There was a pause while Crumbly conferred with his wife. Since that was obviously what he was doing, the auctioneer waited, did not prompt.
Crumbly turned back. “Thirty thousand,” he said.
Once again there was a common intake of breath. A five-thousand-dollar jump at that level was somewhat unprecedented. It was to all intents and purposes a close-out bid.
Not to Burdett. “Thirty-one thousand,” he said.
A murmur of voices greeted that bid. Burdett was bidding over and above Crumbly’s close-out?
Crumbly frowned.
The auctioneer repeated the bid, asked if he heard higher, did not, went through the going once, going twice routine and said, “Sold to Mr. Burdett for thirty-one thousand, mark it down.”
Tracy wasn’t watching the auctioneer at the time. Nor was she watching Crumbly, nor Burdett. She was watching Timberlaine.
His face was murderous. Earlier, he’d been angry when Burdett had outbid him for a gun. But that was nothing compared to this. The man was furious.
As the gun was marked down, Timberlaine turned on his heel and stalked out of the grand ballroom.
“What was that all about?” Tracy said.
“Damned if I know,” Steve said.
“I thought the auction was almost over.”
Steve checked the program. “It is.”
“Then where the hell is he going?”
“I have no idea.”
Steve and Tracy sat there while the next few items were knocked down. Tracy expected that at any moment Timberlaine would return to deliver the fireworks he had promised at intermission.
As the auctioneer called the next bid, there suddenly came the sound of a gunshot.
Tracy jumped, started to get out of her chair, then thought better of it. She turned to Steve. “Pistol range?”
“Sounds like it.”
“Is that Timberlaine?”
“Probably a good bet.”
“What the hell’s he doing?”
“Most likely letting off steam.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Hey, you know as much as I do.”
Tracy shook her head. “How many items left?”
Steve checked the program. “Three.”
“Are they interesting?”
He looked again, shook his head. “Don’t appear to be.”
They weren’t. Not one of them fetched more than five thousand dollars. Timberlaine did not return, and just like that the auction was over.
12
Steve and Tracy caught up with Carrie Timberlaine and Donald Walcott right outside the grand ballroom door.
“What happened in there?” Tracy demanded.
Carrie looked around. The guests were streaming out of the ballroom all around them.
“Dad’s very upset. We can’t talk here. Come outside.”
She and Donald led them out onto a corner of the patio.
“So what happened?” Tracy said.
“It was just like Dad told you. Burdett would never let him have a gun. Not for a reasonable price.”
“Yeah, so?”
“He wanted that cavalry piece. From Little Big Horn. Burdett would outbid him if he knew he wanted it, so he got Crumbly to bid for him.”
“So that’s what he was talking about at intermission?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Only it didn’t work. Burdett outbid him.”
“Right. Dad’s furious.”
“Why?”
“He figures someone tipped him off.”
“Who?” Steve said.
Carrie smiled. “Hey. I haven’t talked to him. I saw him storm out just like you did. I’m guessing this from knowing Dad.”
“Who could have tipped him off? Who knew?”
“Besides me and Donald?” Carrie said. “The Crumblys, of course, but they wouldn’t have, they were in on it. The only other one it could have been is Jack Potter.”
“Why him?”
“He’d have known, because Dad would have had him check out the gun.”
“How well does your father know Potter?”
“That’s just it. Not that well. This is the third or fourth time he’s used him. His regular expert, the guy he relied on, moved to L.A.”
“Who recommended Potter?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask Dad.”
“Surely not Burdett.”
“There again I don’t know.”
“O.K., thanks.” Steve took Tracy by the arm. “Come on, Tracy. Let’s check out the pistol range.”
Steve led Tracy off the patio and down the path toward the range.
As they went, Tracy looked up at him and shook her head. “I don’t understand you,” she said.
“Oh, why’s that?”
“I’ve been knocking myself out all weekend to get you to take an interest in this thing and it’s like pulling teeth, you don’t wanna hear about it. Suddenly you’re all gung-ho to find your client like it was a matter of life and death.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I would like to find him.”
“Why?”
“Because the guy is really pissed off and is probably out running around with a gun I had Mark Taylor buy and then filed the serial number off of. If so, he just fired it at the pistol range, which means he’s running around with it loaded. Now, if that gun winds up back in the display case where it belongs, we have no problem. But until it does, I must admit I am somewhat less than happy.”
Tracy smiled up at him. “You weren’t prepared to see Timberlaine come walking in wearing that gun, were you?”
“No, I must admit that was a bit of a shock. But keep your voice down. We’re almost there.”
They came around a bend and reached the clearing, but to no avail. The pistol range was deserted.
“O.K., what now?” Tracy said.
“O.K., we missed him and there’s no telling where he’s gone.”
“Assuming he was here at all.”
“Right. But I think that’s a pretty fair assumption. Anyway, if he was, he’s long gone. He could be walking around the grounds just to let off steam, or he could have gone back to the house. There’s a lot of different paths. We could easily have missed him.”
“So?”
“Let’s go back to the house, see if we missed him along the way.”
They made their way back to the house.
By the time they got back, the patio was filled with guests who had filtered out from the grand ballroom after the auction. Steve and Tracy looked around, but couldn’t see Timberlaine. His daughter and her boyfriend were no longer there either. They saw Burdett, who had a small cluster of guests around him, and who seemed to be pontificating on some subject or other, but there was no sign of their host.
“Damn,” Steve said.
“What do we do now?”
“Well, no use getting worked up over nothing. Now we check the gun room, make sure the gun he’s running around with is the one we think it is. I’ll feel like a damn fool if all this time it’s sitting there right in its case.”
“Right,” Tracy said. “But I don’t think it is.”
They went inside, walked down the long hallway toward the gun room.
They almost walked by it. The huge double doors were closed.
Tracy had to grab Steve’s arm.
“Wait a minute. Isn’t this it?”
“Isn’t what it?”
“The gun room. Isn’t this the gun room?”
“Oh. I thought it was the next door.”
“No, that’s the last room down. The gun room wasn’t the last room down. This has to be it.”
“Then why are the doors closed?”
“Maybe it’s locked.”
“Why would it be locked?”
“Maybe they keep it locked during the auction, and they forgot to open it when it was over.”
“It’s not locked,” Steve said, twisting the doorknob.
Steve pushed the double doors open. He and Tracy stepped into the room and stopped dead.
The body of Jack Potter lay face up beside the display case in the middle of the gun room floor.
He’d been shot in the head.
Next to the body lay a Colt.45 with the letter R carved in the handle.
13
Russ Timberlaine wouldn’t stop talking.
“It’s the wrong gun,” he insisted.