Free Dead Eye (A Tiger's Eye Mystery Book 1) by Alyssa Day Page B

metal detector and a fierce work ethic. She’d worked out a payment plan with Jeremiah for the metal detector a little over a year ago, when Melody had come in to pawn some jewelry. Shelley had solemnly handed over a dollar a week, until the twenty-five dollars had been paid in full. When Jeremiah had tried to let her off early, telling her she was free and clear, she’d shaken her serious little head.
    “ No, sir. I still have two dollars to go. I keep track of it in my notebook .”
    She’d used the money she’d earned from selling coins, and the occasional other bits and baubles she found, to help out her mom. On a good month, she’d earn at least a hundred dollars. Our deal was always that we paid her twenty dollars per coin upfront, and then we researched the coins by sending them to our expert at the historical society, rather than trying to guess at their value. The next time we saw her, we gave her whichever was highest, the coin’s value as an antique coin, or the value of the gold in it, less a smaller-than-usual percentage for the costs of resale. There’s always been rumors of pirates who hid out in the swamps around Dead End back in the 1700s, and the rumors must have some truth to them, because Shelley kept finding coins.
    Once she’d lucked into a coin that had been rare enough that the historian had raved about it in his online forums. Collectors had burned up our phone lines, and the profit from that one coin had bought Shelley’s mom a five-year-old Ford Taurus to drive to work and Shelley the latest American Girl doll, complete with full wardrobe and a tiny, carved bed. She’d shown me pictures of the whole collection, each item carefully circled in the shiny doll catalog, the next time Melody brought her in to sell a coin.
    “How is Elizabeth?” I asked her, remembering the doll’s name.
    A frown creased her face. “She misses my mom,” she said, barely whispering.
    I wanted to hug her again, but the stiffness in her posture warned me not to do it. I’d been where she was now, and sometimes unasked-for hugs had made me want to scream or cry, because sympathy was the worst.
    It was hard to be strong when adults were raining “poor baby” all over you.
    “Well, let’s take a look at these coins,” I said briskly, while the last of the GYST folks chattered and waved their way out the door.
    I examined them carefully, to be sure they were gold, and then nodded. “Looks good. Our usual deal?”
    Every time I asked, and every time she agreed, but it was part of our ritual. I counted out two tens, two fives, and ten ones and handed it over, and wrote her a receipt. She signed it with careful block letters MICHELLE ANNE ADLER —always her full name—and I handed over her copy.
    “Okay, I’ll send these off to Dr. Parrish, and we’ll settle up next time you—”
    Walt Kowalski slammed one meaty fist down on the counter, making me flinch, and pointed a finger at my face with his other hand. “What the hell is that? You cheat little girls now, Callahan? You know those coins are worth more than that.”
    Shelley cowered away from him, and I wanted to punch him right in his stupid, belligerent face. Walt had thick lips, an over-sized balding head, and no neck. His brother Hank was a marginally better-looking version of Walt, and it was rare to see one without the other, so I expected Hank to come charging in the shop any minute.
    “I’m going to get my gun,” Eleanor announced, and disappeared into the back.
    “No guns,” I shouted, feeling like I was rapidly losing control of my shop, my life, and everything else.
    “And you! You get your finger out of my face, Walt Kowalski,” I said fiercely. “Or do you have a burning need to find out just exactly how you’re going to die?”
    I’d never threatened anyone with my gift before, but if ever there’d been a reason to do it, now seemed like the time. I acted like I was reaching to touch his hand, which I knew neither one of us