Page 19 of In Her Bed
Lynch’s expression remained neutral.“I can’t say it does.Should it?”
It was a lie.Jenna felt it with certainty.Rebecca Mitchell had specifically named Lynch as being upset about the radio sale to Derrick, describing him as angry when he learned that a “well-known crank” had purchased it.
“I think I’ll browse a bit,” Morgan announced suddenly, drawing Jenna’s attention.“Our anniversary’s coming up.Might find something here after all.”
He wandered off toward a display of copper cookware, leaving Jenna momentarily puzzled by his abrupt departure.But then she realized his strategy—Morgan was giving her space to question Lynch while he investigated the shop.
“Mr.Lynch,” she continued, “Marcus Derrick was recently found dead from an act of violence.He owned an antique ham radio set, vacuum tube technology from the 1940s.We have reason to believe he purchased it at Howard Mitchell’s estate sale.”
Lynch tapped once against the glass countertop.“I didn’t attend that sale.Too picked over by the time I got wind of it.”
It was another lie.“That’s interesting,” Jenna said, “because Rebecca Mitchell specifically mentioned you were interested in a particular radio her father owned.”
“She must be mistaken,” Lynch replied, his casual tone now sounding forced.
Jenna reached into her pocket and produced a photograph of the radio found at Derrick’s home.She placed it on the counter between them, watching Lynch’s eyes as they flicked down to the image.
“Ever seen this before?”she asked.
Lynch barely glanced at the photo.“No, never.”
His response came too quickly, without the consideration someone would give if genuinely trying to remember.Jenna noted the slight tightening around his eyes, the way his fingers had stopped their nervous movement and now pressed flat against the counter.
“That’s strange,” Jake commented from just behind Jenna’s shoulder, “because Ms.Mitchell clearly remembered you expressing interest in this exact model.Said you were quite upset when she sold it to Derrick instead.”
“I deal with hundreds of items every month,” Lynch said, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.“Maybe I expressed interest in something similar.I certainly don’t recall this specific radio, and I definitely didn’t know this Derrick person.”
“But now you’re not denying that you went to the sale?”Jake asked.
“Perhaps I did,” Lynch said with a shrug.“I don’t see why it matters.”
Colonel Spelling, who had been silently observing the exchange, stepped forward.“In my experience, Mr.Lynch, people in your profession have exceptional memories for merchandise.Especially valuable pieces.”
Lynch’s mouth twisted.“With all due respect, Colonel, my ‘profession’ is legitimate business.I buy and sell antiques and collectibles.Everything here is acquired legally.”
“Everything?”Chief Morgan’s voice carried across the shop.He was standing beside an ornate brass and silver samovar displayed on a pedestal near the window.“Even this?”
Lynch’s expression flickered with something Jenna couldn’t quite identify.Annoyance, perhaps.“That’s a nineteenth-century Russian samovar.A fine piece.Museum quality.Probably out of a police chief’s price range.”
Morgan approached the samovar, examining it with exaggerated interest.“You know, it does look familiar.”He pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then held the screen up.“In fact, it looks exactly like this one.”
Jenna moved to see the image on Morgan’s phone—a photograph of the same samovar, but sitting on a mantelpiece in what appeared to be someone’s living room.
“The Schwartz family on Maple Drive reported this stolen,” Morgan continued, his voice now carrying the unmistakable tone of a cop who’d just sprung a trap.“They provided this photo for the report.Same distinctive dent on the left handle.Same engraving on the base.”
Lynch’s face drained of color.“I had no idea it was stolen,” he said quickly.“I buy from various sources.If someone misrepresented—”
“And who did you buy it from, Harris?”Morgan cut in.
Lynch’s jaw tightened.“I’m not required to disclose my sources.”
“True,” Morgan agreed, with a satisfaction that made it clear he’d been waiting for this moment.“But it doesn’t matter, because I already know.You bought it from Mickey Guest.The same Mickey Guest I just saw leaving your shop.The same Mickey Guest who’s been fencing stolen goods for fifteen years—at least until he did some time in the joint.Maybe he’s gone back to work.”
Jenna watched the realization spread across Lynch’s face.The confident shopkeeper facade crumbled, revealing something desperate underneath.His eyes darted toward the back of the shop, and Jenna tensed, ready to move if he tried to run.
“You can’t prove that,” Lynch said, but his voice had lost its certainty.
Morgan smiled thinly.“Oh, I’m pretty sure we can.If we lean on Mickey a little, I’m sure he’ll talk.Meanwhile, as they say, ‘possession is nine tenths of the law.’”He nodded to Colonel Spelling.“Would you do the honors, Colonel?”
