were red and orange and purple and white. There was no need for more yellow.
He set off with a brisk pace, passing large houses, fenced yards, aged trees. As the distance between him and Lucy increased, the dignity of the neighborhood decreased. It was a very nice day for a walk.
Charles tacked across Reservoir Road to Wisconsin Avenue and let the wind take him to M Street. The yards narrowed, then disappeared, and took the trees and gardens with them. The townhouses of Georgetown started.
Thirty minutes from the ruins of Derek’s world to the oddities of Norman Highberg’s.
“Mr. Highberg, please.” Charles waited, for not too long. An amethyst horse that had been in the front window Tuesday had galloped away to greener pastures. Now there was a stained-glass, framed mirror.
“Charles? What are you doing here?”
“I have every right to be,” he answered.
“Not around here,” Norman said. “Nobody’s got any rights. You want to put up an awning? You don’t have the right; you’ve got to get permission. You want to put up a bigger sign? You would never get permission.”
“Do you want an awning?”
“I want an awning. Too much sun in the front window. So I’ve spent the whole morning on the phone with city hall. The sun’s going to burn out before I can get enough permits to do anything. I should move to Montana or someplace.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Fifteen years. I bet they don’t have architectural review boards in Montana.”
“You wouldn’t have many customers either.”
“I could sell antiques and cow food. What do they feed cows, anyway?”
“I think you should stay here,” Charles said. “I was in the neighborhood and I thought of another question for you.”
“Everybody’s got questions. Cane’s got questions, the FBI guy has questions, now you’ve got more questions. Why is everybody asking questions?”
“It sounds like you have questions, too.”
“It must be contagious. So what’s your question this time?”
“You said there was a man who had been sitting beside you at the auction Monday, and he left just before I arrived.”
“It wasn’t because of you. What, you know him?”
“I don’t even know who it was,” Charles said.
“Galen Jones. What about him? I don’t think he left because you got there. I figured you might come, but I didn’t tell him to leave.”
“Who is he?”
“Galen Jones. I just said it.”
“But, Norman, who is he? How do you know him?”
“He’s a matchmaker. You’ve got to know them in this business.”
“A matchmaker.”
“Yeah, sure. You have three antique chairs and you need one more for your table? He makes you a match.”
“Oh, of course. I know what you mean. He makes replicas.”
“Replicas, replacements. Yeah, people ask me all the time. I’ve got to know a few in this business for people who ask. I don’t do furniture, but he does other work, too. And”-he narrowed his eyes-“I’ve got to know them to keep an eye on them.” He tapped his eye.
“And why is that?”
“You know, somebody like Jones, if I find out he’s had anything to do with a piece, I look at it real close.”
“I see-it might be a fake.”
“But I can tell. I know the real stuff, I can see it.”
“Was he there when you arrived?”
“Yeah, I sat next to him to be sociable. And Jones, I never heard specific, but if you ask around, there’s something back there, if you know what I mean.”
“Not really,” Charles said.
“Somewhere he got in trouble. I never heard specific, but if you ask around-”
“He tried to pass something he’d made as an antique?”
“Well, I don’t know, I never heard specific-”
“That’s very interesting, Norman.”
“Anyway, his work’s good and you’d have to look close to tell.”
“Why would he have been at Derek Bastien’s auction?”
“Oh, he did some work for him once. At least once, I don’t know how much. Bastien, he asked me once if I knew someone who was good and I told him to call Galen Jones.”
“What did he do for Derek?”
“I don’t know. Probably made him an extra chair. That’s what he does, if you have three chairs and you-”
“That’s very interesting, Norman.”
“Now if he did, it better not have been at the auction, or at least it should have said it was replica. That was all supposed to be real stuff. But I don’t do furniture, so what do I know.”
“And did you say an FBI person was asking questions?”
“That guy, what’s his name. The antiquities guy. Nice guy, whatever his name is. Yeah, he called me, back when there were all those burglaries up in Foxhall. I mean, just the usual stuff. He always calls me. I keep an eye out for stuff for him. Once in a while I see something he’s looking for. If I see it, I remember it. I remember a lot.”
“You certainly do, Norman.”
“And he called me yesterday. Checking in. I guess he was at the auction.” Norman took off his glasses to wipe the smudges more evenly over the lenses. “I told him he should find that blonde.”
“Sensible. I wonder, how would you look for her, Norman?”
“Why do I want to look for her?”
“I think I do.” Charles frowned, thinking. “Say you wanted to bid on the desk, but you didn’t want anyone to know who you were.”
“Why should I want that desk?” Norman was fuddled. “I don’t do furniture.”
“How would you find an agent to bid for you?”
“I don’t need an agent. I’d do my own bidding.”
“But if you did want to find an agent?”
“There are agents all over the place. I used to do that myself. I’m too busy now.”
Charles was lost in thought. “Maybe you don’t even know how auctions work…”
“I’ve been to a million auctions. Where do you think I get my stuff?”
“First,” Charles said, “you’d call the auction house.”
“You’re losing your mind,” Norman said. “What are you talking about?”
“I need to call the auction house.”
“So call them.” Norman had found his place in the conversation.
“What?”
“You want to call Capital Auction? Call them.”
“I will when I get back to the shop,” Charles said.
“Why wait? Here’s a phone. You should get yourself one of these.”
Charles found a little cell phone in his hand. “I don’t know the number.”
“Give me that.” Norman took the phone back, pushed numbers, and returned it to Charles.
“You have the number memorized?”
“I remember a lot. Anyway, it’s only been a couple months since I called it last time.”
“Capital Auction?” the phone said.
