The Wrong Gun

Dinner did not, as Steve had feared, consist of all the guests seated around one huge, long, solid oak table. Instead, half a dozen small tables were scattered throughout the spacious dining room. As some of the guests were not due to arrive until Saturday, and as Timberlaine’s daughter and her fiance had gone off to the Mets game, only four of the six tables were filled.

Seating was not left to chance. Steve and Tracy were met at the dining room door by Martin, who guided them over to Timberlaine’s table.

Timberlaine hesitated just a beat as they sat down. He had told them to dress for dinner. Tracy, in a floor- length gown with her hair up and earrings, looked quite stunning. Steve Winslow had exchanged a T-shirt for a white shirt with collar and had thrown on a tie. Otherwise, he was still wearing his corduroy jacket and jeans. It was what he wore in court, and as far as he was concerned, that was as formal as he was going to go. Timberlaine did not comment, but he did hesitate perceptibly before introducing him.

The tables were round and seated eight. With Mr. Timberlaine was Mr. Nigouri, a middle-aged couple introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Crumbly, a trim, high-powered woman executive, introduced as Ms. Ebersol, and a white-haired gentleman with bifocals, introduced as Mr. Potter.

The guests quickly sorted themselves out. The Crumblys and Ms. Ebersol were collectors. There the resemblance stopped. The Crumblys were in bubbling spirits and seemed to treat the whole thing as a lark, as if coming up for the weekend and bidding on guns was a form of amusement for them, delightful, whatever the outcome. Ms. Ebersol seemed to regard the whole thing as a business venture and find the Crumblys’ attitude irritating.

Mr. Potter turned out to be the expert brought in by Timberlaine to authenticate the various items up for bid. Having ascertained that, Steve was amused to find that his occupation carried over into his social life as well, and he had a tendency to render judgment on everything, from the guests to the weather to the veal.

Steve and Tracy’s introduction to the table caused a slight ripple of surprise, especially since Timberlaine introduced Steve as “my attorney.” Obviously Timberlaine had not discussed this before and no one knew they were coming. There were a few raised eyebrows and polite smiles of inquiry. The only actual comment was from Mr. Potter, who nodded judiciously and said, “Good idea.”

Ms. Ebersol frowned and cocked her head. “Winslow?” she said. “The name is familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”

She squinted across the table at him. Of course, in shoulder-length hair and corduroy jacket, he was not the sort of thing she would expect to find in a boardroom. Or in Timberlaine’s dining room for that matter.

“It’s unlikely that we have met,” Steve said. “I have a limited practice, and there’s no reason why you should know me.”

“What sort of lawyer are you?” She caught herself, smiled. “I’m sorry. That didn’t sound right. I mean, what sort of practice do you have?”

“I have my own, small, private practice. For the most part, I handle only one client.”

Mr. Crumbly, who had a booming laugh, said, “Whoa, that sounds like Robert Duvall in The Godfather, doesn’t it? I’d watch out you don’t find a horse’s head in your bed.”

“And who is your client, Mr. Winslow?” Mrs. Crumbly asked.

“Sheila Benton.”

Ms. Ebersol frowned. “Sheila Benton?”

Mrs. Crumbly’s eyes widened. “Sheila Benton?” she said. “Oh, of course. You’re the attorney for the Baxter Trust.” She turned and plucked her husband by the arm. “You know. Maxwell Baxter’s estate. Sheila Benton was his niece. Is his niece. Or however you say that. He’s dead, she’s not, if you know what I mean.”

Ms. Ebersol got it. “That’s why I know the name,” she said. “Then …” She looked at him. “… You’re a criminal attorney.”

“Guilty as charged,” Steve said.

She turned to Timberlaine. “You have a criminal attorney here, Russ?”

Timberlaine smiled. “It would appear I do.”

Potter nodded judiciously. “Good idea.”

Burdett came bustling up, gave a perfunctory nod to the rest of the table and grabbed Potter around the shoulder. “Jack,” he said, “I got two guns I want you to look at after dinner.”

“Oh?” Potter said. “Which two?”

Burdett held up his finger and smiled. “Tut, tut. Tell you after dinner.” He pointed at Timberlaine. “But you don’t tell him.”

Potter shrugged. “I’m his expert.”

“Yes, but you know the rules.” Burdett grinned. “What, have I got to bring my own expert to these things? I get independent examinations and you don’t tell anyone, that’s the deal. Right?”

Potter shrugged. “Right.”

“Then why do you say, I’m his expert?”

Potter shrugged again and his eyes twinkled slightly, “Because I’m his expert.”

Everyone laughed, Burdett included. Everyone but Timberlaine, who couldn’t hide his annoyance.

Burdett waggled a finger at Potter. “Now, now. You talk, I talk. I put it around gun circles you’re not to be trusted, how many of these cushy weekend assignments you gonna get?”

Crumbly’s laugh boomed again. “Good move, Burdett. Threaten the man you’re counting on for confidential advice.”

Burdett smiled. “Threat? What threat? I’m merely reminding him of the rules. The game isn’t fair if you don’t play by the rules, right?”

“This is not a game,” Ms. Ebersol said.

Burdett’s teeth flashed. “Of course it’s a game. That’s the whole point. If it weren’t, it wouldn’t be any fun. Right, Russ?”

Timberlaine didn’t answer, just glowered at him.

“See,” Burdett said. “The strong, silent type. That’s how he plays the game. Me, I don’t fit the image, I gotta play it my own way. But I certainly intend to play it.” He turned to Mr. Potter. “Jack? After dinner?”

Potter shrugged and smiled. “At your service.”

Burdett nodded, scuttled back to his own table and sat down.

Ms. Ebersol watched him go. “Insufferable,” she said.

“Now, now,” Mrs. Crumbly said. “If you don’t take him seriously, he’s sort of amusing.”

Timberlaine nodded grimly. “Sure,” he said.

When the meal ended, Burdett materialized at the table like an evil specter and grabbed Potter. “Come on, Jack,” he said. “You too, Nigouri. We want to look at a couple of your guns.”

“Which ones?” Nigouri said.

Burdett raised his finger. “Oh, no. I know you’re reporting back to Russ. We’ll see the whole batch.” Burdett shook his head. “Always trying. These guys. Always trying.”

Burdett corralled Potter and Nigouri and herded them out of the room. When they were gone, Steve managed to draw Timberlaine aside. “Look, I have to tell you,” Steve said, “I feel like a damn fool about this whole thing. But if you got a few moments, why don’t you show me and Tracy where you keep the guns.”

“Sure,” Timberlaine said. “Let me show you the layout.”

They went from the dining room into the main hall.

“My study’s in the west wing,” Timberlaine said. He grinned. “Bit of a jaunt, actually. One hell of a house, huh? Come on.”

He led them off down the hall.

“Are we apt to bump into Burdett and the gang?” Steve said.

“No, the viewing rooms are in the east wing.”

“Viewing rooms?”

“Two rooms set aside for dealers and collectors to display and examine wares.”

“What’s the big deal about secrecy?” Tracy asked.

Timberlaine frowned. “I beg your pardon?”