and Alessia to the door and promised to get together for dinner sometime without haunted artifacts or dangerous ghosts.
“That went well,” Erik said as they returned to the kitchen.
“Do you think we traumatized Alessia?” Ben asked, only partly joking.
Erik shook his head. “Doubtful. She seems to have a good bit of experience dealing with the dark side. Her reaction and comments made me doubly glad we kept the window in the safe. I don’t think the cops are prepared for that.”
“I want to know what dome Randolph was talking about,” Ben said. “I got the feeling it could be really important.”
“More research,” Erik replied. He checked the time. “Susan will be here any minute. I’m going to sweep up the salt and get ready to open the store.”
“I’ll see if Randolph’s name comes up on my private investigator databases,” Ben replied. While he no longer took new clients, he had found that having access to those resources came in handy, given how their past lives had followed them. “And I’ll see if there are any reports of stolen Tiffany windows.”
Erik nodded. “It’s off-season, so I’m not expecting to be swamped with customers. Susan can handle them. I thought I’d sniff around on the discussion boards for museums and art investigators and see if there have been new windows found or thefts reported. It’s a long shot, but worth it. I might even find something about a dome.”
“Are you gonna tell Hendricks what Haley and Alessia told us?” Ben teased.
“Only if he stops being a dick.” Erik swallowed the last of his coffee. The way his throat bobbed gave Ben all kinds of X-rated thoughts, which would have to wait until later.
“He’s just doing his job,” Ben said aloud what they both knew. “He didn’t haul us into the station for a statement or try to take the window. He could have been a bigger pain.”
“I know,” Erik admitted. “Still doesn’t mean I like the attitude.”
“Think of it this way, he’s trying to save face. It’s hard to be the top dog sheriff when we bring Bratva and the Newark Mob to his doorstep.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. It could be worse,” Erik said.
“And Susan goes to bat for us behind the scenes,” Ben reminded him. “I imagine he feels ganged up on.”
“Good.” Erik poured a fresh cup of coffee. “Okay. Come get me if you need me.” He kissed Ben and headed for the store.
Ben refilled his mug and checked in with Jenny, his administrative assistant, to make sure he wasn’t needed at the office. After a quick run through email, he logged into the specialized resources available because he kept his investigator license current.
Peter Randolph was a common enough name that it took him a while to filter his search. That returned a reasonably sized list of possibilities, and Ben started working his way through them.
Television shows made private investigators look like glamorous action heroes. The truth was, they knew how to use research tools, databases, public records, and an acute insight into human behavior to cut through lies and distractions. It helped to be a stubborn bastard. The action part was Ben’s least favorite, since shootouts and fistfights were a good way to get killed.
Ben liked the challenge of research and approached it like a puzzle or a game. The first hour flew by, and he filled a sheetof paper with notes as he went from site to site. Once he had whittled down some of the possibilities, Ben intended to contact friends in the business who might have more insight. Little by little, he’d unravel the mystery.
In the background, he heard the bell on the door downstairs as it opened and closed, and knew Susan had arrived. He figured Erik would get an earful. Susan wouldn’t betray confidences from either Erik or her son, the sheriff, but she did her best to make sure the men got along and worked together.
“How’s it going?”
Erik’s voice startled Ben, and he nearly sloshed his coffee. He glanced at the time and realized most of the morning had slipped by.
“Slow progress. The way it always goes.” Ben pointed to the monitor with his pencil. “I can’t trace the stained-glass window with Randolph’s credit card, so I’m guessing he paid cash.”
“That’s pretty normal for auctions and odd lot sales,” Erik said. “Some of those places don’t even like checks.”
Ben nodded. “That’s what I figured. I looked for the notices of sales like that in the past two weeks within a hundred-mile radius of Cape May. Hell of a lot of them, but probably fewer than in high summer.”
“And?”
