The Wrong Gun

11

Tracy Garvin was on the edge of her seat for the second half of the auction. Russ Timberlaine hadn’t said what he meant by the auction not being over yet, but Tracy knew damn well he must have some surprise in store for Melvin Burdett, and the way Timberlaine was acting, she figured it was going to be good.

What that could be in the course of an auction, she had no idea. The only thing that came to mind was Cary Grant making ridiculous bids in the auction in North By Northwest. Which, of course, would make no sense here. Unless, the next time Burdett bid, Timberlaine intended to make nonsensical bids to mock him. Which didn’t seem practical on the one hand, or in character on the other. So what the hell was he up to?

As the auction progressed, Tracy had no idea. Because a Timberlaine-Burdett confrontation simply did not materialize. In fact, Timberlaine bid on no guns at all. Neither did Burdett, until nearly the end of the auction. That was when the auctioneer announced what sounded like a particularly choice item, a pistol reputed to have been carried by one of the cavalry at the battle of the Little Big Horn. Burdett bid ten thousand and Tracy perked right up. Surely this was the gun where Timberlaine was going to take him on.

Only he didn’t. Mr. Crumbly was the only other bidder. He bid twelve thousand. Burdett came back with fifteen. Crumbly offered sixteen. Burdett bid twenty thousand. Crumbly bid twenty-two, Burdett twenty-five.

Tracy was annoyed. It was the most spirited bidding of the afternoon, but without Timberlaine in the auction it seemed dull.

There was a pause while Crumbly conferred with his wife. Since that was obviously what he was doing, the auctioneer waited, did not prompt.

Crumbly turned back. “Thirty thousand,” he said.

Once again there was a common intake of breath. A five-thousand-dollar jump at that level was somewhat unprecedented. It was to all intents and purposes a close-out bid.

Not to Burdett. “Thirty-one thousand,” he said.

A murmur of voices greeted that bid. Burdett was bidding over and above Crumbly’s close-out?

Crumbly frowned.

The auctioneer repeated the bid, asked if he heard higher, did not, went through the going once, going twice routine and said, “Sold to Mr. Burdett for thirty-one thousand, mark it down.”

Tracy wasn’t watching the auctioneer at the time. Nor was she watching Crumbly, nor Burdett. She was watching Timberlaine.

His face was murderous. Earlier, he’d been angry when Burdett had outbid him for a gun. But that was nothing compared to this. The man was furious.

As the gun was marked down, Timberlaine turned on his heel and stalked out of the grand ballroom.

“What was that all about?” Tracy said.

“Damned if I know,” Steve said.

“I thought the auction was almost over.”

Steve checked the program. “It is.”

“Then where the hell is he going?”

“I have no idea.”

Steve and Tracy sat there while the next few items were knocked down. Tracy expected that at any moment Timberlaine would return to deliver the fireworks he had promised at intermission.

As the auctioneer called the next bid, there suddenly came the sound of a gunshot.

Tracy jumped, started to get out of her chair, then thought better of it. She turned to Steve. “Pistol range?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Is that Timberlaine?”

“Probably a good bet.”

“What the hell’s he doing?”

“Most likely letting off steam.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Hey, you know as much as I do.”

Tracy shook her head. “How many items left?”

Steve checked the program. “Three.”

“Are they interesting?”

He looked again, shook his head. “Don’t appear to be.”

They weren’t. Not one of them fetched more than five thousand dollars. Timberlaine did not return, and just like that the auction was over.