CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
It had taken almost three weeks, but finally someone at Atstair answered their phone, and Blake immediately picked up a reluctance on the part of the guy at the other end. Blake hadn’t revealed his identity, instead he concocted a story about the attic door at his address in Devonport and how impressed he was with the workmanship and a whole lot of other BS. “Do you know the house I’m referring to?” he inquired. “I think so,” came the hesitant response, “Devonport you say?” “That’s right. Royal Parade.” “Um, I just need to check my records, can you hold for a bit?” “Sure.” Not much of a way to run a business, maybe he was talking to the guy who cleaned after hours or something because he certainly didn’t seem to know much about the doors. Or perhaps that was simply a ploy. Act dumb a
- Writer
