CHAPTER FOURTEEN“Well, ah, it isn’t quite that simple,” Hobart Lindsey managed. “There are a lot of details to be, uh...could I come in and sit down, Mr. Winston? Before we get into this. There are several things that we need to discuss.”
But inside, Lindsey was quivering. Whether he ever found Terry Patterson’s list of consignors was still an open question. But find the list or not, he had partially circumvented the problem—he knew that he had walked in on the first of the consignors, sitting in a wheelchair in a seedy motel room in Santa Barbara!
Winston rolled himself away from the door. “Close it behind yourself,” he said. “Pull up a seat and let’s get to it. What’s your name again?”
Lindsey told him.
“Thought that sounded familiar. Lindsey with an e, right? You any kin to Joe Lind
