Restless Soul - Alex Archer [83]
A faint glow came from the back, and at first Annja thought it was a security light. But it flickered, as if someone was walking past it inside the shop, and she realized there was a doorway in the rear behind the sales counter, and the light was coming from a back room.
Annja didn’t hesitate; she headed down the narrow alley, tipping her head up to the rain and seeing a fat orange tabby cat resting against the screen of a secondfloor window. The police might already have been here; she’d given them the name of the place last night…or was it early this morning she’d done that? Maybe that was why it was closed; the owners were being questioned. She’d kept the business card, though, and the other cards—all tucked away in her fanny pack. She slowed at the end of the alley, out of force of habit, and took a quick peek around the corner.
The back of the shop was up against another alley, one that was wide enough to drive delivery trucks down and cut through by the back doors of other businesses. Trash cans lined the alley, several of them tipped over and spewing their contents onto the gravel. It reminded her of alleys she’d been down in New York. The smell was just as bad—smog from the city mixed with the garbage, the predominant odor being spoiled food tossed out by the restaurant, all of it picking up an even stronger scent in the rain. As she slipped around the corner, an oversize rat scurried out of her way and disappeared several yards away in a mound of wilted vegetables.
Only one vehicle was in this section of the alley, and Annja crept toward it. An older model Jeep, it was parked directly behind the antiques shop, and its tires were caked thick with mud. The top was off the Jeep, and rain pattered against the worn seats.
Annja put her ear to the back door, which was painted the same red as the front and peeling in equal amounts. She heard voices, but they were muffled by the wood and the rain, and she didn’t understand the language, though it clearly had an Asian sound. Music was playing to complicate matters, from something that had poor speakers. It was fuzzy-sounding and crackled with static.
She tested the knob. It wasn’t locked.
Annja almost didn’t go inside. The police should deal with these people—if they were involved in the smuggling. And they most definitely were involved somehow, she knew; the Jeep was evidence of that. It was no doubt one that had been in the mountains when she, Luartaro and Zakkarat had emerged from the treasure cavern. But the police might have already been here and found nothing concrete, or they might already have arrested people. However, it was equally possible that they might not have checked out this lead yet.
Annja slowly opened the door, the hinges creaking, but not loud enough to be heard over the static-laced music. She had to go inside; her curiosity had won out, coupled with a desire to see the puzzle through. She glided through the door and hugged the shadows thrown by a tall shelf. The light was in the forward part of the room, near the door to the shop. It spilled from a wrought-iron pole lamp that probably was an antique; a fluted bowl covered with a dusty film shielded the bulb, and the bowl part of it was definitely an antique. It threw a pale yellow light over a man who was scratching at something on a desk, maybe writing in a ledger. Another man, one in his sixties judging by the gray-speckled hair, stooped shoulders and overly thin frame, hovered over him. Between the men and Annja was a high countertop that had two crates and packing material on it. They looked similar to the ones that had been in the cavern, but crates were crates. She started toward the counter to get a better look, her mind touching the sword…just in case there was trouble.
And there would be trouble. Except for a few days spent in the cabin, this vacation had been nothing but trouble.
Annja didn’t see a weapon on either man, but then she