I waited for him to get halfway up the street, then stood and followed. He turned right at the end of the block and disappeared from sight. I hurried after him and turned the corner, expecting to see him not too far ahead but he was gone. An elderly woman was coming toward me, walking a small rat-like dog. A guy with enormous biceps wearing a white tank top sat on a stoop close by. But Dworkin was gone. I scanned the block again and noticed that a garage door just ten feet ahead was open. I began walking toward it but a van backed out, forcing me to stop. I could see through the open passenger window that Dworkin was at the wheel. The van was white and stenciled on the side was the logo of the book shop. Dworkin punched a garage door remote clipped to the visor, finished backing into the street, and drove off. I couldn’t very well follow him on foot so I stood still for a moment, thinking about my options. I could try again the next day. I could stake out Dworkin’s apartment. Or, I could go back to the shop and question Hawaiian shirt guy. Maybe I could get him to tell me where Dworkin was headed, if he knew. It seemed unlikely that Dworkin drove a van with the bookstore logo on it unless he was on business for the shop. Ashna had not found any record of him owning a car. Deciding on the third option, I turned and walked slowly back toward the shop, conducting some quick research on my phone as I strolled.
By the time I got back, I was ready. I thought it was unlikely that Dworkin’s co-worker would recognize me from earlier. I was wearing different clothes and he had barely seen me. Also, one of my most useful features was my generally generic appearance. Few people, seeing me for the first time, could pinpoint my ethnicity or find any distinguishing features to focus on. I had relied on this many times in the past and felt confident I could rely on it this time as well. Still, I was prepared to adapt my approach if he did remember me. The bells tinkled again as I entered the shop. I approached the counter, glancing around as if appreciating the vast array and selection, then turned my attention to Hawaiian shirt guy. I reached a hand out, offering to shake.
“Hello. I’m Ray Stevenson. Looking for Lester Dworkin if he’s here today.”
Hawaiian shirt guy looked confused for a moment, then answered. “Sorry. I’m Jeff. Farnsworth. Les left for the day.”
“Oh, too bad. I’m helping to organize the speakers for the Boston book fair. I’m in Philly for the day and just thought I’d drop by. I wanted to see if he would give a talk. Was he headed home?”
“A talk?”
“Yes. A session during the conference. We need people with his level of expertise to share their knowledge with the other attendees.”
“I see. Um…he wasn’t headed home. He was going to an estate sale in Ambler. An old college professor’s house who he thought might have a decent collection.”
“Oh. Perfect. Maybe I can catch him there. If not, I can at least look at the merchandise. Do you know the location?”
“No. He found it online though. Estate sales dot com I think. Or dot net maybe. I think it was over at four PM though. Don’t know if you’ll get there in time…”
Jeff Farnsworth’s voice trailed off as I waved and ducked out the door. I needed to hurry if I was going to catch Dworkin. I called the hotel and asked them to bring my car up then searched for the estate sale while walking fast. It wasn’t hard to find. It was the last day of the sale which had started on Saturday.
My gray sedan was waiting for me out front when I got to the hotel driveway. I handed the doorman a tip which he palmed expertly, proffering my keys in exchange. Soon, I was on Interstate seventy six, headed northwest out of the city. My phone said it would take forty minutes. About halfway, I exited seventy six, crossed the Schuylkill River and got on a smaller, two-lane country highway bordered by trees on either side. Through the trees I could see big old farm houses, fields, and patches of forest.
At last, the pleasant robotic voice told me I was approaching my destination. I turned into a driveway and saw a two-story gambrel-roofed house squatting atop a rise perhaps a hundred yards away, framed by trees. There were several cars parked in the circular drive in front of the house. One of them was the white van with the bookshop logo. I had made it in time. I parked next to the van and stepped out into the heat. The front door of the house was open so I wandered inside and found a large entry hall with a flagstone floor and high ceiling with exposed beams.
“Nearly cleaned out. You’re a little late.”
I turned and saw a middle aged man sweating through a blue button up shirt. “Just hoping to look at whatever books are left,” I said.
“Through that doorway,” he said, pointing to an arched opening to my right. “That’s the library. Some in the basement too. Door to the basement through the kitchen. Not much left I’m afraid and someone from a bookstore going through them now.”
“Okay. I’ll just take a look. Thanks.”
“My pleasure. Come find me outside if you want to buy anything.”
I poked my head through the doorway to the library but the room and the shelves were nearly empty. I wandered in for a moment, the sound of my footsteps on hardwood echoing around the space. Dark wood,
