Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

“He had a diverse collection.”

“More than diverse.” John Borchard was studying him. “Oh, you must realize. It wasn’t antiques he was collecting. He collected people! He always was looking. For an interesting vase, for an interesting person. Maybe we should form a society, The Collected Works of Derek Bastien.”

“What an odd thought, Mr. Borchard.”

“Call me, John! Please! Those of us in it, we’d be quite a crew. What do the books on your shelves think of each other?”

“I think they get along,” Charles said. “They have a lot in common.”

“I wonder what we have in common, those of us in Derek’s collection. It would be interesting to know what caught his eye. I expect you’re quite an expert on books.”

“It is my work.”

“You have an interesting profession. That would make you collectable yourself, don’t you think? Do you understand my point?”

“I do. But of course, everyone chooses their own friends.”

“They do. To some extent. And why did you request this visit, Charles? Was it only to reminisce about Derek Bastien?”

Charles braced against the sudden swerve in direction. He frowned a thoughtful frown. “A little more than just that. It was to meet you. I know you were Derek’s boss, and his colleague. And I appreciate having had the opportunity. I know you must be very busy.”

“I am busy.” There was no urgency or busyness in his manner. He seemed very relaxed. “So why did I accept your request?”

“You’ve decided to start collecting antique books?” Charles asked lightly.

The effect was immediate. John’s smile sank into his teeth, and his eyes were pushed out by it. “Might I? Do you think I should? What are you offering?”

The force of the questions was more than necessary, an abrupt acceleration of the conversation. Charles was nearly knocked off-balance.

“Well… I have quite a few,” he said. “It would depend on your interests.”

“My interests. I have quite a few.” John was very intent. His smile had been momentarily forgotten.

“Then you might want to come in to visit.”

“I might.” Then John remembered to be jovial. “Now that’s intriguing. Absolutely!” He folded his arms and sank back into the deep chair. “I might. But I’m not sure if you’ve answered my question of why I wanted to meet you. The truth of it is that I was intrigued. You were a friend of Derek, the same reason you wanted to meet me.”

Charles adjusted to match John’s happiness. “As one specimen to another?”

“Yes, yes! That’s it. One specimen to another! It speaks volumes about his collection, doesn’t it? Ha! I apologize, Charles. No pun intended! And tell me, have you found any other of his specimens?”

“I had a short meeting with Karen Liu this morning.”

The eyebrows rocketed. “Well! Derek’s name opens doors, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve noticed that.”

“She’s an impressive person.”

“I was impressed.”

“With good reason. And she has been a great ally of the Department. I’ve greatly enjoyed working with her. She’s a good start, Charles, and I wonder who else you’ll encounter.” The eyebrows came down. “Anyway! It has been very interesting talking, Charles, absolutely so, and I’m very pleased you took the opportunity to call.”

“The pleasure has been all mine.”

“And I’ve done all the talking! It’s my habit to question people, I’m afraid. My old days as a prosecutor.”

“A prosecutor?”

“A life I led long ago. Back in Kansas.” Smile. “I will stop in at your business sometime.”

“I’m in Alexandria. Downtown.”

“Very nice. I haven’t been there in ages.” He was standing. “In the meantime, if there is anything I can do for you, please let my secretary know.”

“I will,” Charles said. “Although I don’t know what it could be.”

“We often don’t. And I do wonder what you mean, that I might start collecting. A very curious thought. I will think about it carefully.”

Dorothy had steel in her soft blue stare. “What did Mr. Borchard think of you?”

“He thought well of me. I will tell you all about it.”

“Mr. Beale?” Alice flittered into their presence. “You have a call.”

“Who is it?”

“Mr. Edmund Cane.”

“Oh.” Charles looked to Dorothy.

“He’s called twice this afternoon,” Alice said.

“This will just take a moment.”

“Go ahead,” Dorothy said.

“Thank you, Alice.” He picked up his telephone. “This is Charles Beale.”

“Mr. Beale. This is Edmund Cane.”

“Yes, how do you do, Mr. Cane?”

“I am quite well. I am calling to inquire if you spoke with your employee, as we discussed? You thought perhaps he might have been watching outside the auction house.” At his slow, syllabic pace, the sentences took quite a while.

“Yes, I did speak with him,” Charles said. “I’m sorry I hadn’t called you back.”

“That is quite understandable. Did your employee have any information about the young woman who bought the desk?”

“Not really, I’m afraid. He thinks he may have seen her leaving the building and walking away, but it may not have been that person at all.”

“I see. Well, Mr. Beale, I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Not at all. In fact, I would be interested myself to know who she was representing.”

“I am sorry I do not know.”

“I’ve become quite interested in that desk myself.” Charles was still looking at Dorothy as he spoke to Edmund Cane. “Perhaps you could tell me who you were representing?”

A short pause. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that information, Mr.

Beale.”

“Oh, too bad. Because I think I’m actually interested in knowing!

Maybe if I can find any information about the blond woman, we could trade.”

“I would… I don’t…” Mr. Cane was having difficulty answering.

“That would…”

“Then never mind,” Charles said. “Just a thought. But if I do find anything, I will certainly call you.”

“As you wish. Thank you for your time, Mr. Beale.”

“Thank you for calling, Mr. Cane.”

“Are you done with your calls?” Dorothy asked.

“I think so.”

“Are you going out to see anyone else?”

“Not right now,” he said.

“Then Charles, dear,” Dorothy said. “What is going on?”

“To tell the truth… I have no idea.”

“You have an idea.”

“All right, then, yes. I have an idea. Well… no, I don’t. I don’t know whether I do or not.” He paused. “There is an idea, I just don’t know what it is.” He paused again. “It’s not that I have an idea, it’s that an idea has me.”

“Just say it, Charles.”

“I think that you want a cup of coffee.”

“I think that I do. Would I need my jacket?”

“It’s quite pleasant out.”

“Will it still be when we come back?”

“The weather should still be, at least.”

She took her jacket, and he led her down the stairs.

“Have we sold anything?” he asked Alice.

“The whole set of Tom Swift books.”

Two feet of shelf was empty. “What a large space,” he said hollowly.

“It is,” she said, broadly.

“Have Morgan order a new set,” he said, commandingly.

“I did it right away,” she said, quickly.

The evening air was warm and floral. Pots and window boxes were the obvious sources, but there must have been whole gardens hidden behind the houses. The air was patched with the first fragrances of spring.

It was a short walk to the corner and a completely different fragrance.

“I love this smell,” Dorothy said at the open door.