Greywalker - Kat Richardson [91]
“Sure.”
She pulled out an envelope and slapped it onto the desk.
“There. Take a look, then tell me what you think.”
I pulled two sheets of photocopy from the envelope. One was an insurance appraisal, which put a value of twenty-five hundred dollars on the organ. The other sheet was the receipt for the donation of an organ with a description that seemed to match the one I had from Sergeyev.
“Damn,” I snickered, staring at the letterhead on the donation receipt.
“What’s the matter?” Fabrette demanded, reaching for the sheets.
“The organ was donated to the Madison Forrest Historical House Museum, here in Seattle,” I said.
She cringed back a little. “So what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . The organ was in Seattle for twenty years, moved to Anacortes for ten, and then came right back to within three miles of where we’re sitting.”
“Does that mean you don’t want those papers?”
“Oh, no. I want them and my client wants them and you’ve been very helpful to bring them to me.” I shoved the papers into a drawer and pulled out a check I’d already prepared. I held it out to her. “That’s the payment my client authorized. I just need you to sign this receipt for me,” I added, pushing over the form and a pen.
She looked at the check, then stared at me. “That’s five hundred dollars,” she whispered. “Are you sure that’s right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Just sign the receipt, please.”
Mute, she clutched the pen and scrawled quickly on the form.
She raised her eyebrows as she handed the paper back to me. “Are you sure?”
I took it and put it in the drawer with the donation receipt. I smiled at her. “Yes, I am. Thank you for coming down here, Lenore. You’ve been a lot of help.”
She nodded, mute, and got to her feet, edging out the door as if I might turn on her and snatch the check away.
As the door clicked closed, I shook my head, swallowing pity she wouldn’t have appreciated.
An hour later, I’d put Fabrette out of my mind as I plowed through routine chores. I was down in the lower drawers looking for more fanfold paper for my printer when I heard the door. “Just a second,” I called, grabbing the paper and pulling it up with me. I knocked my skull on the bottom of the desk. I raised my head, shaking back momentary giddiness, and found a man standing just behind the client chair. I blinked at him.
He was still and cold as wax, wearing a very plain dark suit and a white shirt with a strange collar that was buttoned all the way to his throat, but no tie. He was skinny, but had a round face with broad, flat cheekbones and slightly tilted eyes in translucent skin. His hair was dark brown. He blinked back at me. His left hand fluttered up over his coat buttons and rested on his chest.
“I have startled you,” he said. His odd accent gave him away.
“Mr. Sergeyev. I didn’t know you were in town.”
“For little time, only. You make progress? Of my request?”
I sat down and waved him to the other chair.“Well, yes, I have,” I started. Some partially formed thought flashed into my brain and vanished before I could apprehend it. “I just spoke to the woman who had the information I asked you to authorize payment for,” I said, trying to shake my brains back into their normal function.
“Ah. Good.” Sergeyev sat very upright on the chair, not quite leaning forward, but stiff nonetheless. I wondered if the airline seats had hurt his back.
“I . . . ” I trailed off, thoughts slipping sideways. The day and the night before were catching up to me; my stomach was clenching and my head throbbing again. Something flickered in the corner of my vision. I turned my head a little to find it, and Sergeyev vanished. “Huh?” I grunted and turned my head back toward him.
He was frowning at me. “Something is wrong? You do not feel well.”
“It’s nothing.” I turned to my computer and tapped at the keyboard a moment, buying time, feeling unsteady.
The thin world of the Grey flooded up in cold steam as I peered sideways at my client. He was there, layered on himself like