Free Vengeance is Blind: Three Scott Drayco Short Mysteries by BV Lawson Page A

the
naked case. How could she see anything, with the strands of soggy
dark hair plastered to her forehead covering her eyes? In his
annoyance at the whole situation, Drayco raked aside the dripping
locks on his own face and scratched his forehead in the process. He
should have seen this coming, should have checked under the
furniture beforehand. That was a rookie mistake.
    Belinda whined, “Maybe Wall Street stock
traders are accustomed to losing two million dollars in under a
minute, but I’m not. And I certainly don’t think my bosses are the
understanding sort.”
    Belinda was positively stoic compared to
Jonas, the picture of agitation in motion as he wrung his hands
together and rocked back and forth on his feet. “Oh dear Lord, a
centerpiece of the museum, just—gone. Do you know that violin
brought in thousands of tourists who came to see it? More than one
person has told me it was worth the price of admission alone.” He
glanced up at Drayco, “These exhibits become like our children as
we restore them and care for them. I don’t know what we’ll do
without the Lady.”
    Belinda scowled. “At least you won’t lose
your job over it.”
    Suddenly, the sprinklers switched off, and
the overhead fluorescents hummed back to life. Drayco said to the
pair, “I’ll take that as my cue and check the other rooms. Keep an
eye out.” He lowered his voice, using the same commanding tone that
had worked well on suspects in FBI custody. “And don’t touch
anything.”
    The Victorian room was the first he hurried
through, dodging John Singer Sargent paintings and amethyst-colored
sandwich glass. The smoke hadn’t made it this far, although the
sulfur smell followed him through the halls. He’d memorized the
building layout before the stakeout and quickly checked all access
points and even the bathrooms. The museum designers had planned for
maximum traffic flow—leaving few hiding places, much to the dismay
of small children, perhaps, but at least it made his search
easier.
    He didn’t spy any evidence of other life
forms, menacing or otherwise, save a spider in a corner of the Folk
Art room, and his damp shoe prints were the only ones he saw.
Still, Drayco was keenly aware of his lack of a gun, something
Mabie had insisted on. “Stray bullets in a museum full of expensive
artifacts are not a good thing,” he’d said. The knife in Drayco’s
Leatherman tool would have to do, if needed.
    After the initial call from Mabie, Drayco
had dug up a recording of the famous Italian artist, Nino Pattillo,
playing Fritz Kreisler’s “La Gitana” on the Lady Ambrose violin.
Like all Strads, it possessed the same famous and
impossible-to-reproduce sound, but with haunting overtones.
    Drayco wasn’t the superstitious type. But
when he’d first seen the instrument lying in its case in the
museum, he’d thought he’d heard strains of those exact overtones
echoing in the room, even though he and Mabie had been the only
ones present.
    As he made his way through the empty
corridors, he could almost hear whispers of that violin music
following him from room to room. Get a grip, Drayco . You’ve
got a multi-million dollar treasure to find. You can read all the
ghost stories you want later, if you ever get any free time again,
Mr. Freelancer.
    Drayco made a circle back to the center
hall, where Mabie had rejoined Jonas and Belinda, all three lined
up in a row and staring into the empty case, as if their
concentrated will might somehow blink the violin back into
existence. On Drayco’s return, Mabie started pacing around the
room, hands knitted behind his back. He grumbled, “I had to call
the police. The alarm system alerted the security agency,
anyway.”
    He stopped pacing long enough to flail his
arms in the air. “Oh, I can just see the headlines in the
newspapers: ‘Famous violin stolen from under museum director’s own
nose.’ First incident like this we’ve ever had, and it happened
under my watch. Our donors