Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [68]
“Very good.” Sean nodded, obviously impressed.
“But that wouldn’t explain Marian, would it?”
“I can’t see how it would.”
“God, I hate this.” She covered her face with both hands as if to block out all of it.
Sean reached toward her, hesitated as if unsure of what to do next, then gently touched her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, drawing his hand back as if the gesture had been a foreign one. His face bore the expression of one who knew that something should come after I’m sorry, but didn’t know what that something was.
“So where do we go from here?” she asked, her voice like gravel, her hands dropping into her lap.
“You mean, as far as the investigation is concerned?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ll need to determine if anything was stolen from Marian’s shop. See if we can determine if robbery was the motive.” He paused before asking, “Would you be up to going through the shop, taking a look around, seeing if anything is missing?”
“I don’t know her entire inventory, but yes, of course I’ll do it. It’s the very least I can do for her. I may be able to tell you if something obvious is missing. She did have some valuable pieces in there. Paintings and old silver were special interests of hers, and she had some lovely jewelry as well. And I can probably find her shop inventory lists. Her record keeping was meticulous. We should be able to find hard copies of the lists in her desk, and I’m sure she kept copies on disk.”
“When do you think you’ll feel up to it?”
“Now. This morning. Let’s get it done,” she said, her jaw set, hardened, emotions shoved into the background. “If it will help your investigation in any way, play even a tiny part in finding her killer, then let’s do it now.”
“You sure you’re all right?” Sean’s body blocked Amanda’s entrance into the shop.
She nodded and pushed past him, then stopped near the counter and looked around.
Shadows stretched long in the pale morning light. Dust motes drifted aimlessly in the front window, and the air lay still around them, but the remains of the crime scene investigation were harsh reminders of what had happened just a little more than twenty-four hours earlier in the back room of For Old Time’s Sake.
Amanda stepped over the limp strand of police tape that snaked from the front door to the back room. She turned her back on the office, on the wooden floor with its brown stain and nightmare images.
Focus.
Amanda had been in this shop at least once every day for the past several years. She should be able to pick out empty spots on the shelves where certain pieces had stood, perhaps even recall what was missing. Focus on that, she reminded herself. On helping Marian. Forget about how she looked the last time you saw her, there on the floor . . .
“Anything seem out of place?” Sean watched her carefully from the front of the shop. At the first sign that she might begin to crack, he was prepared to take her right out the front door. He’d carry her if he had to. She’d been through so much, and she was trying so hard to keep on going.
“Nothing . . . no.” She shook her head, her eyes moving shelf to shelf, cabinet to cabinet. “Nothing so far . . .”
She walked the perimeter of the shop, carefully noting the placement of furniture and artwork, shaking her head. “As I told you earlier, I wasn’t familiar with all of Marian’s stock. I don’t see anything obviously out of place, but . . .”
She paused near the counter. “She did buy some Russian antiques earlier in the week. I don’t see any of them here. She mentioned she had potential buyers, though, so she could have mailed them out before . . . before yesterday.” She looked over her shoulder. “Maybe in the office . . .”
“I’ll go in.” Sean walked toward the back of the shop. “You just tell me what I’m looking for.”
Amanda described the items for Sean.
“There’s something here all packed up for the post,” he called from the office a moment later. “It was under the desk. And here are a couple of receipts from one of those express delivery services. Picked up some stuff on Wednesday afternoon, it looks like.” He brought the