Free Grave Consequences by Aimée Thurlo Page A

discuss the morning’s events while tending the front counter. There were three people looking at the for-sale inventory, so they kept their voices low.
    â€œSo this college student who’d been house sitting is going to report the burglary?” Gordon asked.
    â€œYeah. Al opened drawers and disturbed the interior enough so it’ll be obvious. And once the police show up, that neighborhood watch guy will probably be right there with a description of the van—and us.”
    â€œWhat if the man had decided to take photos? Even my neighbor’s cat has a cell phone,” Gordon commented. “You guys got lucky.”
    â€œThe glasses and cap will throw them off, hopefully. Al offered me a fake mustache but that was too weird,” Charlie confessed. “We wore gloves. No prints.”
    â€œAl going to show his take to his potential pals, right?”
    â€œYeah. If he’s really unlucky he’s trying to join the wrong crew and they’ll rat him out,” Charlie said. “There’s always the outside chance that these people didn’t kill Cordell Buck.”
    â€œOr maybe he’ll get really, really unlucky, and they’ll turn on him and steal his stuff,” Gordon teased. “How much was it worth, anyway?”
    â€œWe’d try to sell the same items here for maybe seven hundred or so total—unless that Colt is a real collector’s item. I never saw what he brought out, actually.”
    â€œHey, that provides you plausible deniability in case anyone ever knocks on your door.”
    â€œAs long as it’s a real cop I wouldn’t mind. Speaking of cops, did Nancy or Detective DuPree give you anything more on Jerry and Steve, the two shooters who got away?” Charlie asked, speaking in a whisper now. One of their potential customers, a lady in her early sixties, was walking toward them carrying a handmade teddy bear Ruth had set a value on just the other day.
    â€œNope. All I know is what you told me this morning before you met Al,” Gordon said.
    He turned toward the woman and gave her a big smile as she placed the fuzzy guy wearing a western hat and blue bandana on the counter. “Looks like Cowboy Teddy found a home,” Gordon said.
    Nd u an grdn 2 hv my bk 2nt at pnyn msa stkhows @9. Stay clr f psble. Mtn w/crw. Cnt use reg bkup r cl. Al.
    Charlie looked at the text message again, thought maybe he really did understand it, then answered with “K. Chk.”
    â€œGordon, how are you at reading text message gibberish? I just got something from Al,” Charlie asked, looking over at his pal, who was locking the front entrance. Jake and Ruth had left at six fifteen, and they were closed for the day.
    â€œI was pretty good at Army-speak, and Naomi sometimes texts me while she’s waiting for a flight. Let’s see.” He walked over to the counter where Charlie was standing, cash box in hand, and Charlie handed him the phone. He’d met Naomi Buchanan once before. She was a flight attendant for Southwest and went out with Gordon whenever she had a layover in Albuquerque.
    â€œLet’s see,” Gordon said. “‘Need you and garden to have my back tonight at Pi ñ on Mesa Stickhouse. At nine. Stay clear if possible. Meeting with crew. Can’t use regular backup or call. Al.’ How’s that?”
    â€œGarden is Gordon, wiseass, and stickhouse has got to be steakhouse. Let me look it up.” Charlie took the phone back. “Yeah, it’s a restaurant off Central Avenue, near Old Town.”
    â€œGuess Al’s already made contact with the crew he’s trying to infiltrate,” Gordon said.
    â€œAnd he can’t talk at the moment, which means he’s with them.”
    â€œSuppose he texted you from the can?”
    â€œThanks for the image. But yeah, that’s about the only time someone undercover is able to communicate with the outside unless they’re wired.