Kit grinned. “Oh, sure it is. And that,” he chuckled, “is why I’m having so much fun. What’s that you’ve got with you?” He nodded at the sheet of paper his friend was carrying.
“This? Oh, it’s a flier on Jenna Caddrick and that terrorist who grabbed her, Noah Armstrong. Mike Benson’s ordered a stationwide hunt, looking for any eyewitnesses who might remember seeing them. I was trying to find you, to ask if you’d seen one of these yet, when I heard the news about you hiring Skeeter.”
“No, I haven’t seen it.” Kit took the flier curiously, glancing at the photos, and ran down the brief descriptions. “I read about Cassie Tyrol. Damned shame.”
“What’s a shame?” Skeeter’s voice asked at Kit’s elbow.
He glanced up and took approving note of the security radio he’d sent Skeeter to obtain. “Good, you got the squawky. Cassie Tyrol is what’s a shame. She was Senator Caddrick’s sister-in-law, poor soul, can you imagine being related to that? Have you seen one of these yet?”
Skeeter took the flier curiously. “No.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Don’t know why Caddrick thought this creep was me,” he muttered, frowning at the photo of Armstrong. “Guy looks sorta familiar, though. Not sure why . . .” The former con artist’s frown deepened slowly. Then, seemingly struck by inspiration, Skeeter dug into a pocket and came out with an ink pen. He started drawing over the top of the photograph, startling Robert Li into leaning forward.
“What in the world are you doing?” the antiquarian asked.
“Just an idea,” Skeeter muttered. He was sketching in a drooping mustache, sideburns. The pen fairly flew across the page, sketching in a bandana, a sombrero pulled low . . .