The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 Read Free Page A

urged with a playful
undertone.  He was definitely interested in my plans, too interested.
    “I’m doing a favor for a friend.  Why?”  There, it was out
in the open.  My defensive question couldn’t have more clearly told him to back
off.
    “Funny things, favors.  They tend to take a lot of fun out
of a vacation.”
    “Oh, I’m not on vacation,” I blurted out.
    “So you’re working?”  There it was again, the bait.
    “I’m going to help assess the value of some musical
instruments and manuscripts.”
    “In Cornwall?”  He lifted an eyebrow and looked down his
oh-so-perfect nose.
    “Yes.”
    “It’s not exactly the cultural mecca of the UK.”
    “Excuse me, but I wouldn’t let a Cornishman overhear you. 
And don’t make that face.”
    “What face?”
    “That ivy league, debutante-escort face.”
    “Oh, that face.  Sorry.”  He smiled without a trace of anger
but with a great deal of amusement.  “I just never thought of Cornwall as
anything other than pirates, wreckers and superstition.”
    “You’re a fine one to talk about superstition.”
    “Ouch.  Okay, tell me some cultural things about Cornwall.”
    Damn, here I was all set up to show my extensive knowledge
and win a distinct point in this conversation, but all I could think of was
pasties.  Pirates, wreckers and portable pies which, unfortunately, share a
name (though not a pronunciation) with body adornments seen in a striptease. 
“All I’m saying is one must be careful about making such broad assumptions. 
Take my experience for example: amongst a jumble of tatty compositions I have
discovered some quite valuable pieces of music.  You’ve got to look closer.”
    “You’re an expert...”
    “No,” I said quickly.
    “A detective?”
    “No, heavens no!  Oops, sorry, Father.”
    “Never mind.  Where were we?”
    “On a plane over the Atlantic,” I suggested.
    “I meant in the conversation.”  Father Michael sighed and
looked pointedly at his empty glass.  Perhaps he was assessing the damage the
alcohol may have done to his subtle line of questioning.
    “Ah, you were trying to find out why I was going to
Cornwall.”
    “Was I?”  He looked confused.
    “Yep.”
    “Did I find out?”
    “Nope,” I paused for a moment before continuing, “If it will
make you feel better, I will be happy to tell you why I’m going to England, but
it’s complicated and I have had way too much to drink to chart you through
those waters just now.  Let’s wait until after we eat something, and after you
tell me why you need to know so much about me.”  I looked him straight in his
sterling blue eyes and waited.
    “Fine.  Let’s wait until after we eat.”  He settled back in
his seat and closed his eyes.
     
    My seat partner was silent during our meal.  Perhaps he was
now regretting inviting me to first class, but I had no intention of returning
to the cramped confines of coach.  I weighed the possibility that telling
Father Michael anything might not be in my best interest against the feeling of
which I felt certain, even knowing him so little, that he would never harm me,
at least not directly.  Okay, it was the Gabriel Bryne fantasy.  He would never
intentionally harm anyone.  So I took a chance.
    “I’m going to Cornwall to organize a defunct music school’s
assets, instruments and music,” I started. He just sat there like a
confessional priest or what I had seen of them on TV.  “I got a free ride to
England in exchange for the work.  It’s sort of a favor with benefits.”
    “Sounds too easy.”
    “I know.  I expect I’ll be up to my neck in dust and over my
head in sorting out this and that.  I do, however, have some experience in
music and a list of experts to call upon. I have it pretty much planned out.”
    “So you have a plan.” He smiled and seemed to ease back into
his seat a bit.
    “I’m not trying to be rude but why are you so interested in
what I’m doing in