Free Greywalker by Kat Richardson Page A

picked up the phone.
    I called Ingstrom Shipwrights of Seattle.
    A very young male voice answered. "Hello? Can I help you?"
    "I'm trying to reach Ingstrom Shipwrights. This used to be their number," I said.
    "Oh, yeah, of course. The company's out of business. I'm helping out with the auctions. I think all the business records are with the family and the lawyers."
    "Actually, I'm trying to track a piece of furniture. What's this about auctions?"
    "Business and the estate, both. McCain Antiques and Auctions."
    "Estate auctions? Someone died?"
    "Yeah. The owner and his son died in a boat accident. Kind of creepy, huh? They fix boats and their boat sinks. Gives you the chills."
    "That's pretty ironic. Umm... hey, I don't want to be crass, but I need to talk to someone about the furniture."
    He hesitated. "We're pretty hectic right now... If you come down for the preview, you could ask Will or Brandon in person. That would probably work. Preview started at three and closes at seven."
    I got the address and said I'd be there. I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter to six.
    "Quinton. I have to get going. Are you almost done?"
    He hummed as he stood up and came around to my side of the desk.
    "Yep. Almost done." He poked a floppy into the computer's disk drive. "Let me just load this software."
    The machine hummed and grunted a bit, then blinked up a message. Quinton typed in a string of commands and watched it respond.
    "OK. Looks good. Should run just fine. Now, to arm the door and window circuits, you just go to your menu bar and pull down this new menu here..." He ran me through the arming and disarming routine and explained the function and parameters of the new system.
    He pointed at the underside of my desktop. "See this red LED I installed under the lip? It will flash slowly at you if something disturbs the motion detectors, like someone trying to sneak up on you. You'll get the nine-nine-nine code on your pager if any of the sensors are set off when the active system is armed. There's also a passive component to the system and a panic button. When you enter the remote panic code, or hit the button, here"—he pointed at another thing under the desk—"all hell will break loose. You can also call your computer and look at the office via that remote fiber-optic camera I installed over the door. And there's a reed switch on your safe door that will let you know if anyone has opened it. You like?"
    "Oh, yes. I like very much. What do I owe you?"
    He waved that off. "I don't have my bill printed up yet. I'll drop it off another time, OK?"
    "All right. Now I've got to run. Can I drop you off anywhere?"
    "No, thanks. I thought I'd catch a movie or something. Would you...?" He raised his eyebrows.
    I was already gathering my stuff and heading for the door. "Can't tonight, thanks. I'll see you when you drop off the bill, though."
    He hesitated, then grabbed his pack and came through the door in a rush. "No problem. You can always try the library if you need me." He shouldered his backpack and sauntered off.
    I stopped and watched him go. I just didn't get him. Sometimes he seemed like a friend I'd known for years; then he flipped right back into being a stranger. It bugged me, but not enough to keep worrying at. I had to get moving; I was going to find out what had happened to Ingstrom Shipwrights and Sergeyev's heirloom. I hoped.

Chapter Nine
    I drove up around LakeUnion and found the Ingstrom Shipwrights warehouse on the north end of the lake, east of Gas-worksPark. I had to cruise for a parking space. The small, graveled parking lot was full, and a misty rain was starting to patter harder as I circled. A generic sedan was also hunting for a parking space. I pulled into a tight spot and ran for the warehouse doors, huddling my leather jacket closer around me. I wished I'd had the foresight to wear my raincoat instead.
    I skittered into the warehouse and shook myself off like a dog. A teenage boy stared at me from his post behind