Free A Vine in the Blood by Leighton Gage Page A

fingers thick as dinner candles, but Arns’s dexterity belied his size. The file removing burrs from the metal moved back and forth, like a bow in the hand of a virtuoso.
    The chime sounded again. A woman with a haughty expression and too much makeup came in. She was carrying a miniature dachshund in her arms.
    Hector smiled at the woman. She didn’t smile back. He looked at the dachshund. The dachshund snarled. Hector tried to remember something he’d once heard about dogs resembling their owners, but it escaped him.
    Arns put the original, and the key he’d been making, into a small envelope.
    The elderly gentleman laboriously counted out the exact change.
    The woman started tapping her foot.
    “Who’s next?” Arns said when the elderly gentleman left.
    “I’m in a hurry,” the woman said inserting herself between Hector and the counter.
    “That may well be, Senhora,” Arns said, “but are you next?”
    Hector liked him for that. But he’d just as soon not have anyone else in the shop while he was questioning the locksmith.
    “Attend to the Senhora first,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
    The woman didn’t thank him, didn’t even look at him, simply slapped down a key on the glass counter.
    Arns picked it up. “How many?” he said.
    “One.”
    While Arns cut the key, the woman looked at the ceiling, the floor, and all around the little shop. Everywhere except at Arns and Hector. The dachshund, however, followed the locksmith’s every move with its bulbous eyes.
    When Arns was done, he slipped both keys into one of the little envelopes and put the envelope down on the counter. The woman extended a hand holding a banknote.
    “On the counter, Senhora,” Arns said. “Remember last time?”
    She snorted, as if he’d said something offensive, and slapped down the bill. He counted out her change and put it next to the envelope. She swept up both and made her exit, nose in the air.
    On her way out, she passed another woman, coming in.
    “You recognize her?” Arns said when the door closed again.
    “Who?” Hector said.
    “The woman who just left.”
    “No,” Hector said.
    “That was Maria Luchesi,” the newcomer said.
    Arns nodded. “The first soprano of the São Paulo Opera Company. She thought you did. Recognize her, I mean.”
    “She thinks everyone does,” the woman added.
    “The dog’s name is Gunther,” the locksmith said. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try to pet him.”
    “That’s why you asked her to put the money on the counter?”
    “That’s why. He almost got me the last time.”
    “He’s a nasty little thing,” the woman said.
    Arns went to the register, rang up the diva’s purchase and put her money in the cash drawer. Then he turned back to Hector.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Why don’t you attend to this lady first?”
    The newcomer wore a white coat. It made her look like a doctor, or maybe a lab technician. She smelled of berries and spice.
    “I’m not a customer,” she said. “I just dropped by for a chat with Samuel. You go ahead.”
    Hector would have preferred to question Arns on his own, but he could hardly tell her to leave. He bit the bullet by showing his badge.
    When she saw the flash of gold metal, the woman took in a sharp breath. Cops sometimes had that effect on people, particularly on people who enjoyed a juicy bit of gossip.
    One of those , Hector thought—and turned his back in an attempt to exclude her from the conversation.
    “Delegado Costa, Federal Police. I’m assuming you’re Samuel Arns?”
    The locksmith looked over Hector’s shoulder and exchanged a quick glance with the woman. Hector could practically feel her eyes burning into his back.
    “I am,” Arns said. “What do the Federal Police want with me?”
    “It’s our understanding you recently changed some locks for Senhora Juraci Santos. Is that right?”
    “I did, Delegado. I do it all the time. She’s a regular customer, changes locks every time she changes