Ripples of conversation troubled the surface but that was all; the deeps were now still.
“There must be a reason,” Charles murmured. The room was filled with murmuring.
“I’d like to know what reason. Twenty-five thousand for the desk and eighty thousand for the reason.”
“Thirty-two hundred. Any other bid? Going once, twice, sold. Lot sixty-one for three thousand two hundred dollars. Next will be lot sixty-two, a marble table. Bidding will open at three thousand. Do I see three thousand?”
“So we’re back to normal,” Norman said. “Thirty-two hundred’s high, but just a little. I guess when people fly in from up northeast and from the coast, they don’t want to go home empty-handed.”
“It’s a large collection,” Charles said. “It would pull people in from all over.”
“I wish they’d stayed back where they came from. But if it’s even just the dealers he bought stuff from, it could be this many people. The guy bought all over the place. All I wanted to do was buy back the stuff I sold him.”
“Yes. I think you mentioned that.”
“But it’s all going too high. I’m not going to spend more on a lamp than I can sell it for. At least that blond lady is gone.”
She was.
“I do wonder who she was,” Charles said.
“Just as long as she’s not here to bid on anything I want. Not that I’m getting anything anyway. A hundred grand for a desk! It’s crazy.”
“I wonder what Derek would have thought,” Charles said.
Norman pointed at the next catalog page. “I bet that’s the lot you’re after.”
“Yes.”
“Number sixty-four. You got here just in time.”
“Going once, twice, sold. Lot sixty-two for five thousand six hundred dollars. Next will be lot sixty-three, two Windsor chairs. Bidding will open at five thousand. Do I see five thousand?”
“Those are nice,” Norman said. “I don’t do furniture, but those are nice. From Vermont, 1920, all handmade. The real things. It must have taken a long time to pull all this stuff together.”
“A lifetime.”
“And poof, here it’s all gone in three hours. Kind of funny, you know?”
The auctioneer’s voice stabbed the air, slicing and cutting, on and on, relentlessly.
“And his wife doesn’t want it.” Norman said. “It’s her selling it off, right?”
“I believe so.”
“She’s making a bundle. Especially after that desk! I wonder if she knew he was worth so much? His stuff, anyway. Did you get the list?”
“The catalog?” Charles asked, with it in his hand. “This?”
“No, the list from the police.”
“I don’t know of any list from the police.”
“It’s the stuff that got stolen, you know, that night he got killed.”
“Any other bid? Going once, twice, sold. Lot sixty-three for thirteen thousand dollars.”
“They want dealers to be looking for it,” Norman said.
“No, I didn’t get that list.”
“Next will be lot sixty-four, a set of thirteen antique books. Bidding will open at ten thousand. Do I see ten thousand?”
“This is you, right?”
Charles nodded.
“Good luck,” Norman said.
“Thanks.”
“I guess no books got stolen.”
“Ten thousand, thank you. Do I see eleven?”
Norman kept talking. “So that’s why they didn’t give you the list. Police and FBI, too. They’re all looking.”
Charles had his own paddle in his lap. He watched the bids increase.
“How much will it go for?” Norman said.
“Twenty-three, twenty-four for the set, maybe twenty-five.”
“Remember, it’s all going high. You sold them all to him in the first place?”
“Fifteen thousand. Do I see sixteen? Thank you, sixteen thousand.”
“Yes. A book at a time, over the last six years.”
Charles leaned forward, watching the different bidders.
“Do you know everyone bidding?” Norman said.
“So far.”
“From around here?”
“No. Briary Roberts in New York. Jacob Leatherman himself from San Francisco.”
“The old guy?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was coming?”
“We had dinner last night.”
His eyes were on the contest. The other bidders took turns, pushing the price up.
“Twenty thousand. Do I see twenty-one?”
Charles lifted his paddle. Now he was joined in the battle himself.
“Twenty-one thousand.” For a moment, he owned the bid. “Do I see twenty-two?” And then he did not. “Twenty-two, thank you. Do I see twenty-three?”
Suddenly the bidding intensified with quick jabs from Jacob Leather-man, and then New York again.
“Twenty-five? Thank you. Do I see twenty-six?”
Jacob Leatherman’s paddle quivered in the air.
“Twenty-six. Do I see twenty-seven?”
Charles signaled, quickly.
“Twenty-seven thousand. Do I see twenty-eight?”
Jacob was frowning from across the room, but his paddle was on the floor.
“Any other bid? The bid is twenty-seven thousand. Going once, twice, sold. Lot sixty-four sold for twenty- seven thousand dollars.”
“But I thought you said it was only worth twenty-four,” Norman said.
“Sentiment.”
“Next will be lot sixty-five, a wood inlay chess set. Bidding will open at two thousand dollars.”
“I don’t do books,” Norman said, “so what do I know. Oh, I sold this chess set. I’m just trying to get back what I sold him.”
Charles stood and took a deep breath and moved toward the door.
Charles stepped out from the building into very bright sunlight.
It took a moment to adjust.
Traffic was heavy. On the sidewalk, a dozen people were scattered over the length of the block. The gray stone and mirrored windows of the office building across the street were very bright.
A cardboard box was in front of him, tight in both hands.
He turned south toward Pennsylvania Avenue, three blocks away. The faces he passed were stern and silent against the world, or talking on cell phones, alive, animated, in other worlds. Charles stopped at the first corner.
He was being followed.
Across the street a young man had stayed even with him. He was in torn jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and he had stopped on his opposite corner. A well-dressed woman, passing him, instinctively drew back, and hurried past.
Charles waited.
