Free Muller, Marcia, [McCone 01] Edwin of the Iron Shoes(v1, shtml)

card in case I had further questions and reminding me to get in touch when I had located Joan's records.
    I said I would, and we shook hands solemnly. Then I followed him to the door to say good-bye. Behind him, parked at the curb, was a black vehicle that practically shouted "unmarked police car." And as van Osten walked off, Lt. Marcus got out and came toward me.

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CHAPTER 11
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    I stood in the doorway of the shop, watching Greg Marcus cross the sidewalk. His usual sarcastic expression was in place by the time he got to the door: the familiar mocking quirk of the mouth, one dark-blond eyebrow raised.
    "I see you're hard at work," he said. "Who's your friend?" He gestured down the street after van Osten.
    "An antique dealer. He's been giving me pointers." I turned and went inside. Marcus followed.
    "How're you getting along anyway?" he asked, draping his damp raincoat over the back of a chair.
    "As well as can be expected. Please don't leave your coat there. It's Early American, and the water will spoil the finish." Much as I didn't give a damn about the antiques per se, Marcus's carelessness irritated me.
    He looked at me in exaggerated surprise, then picked up the coat, ostentatiously wiping a few drops of water from the chair. "Jesus, we wouldn't want to damage one of these valuable antiques, would we?"
    "Not that particular one. It's genuine, and there are very few other things of any real value in this shop." I turned away from him toward the stool by the cash register.
    Marcus's voice came over my shoulder. "Yes, papoose, I can see you're learning a lot. It's a pity it hasn't improved your temper—or your appearance, for that matter. You look like you could use a bath."
    I whirled around. "What's this 'papoose' bit?"
    "That's what they call little Indians, isn't it? Or would you rather I called you 'squaw'?"
    I was shaking with anger, but I kept my voice level. "You have no business calling me either. I don't have to listen to your comments on my ancestry or on the way I look. I can imagine you wouldn't look so great yourself if you'd spent the night on that couch."
    He glanced at Clothilde's settee, then sat down. Unlike van Osten, he gave the dressmaker's form an uncomfortable look and edged away from her.
    "You're right. I'd look like hell if I'd slept on this." He took out a cigarette, lit it, and stuck the match in a pewter bowl.
    I snatched the bowl out of his reach and, with a gesture that mimicked his wiping the chair, transferred the match to a utilitarian glass ashtray.
    Marcus watched me with narrowed eyes. "Sorry," he said. "I should have known that was valuable too, but I'm not the expert you are."
    "It doesn't take expertise to see it's not an ashtray." I went over and perched on the stool. When I looked at him again, Marcus was staring at me with a peculiar expression.
    "You spent the night here?" he asked. "In this room, where the body was found?"
    At least he had stopped baiting me, for the moment. "I was working late, and it seemed silly to go home."
    "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head.
    His reaction almost made my panic and restless dreams worthwhile. "Well, the body was gone, wasn't it? Besides, a couple of interesting things happened."
    "Oh?" He leaned forward on the settee.
    "Someone broke in here early this morning. I chased him and we scuffled, but he got away. Right after that, someone smashed the front windows of Charlie Cornish's shop."
    "I noticed he had them boarded up." Marcus looked thoughtful. "Did you get a good look at the person who broke in?"
    "No."
    "How long between the break-in and the smashed windows?"
    "Maybe five minutes."
    "See anyone then?"
    "I had an impression, size and shape."
    "What kind of impression?"
    "Short to medium height. Stocky. Like the man who broke in here."
    He snorted. "Like about a third of the men in this city."
    "I didn't say I could describe him. What's important is he may have tried to decoy me away from the shop by