Stealing the Countess by David Housewright Read Free Book Online Page A

ambitious, aren’t you, son?”
    â€œCould be. But listen—if you can’t be bothered…”
    â€œC’mon now.”
    â€œI’ll talk to one of your employees. How many detectives do you have working for you now?”
    â€œSeventeen.”
    â€œTransfer me to—”
    â€œThey’re all working other cases, and you know me, as busy as I am, I always have time for an old friend.”
    â€œEspecially if the old friend is willing to pay the going rate.”
    â€œI have a pencil, I have paper.”
    I recited the names and addresses.
    â€œAre we on the clock?” Schroeder asked.
    â€œNot particularly.”
    â€œGive me a day or two.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œSo, McKenzie. Four-million-dollar Stradivarius, huh? Who’s your client?”
    â€œI’ll talk to you soon, Greg.”
    *   *   *
    Most of Bayfield was built on a hill, with the downtown area at the bottom, where it touched Lake Superior. Given its size, it was easier to walk through the town than drive, and besides, I could use the exercise. So I left the Mustang and drifted from the top of the hill, where most of the residential area was located, down toward the shoreline.
    I found over a dozen vehicles idling in two neat lines in a sprawling asphalt parking lot where Washington Avenue dead-ended. Most of them were waiting for the ferry to shuttle them across the lake to Madeline Island with its beaches, camping areas, restaurants, art galleries, studios, and craft schools.
    From there I headed east, following Front Street. I paused when I reached the gazebo overlooking Memorial Park where the Maestro had played his concert. The park was smaller than I would have guessed, with the Pier Plaza Restaurant on the right and the Bayfield Inn with its restaurant and rooftop terrace just behind it. A few thousand people squeezed into this space must have been quite a sight, standing room only.
    I crossed the park, following the sidewalk that separated the city from the marina until I reached Manypenny Avenue. Keep going straight and I would come across City Hall and Bayfield’s four-man police department, but I was determined to avoid official involvement for as long as possible. Instead, I went south along the avenue until I reached Broad Street and the gray and rose-colored home of the Bayfield Chamber of Commerce and Visitor Bureau. The high school girl behind the desk was more than happy to assist me but was confused by my request—the names and addresses of all the members of the chamber plus a map.
    â€œWhy?” she asked.
    â€œSo I don’t need to search through the police reports to find them.”
    â€œWhat police reports?”
    â€œThe ones concerning the theft of the Stradivarius last week.”
    â€œWhat has that to do with the chamber?”
    â€œThe chamber brought Paul Duclos here to play.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œThat makes them suspects.”
    That’s when the girl decided she needed help. Neither the executive director, the office manager, nor the marketing and events manager was available, but the marketing and events assistant was. Her name was Amy, and she looked as if she had graduated from college last week. She asked what I wanted, and I told her. She also asked why. Instead of messing with her, I told the truth—sorta.
    â€œI was hired by Paul Duclos to retrieve his stolen violin.” I gave her a quick glance at the letter the Maestro had given me to prove it. “I was hoping that members of the chamber could help.”
    â€œI don’t know how,” she said.
    â€œAre the names secret?”
    â€œNo. I mean, if you go to the Web site…”
    â€œAhh.”
    She printed out the list and gave me a map of the city. I thanked her and announced, “By the way, my name is McKenzie, and I’ll be here all week.” Amy had no idea what to make of that, which was okay with me, just as long as she