“The lights were on, the window gates drawn back. But I couldn't see anyone inside. The door was locked, and there was a button to push for entry. I pushed it, and after a moment a woman appeared at the rear of the shop and squinted at me, holding her hand to her brow as an eyeshade. She gave a little shrug, as if it didn't matter whether I was a customer or a holdup man, and buzzed me in. Her stock ran to small rural landscapes in elaborately gilded frames, French bronzes, mostly of animals, Ro...yal Doulton figurines, Art Deco lamps. One shelf of an etagere was given over to cameos. She was a dumpling, her hair an unconvincing red, her cheeks heavily rouged, her billowy print dress flowing. Her smile was guarded, and something about her stance suggested she was keeping close to whatever device she could use to summon help. I said I had a few questions about what had happened upstairs. She said, "You're a cop?" and her face relaxed for a moment, then tightened. "You're not a cop," she said, with such certainty she had me convinced.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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