Stealing the Countess by David Housewright Read Free Book Online

know.”
    *   *   *
    I don’t know why Connor named it the Peacock Chamber. There was nothing even remotely flamboyant about the room. It was, in fact, quite serene, with two bookcases filled with impressive titles, king-sized bed, armoire, desk, matching chair and love seat, stone-top table and nightstand, and gas fireplace. The step-down washroom featured a porcelain soaking tub with rain shower, subway tiles on the wall, hexagonal tiles on the floor, and built-in linen cabinets. There were large windows with a nice view of the edge of downtown Bayfield and the Madeline ferry.
    I quickly unpacked and dumped my files on top of the desk. I went through them again as I considered my next moves. The plan, of course, was simple and straightforward: Tell people who I was; tell them why I was there; wait for someone to say, “Psst, buddy, you wanna buy a hot violin?”
    What could possibly go wrong?

 
    FOUR
    There was a perfect blue sky reflecting in a calm lake, and the temperature was in the low seventies, yet I threw on a light blue sports jacket over my polo shirt and jeans because I knew it would get cool along the shore when the sun left the sky. It made me look less like a tourist, but I didn’t mind. I left the Peacock Chamber, making sure the door was locked behind me, and descended the staircase. I looked for Connor and couldn’t find him, and then I did. He was working in the garden that surrounded the Queen Anne.
    It didn’t seem as if he was coming inside anytime soon, so I went to the registration desk and opened the guest book. I very carefully transcribed the names and addresses of every guest who had stayed there in the past two weeks into a notebook that I nearly always carried. I could have gone back further, except I remembered that Bayfield had contacted Duclos only two weeks before he actually played his concert. That narrowed the amount of time an outsider would have had to plan the heist. As it was, I wrote down fifty-nine names. A quarter had stayed only one evening, the others for two nights or more. Connor had done very good business before the burglary.
    Afterward, I went to the Mustang, parked in the Queen Anne’s lot. I made myself comfortable before speaking to the onboard computer. I could have used my smartphone, of course, or even my laptop, but did I tell you—Nina bought me a new car with all the gadgets.
    â€œComputer, dial Schroeder Private Investigations,” I said.
    A few moments later, a woman answered.
    â€œI would like to speak to Greg Schroeder,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she told me. “Mr. Schroeder is unavailable. May one of our associates assist you?”
    â€œTell him that it’s McKenzie.”
    â€œI’m sorry—”
    â€œYes, I know. Tell him it’s McKenzie. I promise he’ll take my call.”
    A half minute later, I heard his voice.
    â€œDamn, McKenzie. How are you? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
    Schroeder was a trench-coat detective, one of those guys who carried his gun in a shoulder holster beneath a rumbled suit jacket and chain-smoked Marlboros. When I first met him nearly five years ago, he was just another ex-cop leading a one-man band. Now he ran one of the bigger PI agencies in town.
    â€œI need a favor,” I said.
    â€œA favor for which you will gladly pay our going rate?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œThose are my favorite kind of favors. What do you need?”
    â€œI’m going to give you a list of names and addresses. I want you to find out which one of them is most likely to steal a four-million-dollar Stradivarius.”
    â€œYou couldn’t have given the names to one of my detectives? You have to bother—wait. Four-million-dollar Stradivarius?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAre you talking about the violin that was snatched in Wisconsin the other day?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œMy, my, look at you. Getting a little