Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (i can read books TXT) 📕

after your reading tonight. See you there.” Sliding her notebook into the back pocket of her jeans, Corso opened the blinds. Then she turned to me. “Rimes, you have got to reconsider letting me interview you about life as a private investigator. I think you would make a fascinating story.”

The same request that had made Phoenix eject her from my hospital room.

“I hate publicity,” I said.

23

PAUSA Art House was a storefront jazz club and wine and tapas bar on Wadsworth Street in Allentown. In addition to being an intimate music venue, it also hosted exhibits from local and national artists, staged readings of plays, book signings, and other events related to the arts. Though normally in business Thursday through Sunday, PAUSA’s owner had been approached by members of the conference organizing committee to host a special event the night before the conference opened. Tonight was the night.

Expecting her hunters to be nowhere near a summer-packed children’s museum for an unannounced visit, I dropped Drea and the team at Explore and More across Canalside from the News. Promising to return in an hour, I went to see PAUSA’s owner, Cuban-born Zulema Alvarez, whom I had met through Phoenix early in our relationship.

A petite brown-skinned woman with close-cut hair and the widest smile I had ever seen, she greeted me at the front door and led me through her establishment so I could assess it for security. The front held a few low bistro tables with chairs and a wine and beer bar with taller chairs. The back room was larger, with track lighting overhead, a piano, more tables, a counter against one wall, chairs for about forty, a speaker’s lectern, and an emergency exit with a crash bar. The corridor between them had restroom entrances and a swinging door to the compact kitchen. All the hardwood—bar, counter, floors, molding—gleamed. Paintings and photographs from the professional to the amateur covered the walls. I compared the wall art to cell phone pictures I had taken last week, noting no changes. Then we sat at a bistro table by one of the front windows. Filling the dark red wall behind Zulema were fifty or so black and white photos of musicians who had played the back room.

“The guy from the bookstore will use this table for the book signing,” Zulema said, her accent strong, “and those two for a display and his cash box.” She pointed to two tables away from the window and against the wall.

I looked at the window, noting the absence of curtains or blinds. “Let’s change how we do that. Unless you have bulletproof glass, I won’t let my protectee sign books in front of a window.”

Zulema said nothing, her open mouth and look of surprise indications she hadn’t considered such risks.

“We’ll put Will Johannes in the window with his cash box and Ms. Wingard at the table farthest away.” I did not say I was, in effect, using the bookstore owner and anyone who paid for a book as a shield. That no one wanted them dead gave them better odds than Drea. “When does he arrive?”

She looked at her thin gold wristwatch. “Half an hour.”

“We agreed he would come himself, or with one long-time staffer if he needed help. No new hires. That goes for you too. Only the four employees I did background checks on.”

“I remember. They’re the only ones who’ll be here. Once they’re inside with the book guy, the doors will be locked until you get back with Ms. Wingard.” She looked down for a moment. “You know, I read her book in Spanish. Poor woman.” She shook her head. “Esos bastardos! Quiero castrarlos.” In case I didn’t understand, she held up something invisible with her left hand and made a snipping motion with her right thumb and forefinger.

But I understood and returned her smile.

“If the bookseller uses the tables on this side of the door,” I said, “we’ll set up on the table on the other side. My people will use a wand, a handheld metal detector, on everyone who comes in. Anything that could be used as a weapon will be tagged and put into a bin for pick-up after the event. I mean things like pocket knives, box cutters, tactical pens with glass break tips. Guns are another matter. We’ll post a sign outside that says GUN FREE ZONE, POLICE ON PREMISES.” I made a mental note to bring a few sets of plasticuffs. “Anybody tries to bring in a gun, we’ll arrest him.”

“You can do that?”

“My partner is a retired cop. We can make that happen.”

She nodded. “Is everything else okay?”

“Almost everything. When I was here once before, the back door was propped open.”

“It gets hot inside.”

“Not tonight,” I said. “No matter how hot it gets.”

“No? There is a fence outside.”

“Whatever fencing you have is not enough. People can get over it and get in without too much effort. I’ll station one of my team there in case someone tries to pry the door from the outside. But we can’t have the door open.”

She sighed and nodded again. “I guess the ceiling fan will be working overtime. At least it won’t be interfering with music.”

“One final thing. Once everyone is inside, the front door must be locked.”

“But the fire codes require—”

“No,” I said. “There’s a crash bar in back. You or one of your employees can sit by the front door in case there’s an emergency. You can let people out too but no one comes back in and no one else comes in after we lock the door.”

Before I left, I handed her a notecard with Drea’s menu selection. The plan was for the speaker to eat while attendees were drinking and making their own menu choices. She would begin her reading within ten minutes of her advertised start time, seven-thirty.

I returned to Explore and More and parked outside the front door. Certain everyone was in range, I pushed a button on the power pack clipped to my belt