CHAPTER 6
Hoskins and Bancock reappeared to say they had a description of Portman’s BMW and were going to search for it. When the door closed behind them, Tom scraped a chair over, clasped my elbow, and spoke in a gentle voice.
“Look. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“They were your skis. I should have told you—”
“Goldy, please. There’s a lot going on here that’s out of whack.”
“No kidding.” I finally took a sip of my coffee. It was cold.
“For one thing,” Tom went on calmly, “why would Portman give you something for me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s an article discussing the rising values of collectible skis. Wouldn’t he have called the sheriff’s department directly if he’d had something to give you from work?”
He waved a hand. “We’ll know pretty soon. If this is work-related, if it h
