The Wrong Gun

10

In the back row of the seats in the grand ballroom, Tracy Garvin grabbed Steve Winslow’s arm. “Look at that.”

Steve looked up from his auction program just in time to see Russ Timberlaine come striding through the double doors. For the auction, Timberlaine had reverted to his full cowboy regalia, with hat, vest and boots.

“Good lord,” Steve said. He looked back at Tracy. “I don’t want to stare, but from where you’re sitting, can you tell if he’s wearing a gun?”

“He certainly is.”

“You don’t suppose it’s the one I think it is?”

“Bet you a nickel.”

It was two o’clock on Saturday afternoon and Steve and Tracy were in good spirits as they waited for the auction to begin. That was partly due to the fact that the weather was gorgeous and they had spent a very pleasant morning strolling around the grounds, and partly due to the fact that no one had died in the night. Donald Walcott, the boyfriend, didn’t get shot in his bed by someone thinking he was Melvin Burdett. And Jack Potter didn’t get shot in his bed by someone thinking he was Melvin Burdett. And Melvin Burdett didn’t get shot in his bed by anyone thinking he was Melvin Burdett, Jack Potter or Donald Walcott for that matter. All of these were not only alive and well, but had been present and accounted for at brunch that morning. So aside from feeling slightly foolish, Steve and Tracy were feeling particularly well.

“If that’s the gun,” Tracy said, “he hasn’t noticed the substitution yet.”

“A credit to my craftsmanship,” Steve said.

“Oh, bullshit,” Tracy said. “It’s no trick to copy a copy. Now if you could make a copy that could pass for the original, that would be something.”

“Too late for that,” Steve said.

“Tell me something.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re convinced that being here’s totally stupid, nothing’s going to happen and we’re wasting our time?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“On the other hand, you went to the expense of the elaborate precaution of switching guns.”

“True. So?”

“So, how do you justify those two positions?”

“Easy,” Steve said. “While I have no expectations a crime is actually going to be committed with Pistol Pete’s original gun, I have to figure there was some purpose for the substitution-if there was a substitution, since I only have Timberlaine’s word for that. Since I don’t know whether his story is true, or what he or anyone else is planning, I attempted to take some measure of control of the situation by introducing a factor into the equation that only I would know. See?”

Tracy shook her head. “Bullshit. You’re just like me. You think something’s going to happen.”

“Shhh,” Steve said. “It’s starting.”

Tracy looked where Steve was pointing and saw that a man in a red jacket now stood at a lectern that had been set up on the stage at the front of the ballroom. On either side of the lectern were tables. At one sat an accountant with a ledger and cash box. At the other sat two assistants with lists of the items to be auctioned.

Also on stage, but further back, were long tables at which the dealers stood with their wares. There were five dealers on stage, including Mr. Nigouri.

The auctioneer tapped the microphone, said, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Please be seated, let’s get right to it.”

There was actually a couple of minutes of shuffling and finding chairs before the auctioneer said, “Very well. The first item up for bids. Number one in your program. From Mr. Nigouri. A Smith and Wesson thirty-two-caliber revolver.”

As the auctioneer droned on, Steve Winslow slumped down in his seat looking bored, but Tracy Garvin, who had never been to an auction before, perked right up. Tracy found the whole process fascinating. Particularly an auction of this kind, where the auctioneer was not jabbering away a mile a minute in some sort of doubletalk the uninitiated couldn’t understand. Instead, the whole thing was rather calm and sedate and easy to follow.

Plus, the bidders all turned out to have different styles. Some never said a word, but would bid just by raising a finger or inclining the head. Ms. Ebersol fell into that category. She seemed to bid with her finger and her chin. In fact, once, Tracy could have sworn she bid just by raising an eyebrow.

Others were verbal. Some would raise a hand and say, “Here,” to indicate that they were making the bid requested by the auctioneer. Others shouted out the actual amounts. Mr. Crumbly was one of those. He seemed to take delight in booming out the figures. Tracy noticed he never said the number alone, but always punctuated it with the word dollars.

The bidders Tracy was really concerned with, of course, were Timberlaine and Burdett, but in the early going, neither of them bid. None of the guns seemed to generate much interest, and the bidding was low key at best.

Tracy had just begun to shift restlessly in her seat when Steve poked her in the arm. “Here we go,” he said. He pointed to the program. “Item Fourteen. The derringer.”

Tracy’s eyes widened. “Is that it?”

“I think so.”

It was. The auctioneer produced Item Fourteen with a bit of a flourish, and actually told the story of Marie LaBlanc in describing it.

Other guns had been starting in the thousand, two thousand dollar range, but in this case the auctioneer said, “Let’s start the bidding at ten thousand dollars.”

Russ Timberlaine bid and Tracy smiled. He was, as she’d expected, one of those bidders who both gestured and spoke. He raised his hand and said, “Ten thousand.”

On the other side of the room, Melvin Burdett rose to his feet. His smile was a challenge. “Fifteen,” he said.

There was an audible reaction in the room, a common intake of breath. A five-thousand-dollar jump was by far the largest raise of the afternoon.

Timberlaine scowled.

The auctioneer frowned. “I have a bid of fifteen thousand.”

“Sixteen,” Timberlaine said.

Burdett smiled at him from across the room, turned to the auctioneer and said, “Twenty.”

“Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-five.”

A pause.

“I have twenty-five thousand.”

“Twenty-six.”

“Twenty-seven,” Burdett said promptly.

Another pause.

Timberlaine took a breath. From way across the room, Tracy could see the fire in his eyes. She expected him to bid.

Then he slowly blew it out again. Clamped his lips together.

“I have a bid of twenty-seven thousand,” the auctioneer said. “Do I hear twenty-eight? … Twenty-seven thousand going once … Going twice … Sold to Mr. Burdett for twenty-seven thousand, mark it down.”

Tracy leaned over, grabbed Steve’s arm. “Why’d he let Burdett outbid him?”

Steve shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“Don’t you know?”

“I would assume Burdett bid higher than Timberlaine was willing to pay.”

Tracy made a face. “That’s obvious. I mean-”

“I know what you mean. The answer is, I don’t know. You can ask him at the break.”

“The break?”

“It’s a long auction. There’s an intermission.”

“Oh.”

Tracy settled back in her seat to see if anything else interesting would happen. Nothing did. Neither Timberlaine nor Burdett bid again, and the rest of the bidding was decidedly lackluster.

At the intermission, Steve and Tracy got up and went out in search of Timberlaine, who had actually slipped out before the end of the bidding. They found him on the patio talking with his daughter.

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Steve said.

“Not at all,” Timberlaine said. “We were talking about the Mets.”

“Oh. How was the ballgame?” Steve asked.

Carrie made a face. “Terrible.”

Timberlaine smiled. “She says terrible. The Mets won, one nothing. A great pitchers’ duel.”

“Oh, men,” Carrie said. “That’s what Donald said too. Pitchers’ duel. You know what a pitchers’ duel is? It’s a game where nothing happens. Boring, boring, boring.”

Steve and Tracy laughed, and Timberlaine smiled indulgently.

“So,” Timberlaine said. “How do you like the auction?”

Steve pursed his lips judiciously. “It’s a pitchers’ duel.”

Timberlaine laughed. “Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor. You’re right. It’s been pretty dull.”

“Except for the derringer,” Tracy said. “Hope you don’t mind my asking, but why did you let it get away?”

Timberlaine frowned. “Because it was a no-win situation. That’s the way it is with Burdett. Yeah, I could outbid him, but I get too high, see? I have to pay much more than the gun is worth. See why it’s no-win? I’m either a fool for paying way too much for the gun, or I’m a loser for letting Burdett outbid me.”

“I see,” Tracy said. She frowned. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes, it is,” Timberlaine said. He smiled. “Now you see my problem.”

“Yes, I do,” Tracy said. She looked at him. Frowned again. “But I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Pardon me, Mr. Timberlaine, but considering Melvin Burdett just outbid you, and considering what you just told me, you don’t seem that upset.”

Timberlaine smiled. “Is that so.” He looked around the patio to see who was in earshot, then leaned in conspiratorially, said, “Well, just between you and me, the auction ain’t over yet.”