Out of habit, she closed the door behind her, then looked toward the sound of heroic snoring to see Moe sprawled belly-up between two filing cabinets.

What did you do about a man who brought his big, silly dog to work with him? she wondered. Maybe more to the point, how did you resist such a man?

Flynn held up a finger to signal one more minute, so she took the time to study his work area. There was a huge corkboard on one wall, jammed with notes, articles, photographs, and phone numbers. Her fingers itched to organize it, as well as the maze of papers on his desk.

Shelves were full of books, several of which seemed to be law and medical journals. There were phone books for a number of Pennsylvania counties, books of famous quotations, movie and music guides.

In addition to the Slinky, he had a yo-yo and a number of warlike action figures. There were several plaques and awards—to the paper and to Flynn personally, stacked together as if he hadn’t gotten around to hanging them. She didn’t know where she would have hung them either, as what little wall space he had was taken up by the corkboard and an equally large wall calendar for the month of September.

She turned around when he ended the call. Then stepped back as he moved toward her.

He stopped. “Problem?”

“No. Maybe. Yes.”

“Pick one,” he suggested.

“I got a tingle in my stomach when I saw you in here.”

His grin spread. “Thanks.”

“No. No. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I have a lot on my mind. I didn’t come here to talk about that, but see—I’m already distracted.”

“Hold that thought,” he told her when his phone rang again. “Hennessy. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. When? No, that’s no problem,” he continued and scribbled on a pad that he unearthed from the rubble. “I’ll take care of it.”

He hung up, then unplugged the phone. “It’s the only way to kill the beast. Tell me more about this tingle.”

“No. I don’t know why I told you in the first place. I’m here about Jordan Hawke.”

“What about him?”

“He bought a painting from The Gallery about five years ago—”

“A painting? Are we talking about the same Jordan Hawke?”

“Yes. It’s of young Arthur about to draw the sword from the stone. I think—I’m nearly sure—it’s by the same artist as the painting at Warrior’s Peak and the one your other friend owns. I need to see it again. It was years ago, and I want to be sure I’m remembering the details of it correctly and not just adding them in because it’s convenient.”

“If you’re right, it’s an awfully big coincidence.”

“If I’m right, it’s not a coincidence at all. There’s a purpose to it. To all of it. Can you get in touch with him?”

Because his mind was racing through the details and possibilities, Flynn filled his hands with the Slinky again. “Yeah. If he’s traveling, it might take a while, but I’ll track him down. I didn’t know Jordan had ever been in The Gallery.”