Parnell Hall - The Wrong Gun

Timberlaine smiled. “Is that so.” He looked around the patio to see who was in earshot, then leaned in conspiratorially, said, “Well, just between you and me, the auction ain’t over yet.”

Tracy Garvin was on the edge of her seat for the second half of the auction. Russ Timberlaine hadn’t said what he meant by the auction not being over yet, but Tracy knew damn well he must have some surprise in store for Melvin Burdett, and the way Timberlaine was acting, she figured it was going to be good.

What that could be in the course of an auction, she had no idea. The only thing that came to mind was Cary Grant making ridiculous bids in the auction in North By Northwest. Which, of course, would make no sense here. Unless, the next time Burdett bid, Timberlaine intended to make nonsensical bids to mock him. Which didn’t seem practical on the one hand, or in character on the other. So what the hell was he up to?

As the auction progressed, Tracy had no idea. Because a Timberlaine-Burdett confrontation simply did not materialize. In fact, Timberlaine bid on no guns at all. Neither did Burdett, until nearly the end of the auction. That was when the auctioneer announced what sounded like a particularly choice item, a pistol reputed to have been carried by one of the cavalry at the battle of the Little Big Horn. Burdett bid ten thousand and Tracy perked right up. Surely this was the gun where Timberlaine was going to take him on.

Only he didn’t. Mr. Crumbly was the only other bidder. He bid twelve thousand. Burdett came back with fifteen. Crumbly offered sixteen. Burdett bid twenty thousand. Crumbly bid twenty-two, Burdett twenty-five.

Tracy was annoyed. It was the most spirited bidding of the afternoon, but without Timberlaine in the auction it seemed dull.

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.

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.”