Free A Thousand Tombs by Molly Greene

the distinct impression she was not impressed.
    Then Carla looked at Mack and gave him a lazy smile. “Providence,” she replied. Her eyes swung back to Gen and they lost their glitter and went hard again. “And you?”
    “An interest in learning the truth. You should try it sometime.”
    Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. “You would be better off staying far away from Vitelli and his troubles,” she replied.
    “Is that a threat, Miss Salvatore?”
    Carla opened her mouth to reply, but Mack cut her off. “Hey, it was a pleasure to meet you, Carla. Genny, you ready to go? Climb in, let’s take a drive. I’ll bring you back to your car later. I think we should go grab some lunch.”
    Gen complied without a word. As they drove away, she looked in the side mirror and saw Carla standing in the center of the street, where she stayed until they turned the corner and her figure was lost from view.
    “Did you make a new friend?” Gen asked.
    Mack turned his head and looked at her, then back at the road.
    He didn’t answer.

Chapter Ten
     
     
    The pawn shop was right where Luca said it would be, just off Grant on a side street that was close enough to the main drag to draw traffic. It was a relatively un-remodeled area, meaning the building showed its age.
    A battered sign announcing the store was open hung in the dingy glass door. The striped awning over the entry was ripped, and the goods in the window display looked as if they hadn’t been dusted for weeks. From the outside, it appeared business was a bust.
    But looks can be deceiving.
    As soon as she walked in, her first impression dissipated like smoke in a magic act. Three customers were hunched over locked cases, perusing the merchandise. A fourth pushed a gold wedding band across the counter and waited as an employee examined it carefully with a jeweler’s loupe. Chances were good he was the appraiser.
    A middle-aged man stood apart, watching over it all. Gen figured him for the owner. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet like a fighter, as if he was keyed up and nervous as hell. He seemed to be trying to look at ease, just busy supervising his minion, but the up-and-down motion was an odd behavior for a man Gen imagined must tip the scales at close to two hundred pounds.
    His hair was nearly gone, aside from a Friar Tuck fringe around the sides and back and a single tuft that sprouted from the middle of his skull. He wore reading glasses on a chain around his neck, and as he bounced, the glasses did a jig on the burgundy sweater vest stretched tight across his midriff. The patch of hair on his forehead followed suit, waving like a sea anemone in the current.
    Another day she might have found it humorous. Gen tried not to stare, and, lucky for her, the movement ceased as she approached.
    “What can I help you with today?” he asked.
    “My name is Gen Delacourt,” she replied. “Are you the owner?”
    “Ralph Zuccaro, at your service.”
    “Mr. Zuccaro, I ah–”
    “Excuse me for a moment.” One of the customers had raised a hand. Gen nodded, then turned her attention to a nearby display of earrings on a wheeled case on the counter. It was stocked with every imaginable design and stone, including diamonds and amethysts and citrine. They all sparkled a welcome.
    Gen was mesmerized by a pair with delicate dangling gold chains that ended in a spray of dark red rubies. She assumed they were rubies, anyway. Not that she’d know the difference between red glass and the real thing.
    The appraiser gave the ring back to the waiting customer and stood, then sauntered over and leaned his elbows on the countertop. “They’re lovely,” he said. Something about his tone made Gen look up. He was tall and languid-looking and focused on the earrings she held.
    “Yes,” Gen replied. “I’m not much of a jewelry person, but my sister would love these. Ruby is her favorite color.”
    “Not shopping for yourself?” he asked. “What a shame. I can see you wearing