it wasn’t with the others. I would have realized it right at the time as I was opening the books, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Why wouldn’t it have been with the others?”
“I don’t know. It should have been. I wonder where it is.”
“Just more questions.”
“More questions,” he said. “And I told Mr. Kelly that no books were stolen.” He fished through his wallet and pulled out a business card. “I suppose I should call him.”
“On Sunday?”
“Just to leave a message.” He pushed the buttons on the telephone.
“Frank Kelly of the FBI. Please leave a message.”
“Mr. Kelly, this is Charles Beale of Alexandria Rare Books. You came by my shop Thursday morning. I said at the time that I had all of Derek Bastien’s antique books, but I’ve realized I don’t, that one is missing. I don’t know if that’s important but I wanted to correct the statement I made to you.”
“Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. One German. He seems rather alone among the French and British, Charles.”
“You could give him Goethe as company.”
“I don’t like Faust. For a government employee, it cuts too close to home.”
“Have you been making any deals lately, then, Derek?”
“Always, but not for my soul. It’s usually just removing paragraph C from section Two in return for three more votes in the committee.”
“I suppose it depends on what paragraph C says.”
“Nothing, Charles. It was only put there in the first place so we could make a deal later on.”
“That Reason doesn’t seem very Pure, Derek.”
“Kant would not approve? Germans are too logical for such nonsense, or at least they think they are. They always take their philosophy one step too far.”
“The Germans dive deeper-and come up muddier. I believe it was Henry Steeds who said that.”
“Quite. I prefer the mud of practical deal-making to the mud of philosophy, Charles.”
“Is that what you do, mainly, Derek? Make deals?”
“Mainly. Twist arms, give a little and take a little.”
“Do you usually get what you want?”
“Most of the time, Charles, most of the time.”
“But what do they want in return?
“They give me their souls, and I give them unending life.”
“You’re joking, of course, Derek.”
“Yes, of course, Charles. I’m joking.”
MONDAY MORNING
“Mr. Kelly!”
He was standing on the sidewalk outside the shop.
“Oh, good morning,” he said, and stepped out of the way as Charles put his key in the doorknob. “I wasn’t sure when you’d open.”
“Not for a little while,” Charles said. “But please come in.”
“Thanks. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Charles crossed the showroom to the counter, turned on the lights and turned off the alarm. “You must have gotten my message.”
“Yeah, last night. I would have just called you back, but I decided to drop in.” He gave the room a swinging stare. “I love this place.”
“Of course. Drop in anytime.”
“I might. So, you said one of your books was missing?”
“Not exactly. One of the books I sold Derek Bastien is missing.”
“From here?”
“No. It wasn’t in the set I bought at the auction.”
“Oh. I get it.” He slid his little notebook from its little pocket. “And it should have been?”
“Well, I suppose so. Unless Mrs. Bastien kept it. It wasn’t auctioned.”
“So…” Mr. Kelly gave due consideration. “So maybe it was stolen the night he was killed?”
“I wouldn’t know that at all, of course, but it might have been,” Charles said. “Or Derek might have sold it himself sometime earlier. But I doubt that.”
“What book was it?”
“ Critique of Pure Reason by Kant. An 1830 edition and in reasonable shape.”
“What’s the market value?”
“Nine hundred.”
“Okay. Unaccounted for. I’ll check the inventory and see if it should have been there.”
“That is the inventory that Derek kept?”
“Right. Real useful. That’s the only way we knew about any of the other stuff that was stolen. The police looked at what he had on his inventory list, and they looked at what was left in the house, and whatever was missing got put on the list of stolen goods.”
Charles nodded. “Actually, Lucy Bastien said she thought there were fourteen books on that list, and I only bought thirteen at the auction.”
“There was a lot of stuff on that list. So, is that all you have to tell me?”
“That’s all.”
“Okay. Yeah, could be it was taken. That’s how it was-just stuff. Whatever fit in the bag, I guess.”
The door opened and Alice was with them, sliding off her jacket and beaming sweetness. “Good morning, Mr. Beale!”
“Good Monday morning,” he said. “This is Mr. Kelly.”
“I remember from last week!”
For a few moments, Alice was busy with morning chores. Frank Kelly gravitated to the mystery shelf, and Charles watched.
“Mr. Kelly?”
“Yeah?”
Charles took a slow breath. “Could you come up to the office for just a moment?”
Mr. Kelly caught the tone in Charles’s voice. “Yeah, sure.”
They climbed the stairs and Charles settled Mr. Kelly into the chair he’d had before.
Then he sat at his own desk.
Then he chewed his lip and Mr. Kelly waited.
“What do you know about the night Derek was killed?”
“What do I know?” The broad shoulders shrugged and the heavy brow crinkled. “Just what’s in D.C. Homicide’s report.”
“I wondered. The newspaper said he was hit on the head.”
“I think so. Burglary gone bad.” Mr. Kelly waited.
“It really was a burglary?” Charles said.
“What do you mean?”
“I just wondered. It seems so random.”
Mr. Kelly’s shoulders rose and dropped again, but his eyes didn’t move. “Hey, it happens. You think it wasn’t?”
“Oh, not specifically. I don’t really know anything. It just doesn’t seem appropriate for someone like Derek
