At Wick's End - Tim Myers [52]
“I’ve never really been able to afford it,” I admitted. “At least not on the scale we’re talking about here.”
“Well, you’re a man of money now. This building’s got to be worth a mint, sitting on the river like it is. Belle must have been slipping to rent a spot to me.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“I’m not exactly what you’d call a typical tenant, don’t you think I know that? My hours are odd, to say the least, and I’ve got my fingers in a dozen different pies at any one time. What I do isn’t exactly something that I could put in a brochure, either.”
“You’re in salvaging and recovery, you said. That must be exciting, but what exactly does it mean? Do you spend a lot of time diving?”
“There are more things in this world to be salvaged than shipwrecks, though I’ve gone after more than a couple of those in my day.”
I glanced toward the room’s only closet and saw a safe partially through the open door.
Markum followed my glance and nudged the door closed with his foot. “You can’t be too careful, this day and age.”
The ringing of the telephone interrupted him, and he said, “Excuse me, I’ve got to take this call. I’ve been waiting for it all day and half the night.”
He took the portable phone out of his office into the hallway, pacing as he spoke. Markum’s voice was animated; there was no doubt about that. I could well imagine it echoing off the empty hallways if his door happened to be open.
While he was gone, I stood and flipped around an open notebook on his desktop.
I don’t know what I was hoping to find; a full confession maybe, or better yet, plans to knock off another jewelry store.
Instead, I found numbers in no apparent sequence scrawled on the pad, surrounded by doodles of girls in hula attire. If Markum ever decided to give up his salvage business, he might be able to freelance as a cartoonist.
I heard his voice grow louder and spun the notebook back to facing the chair again. The only problem was that in my nervousness, I’d spun it a little too hard and it was pointed right back at me again like an accusing finger. His voice was nearly at the door when I nudged it again, this time much gentler, and it slowly slid back into place as I heard Markum say behind me, “Just do it and stop bellyaching.”
“Sorry,” he said as he took his position back behind the desk again. “I’ve got a sub that’s getting cold feet.”
“A sub?”
“Subcontractor. I can’t do everything, not and do a thorough job of it, so I hire a little extra help when I need it. That particular fellow found he doesn’t have what it takes a little too late after promising me he did.”
“So what’s going to happen to him?”
Markum smiled, reading the seriousness in my voice. “If he doesn’t play ball, I’ll deal with him in my own way. So Harrison, is this a social visit, or did you have something on your mind?”
“It’s about Belle,” I said. “I understand the two of you had a fight a few weeks ago.”
“Who’s been feeding you that crock of nonsense?”
I said, “I’d rather not say, but it did concern me.” I wasn’t about to admit that Millie had told me about it.
Markum leaned back in his chair, his head nearly touching the back wall. “Harrison, I’m an animated fellow. I like to bellow, it’s a part of my nature. The only thing I can figure is someone overheard your great-aunt and me having a lively discussion, and they mistook it for an argument. She was a fine lady, one the world will miss. I know I certainly will. We never had anything close to what I’d call an argument during the short time we knew each other.”
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“You can ask, but I won’t promise you an answer, especially if it concerns my business. There’s something you need to understand, and pass on to your little informant.
My business is just that, my business. Tell that tattletale of yours if they have a problem with me, they need to face me directly. Now what was your question?”
I took a deep breath, then said, “I was wondering if you could tell me where you were and what you were doing the night Belle died.”
Markum said steadily, “What are you up to?”
“Tell me or