Blue Smoke and Murder

60

SEPTEMBER 16

2:31 P.M.

Score picked up the phone with a snarled “Yeah?”

“It’s Amy. You better get over here quick. They’re talking paintings and fingerprints and-”

Score hung up and headed for the basement cubbyhole that was Amy’s office.

As he closed his office door behind him, his phone rang.

He didn’t even hesitate.

“It’s-” began his receptionist.

“Take a message,” he interrupted curtly.

He shut the outer door, leaving the receptionist to handle an unhappy client.

Score didn’t care. He had his own problems.

The paintings are safe. Mother of all screw-ups.

Damage control would be a bitch.