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I may have been out of range of Rex Popov’s sweaty palms, but I was not out of range of his words. I’d asked Hank to explain the meaning of this unprecedented addition to the Museum of the Unexplained, but before Hank could get a word out, Rex was off and running his mouth.
It’s a common tactic of scam artists and other smarmy types to prevent you from being able to carefully consider their words by spewing out so many statements of questionable veracity at one time that it is impossible to address each one on its own merits. The typical reaction to being subjected to such a barrage of verbiage is to mentally curl up in a little ball and cover one’s ears against the onslaught.
I, however, was not inclined to simply deflect Rex’s rhetorical deluge. There was too much at stake. Hank Edwards’ professional reputation was practically nonexistent, but I was prepared to fight to preserve whatever shreds there were left of it.
When Hank presents his family of Chupacabras to the unsuspecting public as the genuine article, he actually believes it. Ditto his insistence that in the relatively recent past, Little Tombstone has been the recipient of visits by alien beings.
What’s more, Hank has never profited much by the dissemination of such tall tales. I had a feeling that Rex Popov was in another class entirely when it came to acting on the old adage that “a fool and his money are soon parted.”
“Do you ever feel there’s more you could be experiencing in life?” Rex asked me earnestly.
Of course, I did; we all do.
“Not really,” I said.
Rex ignored my refusal to play along and continued, “Do you ever feel that if you had an extra ten thousand or hundred thousand or even an extra million, what a different life you’d lead?”
That was quite a range of numbers, but I just said, “I guess I’m pretty content with my life as it is.”
“What if I told you that you have an unheard-of opportunity to have not just an extra million, but an extra two million, or possibly more?”
“I’d say you were lying to me.”
“Of course, you would,” said Rex. “I can see you’re no fool.”
I am no fool, and that was why Mr. Popov’s attempts to flatter me into submission weren’t going to work, but since I was curious to know why there was what appeared to be an ordinary metal detector spray painted metallic gold sitting on a table in the middle of a heap of discarded chandelier crystals and the kind of plastic faceted “jewels” that Morticia, our resident psychic, had glued to her Winnebago to make it more eye-catching, I didn’t push back.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the contraption sitting atop the pile of sparkling bits and pieces. Above it hung a banner proclaiming the object in question was the XQ581 and had been featured on Jimmy the Jinx’s Radio Show.”
I was not familiar with Jimmy the Jinx. My great Aunt Geraldine had left me an old radio that I’d never even turned on, but I intended to remedy my ignorance of Jimmy’s show at the first opportunity.
“It’s your ticket to fame and fortune,” said Rex, who moved closer as he spoke as if sensing that my mind was wandering. “But you must act quickly. There’s an extremely limited supply, and the XQ581 is selling like hotcakes.”
“How is the XQ581 my ticket to fame and fortune?”
“Have you ever heard of the Lost Crown Jewels of Ireland?” Rex asked.
“Oh, absolutely,” I said. “My friends and family are in constant communication regarding the Lost Crown Jewels of Ireland. Practically every get-together is dominated by talk of the elusive jewels and our fervent desire that they be found.”
As a matter of fact, I was completely unacquainted with the jewels in question, but the longer I stayed in Mr. Popov’s presence, the more contrarian I grew. I think it may have had to do with the combination of his halitosis and his overpowering cologne.
Rex was onto me, and he didn’t take kindly to being mocked, but although his eyes hardened, his oily smile stayed firmly affixed to his artificially tanned face.
“Then I’m sure you will be even better able to appreciate this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!” he said, making a sweeping gesture toward the centerpiece of the display.
“What is it?” I asked, pointing directly at the shiny contraption I imagined he was going to try and sell me on.
“It’s your best hope of a life of ease and luxury.”
That I very much doubted—although it might be Rex’s—but I needed to hurry this little presentation along so I could get upstairs and do something with my hair, clean the dirt off my face, and change into my new dress before the chicken enchiladas with green sauce I’d asked Jason to order on my behalf arrived at our table and got cold. Juanita’s enchiladas are a work of art, and it would be close to criminal to let them sit uneaten while a skin formed on the sauce.
“How much is the XQ581?” I said as I pointed to the device on display.
“Can you put a price on life-long financial security?”
I was betting Rex was going to.
“It’s half price!” Hank said. “Rex is letting us all in on the ground floor.”
“How much is half-price?”
“$437.28!” said Hank.
“For a metal detector?” I couldn’t keep the outrage from showing in my voice.
I’d later look up the going rate for metal detectors and find that a base model started at around $150. There were metal detectors that went for thousands, but I suspected this one wasn’t in that class. I had a feeling Rex had taken a $200 metal detector, ninety-seven cents worth of metallic gold spray paint, and marked it up to whatever double of $437.28 came out to be, not that it was ever not on a “limited time discount.”
“The XQ581 is much more than an ordinary metal detector,” said Rex. “It incorporates a proprietary technology capable of detecting the presence of diamonds at twenty paces.”
I’d wondered how the lost Crown Jewels of Ireland were going to come into it.
“You’re saying your contraption here can detect the Lost Crown Jewels of Ireland?”
“I am,” said Rex.
Little Tombstone is no stranger to buried treasure. Soon after I’d inherited the place, I’d uncovered overwhelming evidence that local legends regarding buried gold originally stolen from a passing stagecoach were, in fact, not legends at all.
I seriously doubted, however, that some jewel heist in Ireland had resulted in a second buried treasure in the environs of Amatista.
“Are you suggesting that the Lost Crown Jewels of Ireland are somewhere around here, just waiting to be discovered?”
“I am,” Rex repeated, and this time he handed me a photocopied “fact-sheet” featuring an impressive-looking diagram purporting to be an explanation for the proprietary diamond detecting technology. Rex told me to read this information “at my leisure,” as if allowing me ample time to consider such a costly purchase before laying down my cold, hard cash was some magnanimous dispensation on his part.
The complicated diagram featured numbers and symbols I didn’t understand, although I was pretty sure Georgia would be capable of figuring out in short order that it was all pure hogwash.
Unfortunately, I was far from at leisure to peruse the contents or consult Georgia. I pocketed the paper. With great difficulty, I suppressed the instinct to issue a terse warning to Hank not to give this man any money, mostly because I knew it would go unheeded, then sprinted upstairs to make myself presentable.