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security.”
    “My insurance will continue to cover the coins until they leave the premises. I’m now listed as custodian of the coins you’ve bought. Your security firm is already monitoring this storefront.” She shrugged. “Seemed simpler as you would know who was best for the job.”
    “I need a phone number where I can reach you.”
    She pulled out a business card, added a number to the back, offered it.
    The front of the card was simply her name.
    “When will you be back?”
    She opened an orange juice. “A few weeks.”
    “I’ll have the coins moved from here by then.”
    “No problem. Codes and locks have been changed. You and I are the only ones with access to this place.” She perched on the arm of a chair. “Still mad?” she asked around a bite of the bagel.
    He had to smile. “More just curious. Why me? Why not Cambridge Coins out of New York?”
    “You’re a Christian, a teacher at your church. It offends your God if you steal. That’s useful to me.”
    He felt a startled surprise. “You’re serious.”
    “I don’t believe like you do, but it’s an interesting fact that you do. Family businesses thrive or die by the ethics of the guy running the place. Bishop Chicago is profitable—has to be tokeep the doors open. But you don’t cut corners to get there because you also have to sleep well at night. I bet you reimburse the business for postage when you use a stamp for a personal letter.”
    He felt like he was being complimented and insulted at the same time. “I’m more comfortable following the rules.”
    She laughed. “I could also say it was easier to haul the coins to Chicago than to take them to New York.” She pushed off the arm of the chair, and the setter went to stand beside her. “I want to make the tollway before traffic picks up. I’ll get out of here, let you get to work. ”
    “Drive carefully, Charlotte.”
    “Plan to. Oh—one last thing. Would you carry the flowers next door before they die? Your staff might enjoy them.”
    “I’ll do that. You set quite a display for a single customer.”
    “This was practice.”
    “For what?”
    She just smiled. “See you in a few weeks, Bishop.”

    Two blocks east of Bishop Chicago was Falcons, a restaurant whose owner and head chef was Paul Falcon’s sister, Jackie. The restaurant opened at ten thirty for the early lunch crowd, but those with a longtime friendship with her could get breakfast and a quiet place to have a meeting. Bryce qualified, and he spent twenty minutes reminiscing with Jackie in the kitchen while she began cooking their breakfast, then walked into the dining room and chose a table in the empty room. He pulled the list out of his pocket and added more notes while he waited for his key staff to arrive.
    “Hey, boss.” Devon pulled out chairs for Sharon and Kim and took a seat between them. “Glad you called.”
    “Nice you were all free.” Bryce passed across a basket of hot blueberry muffins just out of the oven.
    Two waitstaff appeared with filled plates, followed by their waitress. “It’s a pleasure to have you back, Bryce,” she said.
    “This looks wonderful, Amy.” She poured coffee for the four of them and left them to their breakfast meeting.
    “So, boss, what did we do to earn this?” Devon asked, reaching for cream for his coffee.
    “It’s what you’re going to do,” Bryce replied, sampling the crepe and nodding his appreciation. Jackie laid out a nice breakfast. “Remember how we used to dream about the big estate find? The one that would put Bishop Chicago on the map and make us all rich?”
    Devon put down his muffin and looked at Bryce. “The one that would let me afford to marry Sharon?”
    His wife made a face and elbowed him in the ribs for that quip.
    Bishop smiled. “That’s the one. It dropped into our laps last night.”
    “Seriously, boss?” Kim asked, setting down her orange juice.
    He turned his attention to her. Kim Leonard was the best salesperson he had,