the Victorian. “Not that you asked for my advice. However, it’s free. Renovating isn’t worth your time and money. Our housing market stinks. It wasn’t great when I moved here a little over a year ago. I shouldn’t have bought, and wish I’d rented instead. Only I needed to prove to... Oh, never mind,” he muttered, drawing her attention to the contents in the trunk.
Annie’s brain skipped from his question to his comment about the house and on to his abruptly cut-off revelation that might have revealed something personal. “Oh, that is Gran’s silver,” she exclaimed, letting his comment go. “I recognize the chest. But maybe we should check inside to be sure.”
Sky raised the lid and the broker’s guarantee lay on top of the first tray. It verified that the contents were sterling, the maker Reed and Barton and the pattern La Perle. “You nailed it,” Sky said, handing the guarantee to Annie. “Pawn shop owners have to know a lot about all kinds of merchandise, or they’d lose their shirts lending money to people they hope will come back to reclaim their goods, but rarely do.”
“I hadn’t thought about that. Isn’t it against the law to deal in stolen property?”
“If they have reason to suspect it’s stolen. Certain pawnbrokers have a backroom fencing operation, so to speak. This guy volunteered information about the silver, which I didn’t have on my list, so I figure he’s on the up-and-up.”
“Oh, then I’m sorry he got taken.” Annie lifted the chest out of the deep trunk of the aging Ford Crown Vic.
“Here, let me get that for you,” Sky said. “I’ll carry it to the house.”
“That’s okay. It isn’t that heavy and you have two TVs to deliver. George Gilroy has a bad back, and Mike Spurlock’s at work. I’m not sure if Missy is pregnant. Something she said the other evening made me think she might be. She broke down after the vandalism debacle and cried about the thought of raising children in this neighborhood.”
“Huh,” Sky snorted. “I’m an authority when it comes to that concern. My ex-wife’s attorney drives it home every time they haul me into court hoping to derail my bid for joint custody.”
“You have children?” Annie asked as he hefted the larger of the two TVs and slammed the trunk lid shut with more force than necessary.
“One,” Sky answered. “Zachary’s five.”
Annie saw his jaw tense. She recognized his not-quite-checked anger. She’d seen similar reactions on numerous occasions during her work with broken families. She didn’t know this cop well enough to sympathize, however. Besides, she was trained to remain neutral. “Just before you showed up, I was thinking of taking a break to have a glass of cold lemonade,” she said lightly. “If you can spare a few minutes to join me on the porch after you deliver those TVs, there’s something I’d like to run by you—in your official capacity.”
For a split second Skylar felt uneasy. But then, after glancing at his watch, he gave a brief nod.
Annie left to climb her porch steps. At the door she turned and called out, “Hey, thanks for getting back as much stuff as you did. I doubted you’d make the effort. My apologies for misjudging you, Cordova.”
Sky nodded again, this time looking away. He hoped her apology was sincere. But if he went by past experience, it was entirely possible that she was trying to butter him up for some other reason. Not exactly an unfamiliar experience for him, since manipulation was a habit of his ex-wife’s, he thought irritably as he rapped on the Gilroys’ front door.
It took Sky twenty minutes or more to return the TVs and break away from the Gilroys’ and Missy Spurlock’s vociferous thanks. Almost wishing he’d turned down Annie Emerson’s invitation for a cold drink, he checked in with Koot, hoping for a minor crisis that would give him an excuse to leave. As bad luck would have it, the lieutenant said all was quiet in the precinct.
Returning his cell phone to its holder on a leather work belt weighed down with a nightstick, a stun gun, handcuffs and a Glock, Sky trudged up Annie’s steps. He saw several changes on the porch since his last visit. An old glider swing sported new cushions, as did four wicker chairs clustered around a glass-topped table. A pitcher filled with frosty lemonade sat there, along with two glasses. A shiny silver laptop rested on a sheet of paper Sky recognized as a plat map of Briar Run.
“How did the hoodlums miss stealing your laptop?” he asked, gesturing at it as Annie passed him a glass of lemonade.
“I had it in my rental car. I shouldn’t admit this to an officer of the law, but I caught up on work email at stoplights between here and the funeral home.” She gave him a wry smile.
Sky couldn’t help laughing as he took a seat. She was a contradiction—a warm, everyday homebody mixed with a sometimes tough, cool professional. It unsettled him that he might not be so anxious to see her leave town. “I guess you’re trying to calculate the worth of this house,” he said after a long swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pointed to the map. “Since you probably want to get back to L.A. quickly, my recommendation, as I said earlier, is to sell all the contents in one giant estate sale, and put the empty house in the hands of a reputable Realtor.”
“I, uh, phoned my supervisor in L.A. and tendered my resignation. I sublet my condo to a coworker who’s going to ship my clothing and personal items like photo albums, CDs, books...and a special quilt Gran made... Oh, you don’t care about that.”
Sky straightened. “Pardon me for calling you a bit foolish, but the job market here is one of the most depressed in the nation. Plus, I would’ve thought a break-in might have convinced you about the sorry state of this town’s general safety.”
Annie tapped the map with a forefinger. “Don’t you think it can be safe again? Do you know Briar Run was built before urban planning became a viable field? But it’s laid out beautifully in a series of spokes around the town center. It was probably designed as a bedroom community for Louisville to accommodate the growth that was expected because of the Kentucky Derby.”
“A bad calculation, since it was based on a once-a-year horse race,” Sky muttered. “Thoroughbred horse owners, the folks with money, live on high-value real estate situated well outside the city. Not only is horse racing a sport that relies on transient labor, anyplace with big-dollar betting attracts criminals.”
“You are cynical,” Annie said. “I wish you’d seen this neighborhood the way I remember it, the way it was when I was growing up here. People took pride in their homes and yards, and they derived joy from socializing with neighbors.” She moved the pitcher of lemonade and traced an area on the map. “There used to be manufacturing along our section of the Ohio River. Gran Ida worked for most of her life at one of the major lingerie-makers in the South. The owners sold the plant to a glove factory, which retooled and produced cotton and leather work gloves for export.”
“And now they’re gone,” Sky said quietly.
“I know, but the building isn’t. And a good-sized city park is a buffer between it and a residential area. South of the park are elementary, middle and high schools. When I was a kid, we all walked to school with friends. Briar Run was a great family town.”
“Manufacturing here is defunct.” Sky shrugged. “The park you remember so fondly has become a haven for drug pushers prowling for kids whose parents can’t afford to drive them to school. I recommend you take another look at it—but in daylight. My force is too small to patrol everywhere 24/7. I figured your neighbors might’ve
