four complete fingerprints off the top of the lid and a partially smudged thumbprint from the lid's front edge. Loneshark teased the hinged cover open with his thumbnail, lit his candles, and carefully dripped their melting wax onto the sand. Mick continued dripping delicately until the shallow depression in the sand was completely filled and there was a flat coating of wax thick enough to act as a base when the paraffin molding had solidified, been lifted free from the sand, and inverted. Mick wiped the casket clean, hid the wax moulage, and departed once again. The covert detective cantered down the precipitous decline and across the level stretch of wild-flowered fields to the bank with the remainder of the possible physical evidence.
As a supposed security guard, Mick had been provided with a master key that could unlock many of the bank's doors. Loneshark chose an unoccupied bookkeeping office on the second floor that was not monitored by a camera. He swiftly gained entrance, photocopied the prints, and used a fax machine to send the copy to Sergeant Bold. The sheet included written instructions for his deserted partner to quietly process them through the system and find any available identifying information and history on the unknown person of interest. Mick quickly scribbled a postscript stating that he would call Isaac the following Monday afternoon for the results.
As was his habit, Mr. Indigence's first activity upon returning to the cabin was to stoke the fire. That ritual occupied his attention for a brief period of time. Upon straightening his back and raising his gaze, something struck Clint as being out of the ordinary. The glass casket had not been moved but there seemed to be a slight change in its appearance. The old man did not register the thought that the lid was dust-free. As he contemplated the casket, Clint absently laid his hand on the mantel and felt a few spilled grains of sand grinding under his vibrating fingertips. Then Mr. Indigence spotted a small, white, congealed drop on the smooth wood. He scratched the drop loose and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. The trembling of his hands increased as the old man nervously mumbled a single word, "Wax."
The detective returned to the cabin. Clint was sitting in his usual chair. Mick quietly sat on the facing chair. Mr. Indigence was staring down, and his eyelids were lowered. Loneshark momentarily thought Clint was asleep. Indigence slowly raised his stare and locked it directly onto Mick. Something in the ancient eyes shook Mick's confidence as he attempted to congenially ask, "Did you enjoy your – "
"It's time!"
"Time?"
The fearless foothill dweller slowly nodded his august head, but his keen gaze never left the inquiring orbs of the investigator. "It's time I revealed one of my secrets to you." Clint got to his feet. "I think you've earned the right,"Indigence complimented but in an unsettling timbre. "Come with me." Clint turned and marched through the book-lined door toward the kitchen. Befuddled, Mick rose and obediently followed the lead of the honorably retired National Guard
