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water? Chilled cappucino?" He winked. "Just between us, these juice boxes for the grandkids aren't bad with a shot of vodka stirred in."
     
     
Jack declined and was relieved when Gerry snapped the ring tab on a can of diet cola. The man had every reason in the world to spike an orange drink at two o'clock on a hot July afternoon. The Abramson clan photo atop the credenza symbolized eighteen better reasons not to.
     
     
"This job you mentioned on the phone," he said. "Since you didn't specify, I'm guessing it's a fraudulent property-loss claim. Probably a high-profile customer."
     
     
Gerry glared at the doorway, then jabbed an in-house button on the console phone.
     
     
"Here's the copies," Wes said, entering the office at the precise moment his employer's call connected. He cut a look at Jack, as though delivering the punch line of a private joke.
     
     
After the handoff to Gerry, Wes pulled over a second visitor's chair. His backside was approaching a landing, but hadn't quite touched down when Gerry cocked his head at the phone. "Three lines are on hold."
     
     
Wes nodded. "One for Chase and two for Melanie. They just came back in from their claims adjustments."
     
     
"Then take one of Melanie's until she's freed up," Gerry said "And, do me a favor and close the door on your way out."
     
     
"Oh. Sure thing." The office manager left the room smiling. Behind him, the door shut with a barely audible snick.
     
     
Gerry rolled his eyes. "Wes wants to be an investigator so bad it's almost painful to see."
     
     
Thinking of Blankenship, Jack replied, "Doesn't everybody?"
     
     
The copied files Gerry parceled out concerned a series of residential burglaries dating back to Memorial Day weekend. "Here's where it gets interesting." He gave Jack a sheaf of police reports. "The same thief or thieves hit last year, starting Memorial Day, then went to ground Labor Day weekend."
     
     
He paused to let Jack skim the pages. "Luck of the draw, maybe, but only two of last year's targets were National Federated clients. This year, the so-called Calendar Burglar has already nailed three of my policy holders."
     
     
The nickname rang a bell—the tiny baby-shoe kind, not a tolling brass one. By the number of reports, the reverse should have been true. "Why haven't I seen anything in the newspaper about this?"
     
     
"The Park City Herald focused on it to some extent late last summer. You know, 'Another west-side home burgled while owners on vacation.' Or east side. Or south side. Then the usual PD information officer quotes on home security, warnings about disclosing travel plans to strangers, etc."
     
     
Gerry drained the soda can and lobbed it at the trash bin. "Property-theft complaints always jump in the summer and during the holidays. By the time the cops and the newspaper connected these particular dots, the Calendar Burglar vamoosed."
     
     
"Feeling the heat," Jack speculated. "Moved on to cooler pastures."
     
     
"That was the assumption, except a unit detective followed up in his spare time. Feelers put out to regional PDs netted no thefts that resembled these—the M.O. or an exclusive preference for jewelry."
     
     
Gerry allowed that the burglar could have switched specialties, wintered in a warmer clime or been jailed on an unrelated charge. "Whatever caused the lull, he's back. The Herald isn't happy about keeping the story low profile, but some influential victims and real estate developers don't want their neighborhoods depicted as crime scenes."
     
     
"God forbid." Jack snorted. "They may as well leave out cookies and milk for this dude. A little snack for bad ol' anti-Claus."
     
     
"Residential watch groups were alerted in early June. Private security and police patrols in probable target zones have been increased."
     
     
"Uh-huh." Jack's finger tapped the prior Sunday's date on the most recent burglary complaint. "Fairly obvious, what a big friggin' bite that's taking out of