She worked her phone in a fumbly old-lady fashion while I turned to Rawson with a sympathetic smile. “Uncle Norman wouldn’t have known treasure if it fell on him.”

Bea continued to stretch out the moment, pretending to have difficulty with modern technology. When Rawson started to fidget, she nodded. “Aha, here it is.” She held out her phone with a grin.

Rawson’s eyes widened slightly, and he let out a barely audible gasp. I could tell he was trying to stay calm over this rare guitar, but he was doing a poor job of it.

I helped him hide his enthusiasm. “See, I told you. Just another piece of junk from my mother’s attic. Sorry.”

Rawson rose to Bea’s defense. “Actually, this guitar could be more valuable than you think. I’d have to have it checked out, of course. Do you suppose I could see it?” He paused and straightened in his chair. “And by the way, my name is George Rawson. You ladies may call me George.”

I shook my new friend’s hand. It was nice to be on a first-name basis with the mark. “Deborah Gleason. And you may call me Deborah.” I smiled, then gestured at Bea. “This is my mother, Bonnie Gleason.”

Rawson pulled his chair over to our table and continued his pitch. “I’ll have you know that I’m very knowledgeable about guitars. As a matter of fact. . .” He puffed out his chest and smiled proudly. “I’m the manager of the ‘Lord of Rock and Roll.’” Keeping in character, we stared at him with blank faces, forcing him to explain who that was. After a few seconds, he clarified his boss’s name, speaking quietly as if saying it out loud was somehow sacrilegious. “Alejandro.” He reached into his wallet and handed us a card.

I took the card and shrugged, pretending to be unfamiliar with the Lord of Rock and Roll. When I handed the card to Bea, she studied it and tucked it in her purse. George beamed at my pretend mother. “Mrs. Gleason, could I convince you to let me see that guitar? I’d like to take a closer look.”

“Wait a minute.” I gave him the stink eye of a protective daughter. “What would this guitar be worth, if it really was Stevie Ray Vaughan’s?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He fidgeted, obviously trying to avoid showing too much interest. “A few thousand, perhaps. You certainly don’t want to throw it out.”




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