Mr. Lang just shrugged at her. He looked only at Mike, and his big eyes seemed ready to melt.
“My wife asked you a question.”
“Yeah, it’s jasmine. I grow it.”
“My mother would like to sell this. I’ve never tasted better.”
“She’d sell me if she could,” Mr. Lang mumbled. “Your mother turns everything into money.”
When Mike started to speak, Sara gently elbowed him. “Actually, that’s true. I guess, Mr. Lang, that’s why you and I are two of the poorest people in town.”
He looked at Sara with blank eyes. “You’ll make money on that shop of yours.”
“Not if Greg gets what he deserves,” Sara said as she picked up a cookie. There were dark flecks in them.
“If those are full of marijuana,” Mike said, “I’ll—”
“They’re lavender!” Sara said. “I can taste it and smell it. If my mother knew you mad
e these—”
“She’d come for my recipes,” he said, glaring at Sara.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell her. Did you know that Mike now owns Merlin’s Farm?”
Mike was looking around the room with a carpenter’s eye. The first thing that needed to be done was to inspect it for dry rot and termites, but maybe Ramsey’d had that done. Any wood that needed replacing would have to come from an architectural salvage company. And where would they put a TV in this room? The fireplace was off center, with a built-in cabinet next to it. Could it be wired for cable and a stereo? “What?” he asked when he felt Sara staring at him.
“I was telling Mr. Lang that you now own this farm.”
The old man’s face showed his astonishment. “You will live here? With me?” He looked as though he’d seen heaven on earth.
“No. I have years before I can retire, so I’ll be in South Florida until then. Tell me everything you know about Greg Anders and don’t leave out a word.”
“He is a very bad man.” Lang cut his eyes at Sara, then back to Mike. “Anders likes women.”
“We know all that.” Mike’s voice was harsh and quick, and Sara imagined it was how he usually spoke to criminals. But Mr. Lang didn’t seem to mind. He looked at Mike with admiration—and Sara was sure the old man thought he was looking at his own grandson.
“Tell us what we don’t know. Why all the traps?”
Mr. Lang blinked in surprise at Mike. “You know about them?”
Mike scowled. “I almost got hit by a couple of your darts and that horse harness you tied up in the barn almost fell on my wife.”
Mr. Lang’s round little mouth dropped open. “You’re like me. I go places and no one knows I’ve been there.”
“I’m not at all like you. What I want to know is why Greg Anders wants Merlin’s Farm.” There was a flicker in the old man’s eyes. It was for only a microsecond, but Mike saw it. The old man was hiding something. “What did you see in your spying?”
Lang leaned toward Mike, across the tea tray on the coffee table, and whispered—as though Sara, just a foot away, couldn’t hear him. “When he’s with the women, he steals from them, but they don’t know it.”
“And how does he manage that?”
“He goes through their purses and their cars.” Lang gave a sigh. “None of them live in Edilean, so I don’t know what he does in their houses.”
“But a woman would notice something missing from her handbag and no one said anything to us at the shop,” Sara said.
“Vandlo wanted information, not goods,” Mike said over his shoulder. “Did he ever see you watching him?”
Lang frowned. “I’m not as good as I used to be. Can’t move as fast.”