“His regular business clothes are fine.” He dropped the newspaper into the wastebasket. “Felons in suits annoy me.”
“Besides Angelo, how many felons do you know?”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Mr. Beale?” Alice had come up the steps. “Mr. Leatherman is here to see you.”
“Take a deep breath,” Dorothy said.
Charles did.
“Jacob!” Charles said from the stairs. “Welcome!”
“What did you do that for?” It would have been a growl, but from such a small and fragile man it was a yip.
Charles reached the floor, smiling all the way. “Let me get you a chair.” He swept through the gate and came to rest at his guest. “I’d invite you to the office but it’s up all those stairs.”
“I don’t need a chair.”
“I’m glad you could stop in. I was sorry you couldn’t after dinner last night.”
“I have time before my flight and I don’t like sitting in airports. I told the taxi to bring me here.”
“I’m so glad,” Charles said.
Jacob smacked the floor with his walking stick. “You’re glad? You’re gloating, that’s what it is, for outbidding me. What did you do that for?”
“You could have bid higher if you wanted them, Jacob.”
“That’s all they’re worth. Now I’m going back without anything.”
“I’m sorry your trip was a waste. I’ll sell them to you, if you want.”
“How much?”
“Thirty.”
“Thirty?” He smacked the floor again. “They’re not worth that. I’d have bid thirty if they were.”
“Then I guess I’ll keep them.”
“I didn’t come to have you gloat. I’ll give you twenty-three.” Smack.
“Thirty-five. And you’re perfectly Dickensian when you do that.”
“Bah, humbug then. Dickensian?” He rubbed his nose. “I like that. And you said thirty.”
“You should have taken it while you could.”
“Whippersnapper! Mocking an old man! You’ll give me apoplexy, and I have all those airport lines to go through yet. You’ll send me to an early grave.”
“That’s no longer possible, Jacob.”
“I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll leave if that’s how it is.” He narrowed his eyes. “The Locke, I’d have liked to look at that one. Is it as nice as you said it is?”
“It is, Jacob. Nothing special-I know you’ve seen better ones. But it’s nice.”
Jacob’s scowl lightened a little. “I like looking at them. Do you have the books here?”
“No. I had a courier bring them.”
“A courier? Why would you do that for?”
“Just common caution. Shall I call you a taxi?”
“I have one waiting outside. Did you say twenty-five?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five!” Whack. “Mocking an old man. I’ll leave. I have to go.”
Charles held open the door. “Then have a nice flight.”
“No such thing.” He started slowly and painfully down the first step, and then froze. “What’s that?! Don’t touch me!” He lifted his cane.
Angelo was four feet from him, also stopped, his eyes slits and his white teeth showing.
“Jacob--” Charles started.
“Street gangs!” Jacob yelped. “Here at your door! That’s why you use a courier!”
“Jacob,” Charles said. “This is Angelo Acevedo. He is my courier.”
Angelo was silent.
“Just take the box in,” Charles said.
Jacob shrank back as Angelo passed. “You let him touch your books?”
“I do,” Charles said. “And it’s fine. Let me help you to your taxi.”
“Bah! I’ll make it myself.”
“Take care, Jacob.”
“You too, Charles.” Once Jacob was launched he moved quickly. The cab door was opened for him, the cab driver was scolded, and the cab drove away.
Charles closed the door and took a deep breath. “Angelo. Everything went okay?”
“Except that old crazy man.”
“That’s Mr. Leatherman, and he’s actually very nice, just prickly.”
Angelo frowned. “What is prickly?”
“Like a cactus.”
“Like a little dog to bite at you.”
“He doesn’t bite, he just barks. But never mind. You took a long time.”
“I came a different way from you, or why should I even carry the box instead of you?”
“You’re right.”
Angelo held out his hands. “So, boss, here is your box.”
“Thank you.” He took it, respectfully. “Go check with Mrs. Beale. I think she has a delivery for you to do this afternoon.”
“Okay.”
“And Angelo…”
He turned back from the steps and waited.
“Do you remember the delivery we made together, last November, and the man had the chess set on his desk, and he talked to you in Spanish?”
“I remember that house and that man.”
“That is the man who died. These are his books that I bought back today.”
“Oh, that man?” He shrugged. “That’s too bad.”
“It is too bad. That book we took him, it’s here in this box.”
Angelo glanced at the box with no greater interest than before, and then turned to his next task.
“I’ll be in the basement,” Charles said to Alice.
But he was interrupted. “Mr. Beale?”
Charles had just started for the basement.
“Yes, Morgan?”
As Angelo had ascended, Morgan had descended. He sat on a step halfway down. “There’s a first edition Odyssey that just came up on eBay.”
“Which translation?”
Morgan had stopped too high and he had to lean forward to see into the showroom. He bumped down one step, and all his pale face and red hair floated into view. “Alexander Pope.”
“A 1725 Pope first edition?” Charles snorted. “I doubt it!”
“The listing says first edition. And it says it’s signed by the author.”
“The translator, you mean.”
“It says the author.”
Charles paused. “The Odyssey, signed by the author. That would certainly answer the question of whether it was written or oral. I suppose I should come and see.”
“Do you think it could be anything you’d want?”
Charles squinted at the picture on Morgan’s computer. “Not much of a picture.”
“It’s not a dealer,” Morgan said. “Just an individual.”
“Send an email. I want to know the usual-the publisher and city, number of pages, and the date. And I want a picture of the title page, and see if he’ll tell us where he got it.”
