TITLE: Counting Down the Pinfall
GENRE: Quirky Commercial Fiction
You don’t run a pawn shop within the city limits of Boston without weathering the occasional incident here and there, but holy f*** almighty Mack had not seen this one coming. The girl wasn’t much over five feet tall and she was skinny, but not drug-strung-skinny. She didn’t look nervous or too confident. She didn’t look a whole lot of anything at all, really, other than damn good in an interesting and off-setting sort of way.
The long blond curls that fell alongside her face and danced above the glass of his display case had been something of a distraction. She looked, kinda bored, down into the rows of jewelry and keepsakes precious to people other than those who’d sold them to him, and her dark lashes brushed lightly across her cheeks. Those details had been mitigating factors as well, so it was what it was.
She turned her clear blue eyes up to his and asked if he had any antique thimbles for sale. Who the hell comes in to rob a pawn shop in the heart of Allston Center looking for antique thimbles?
Mack leaned forward against the counter and told her not at the present moment. An item like that was bound to be luck of the draw at any given time, but he did have a pair of one-of-a-kind button hole scissors—solid gold, not plate—in the back that once belonged to a personal seamstress to Queen Victoria.
She said her grandmother didn’t sew.