Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza

"Nope," Carolyn said. "It doesn't help."

"My apology, you mean?"

"Uh-huh. Doesn't do a thing for me. I'm still pissed. But I'll get over it. Who killed Wanda?"

"I'm not sure."

"How about Abel?"

"I'm not sure of that, either."

"Well-"

The phone rang. I moved Archie and answered it, and it was Mr. Arnott calling from Stillwater, Oklahoma. He hadn't reversed the charges, either. I guess people who can pay $130,000 for a nickel don't worry about their phone bills.

"The fellow who bought my nickel wants to remain anonymous," he said. "I couldn't say whether it's burglars or the tax collector he's scared of. Coin's not for sale, though. He's still got it, and he figures to keep it."

"The hell with him," I said. "I think I'd rather buy a painting anyway."

"That way you'll have something you can hang on the wall."

"That's what I decided."

I reported the conversation to Carolyn. "Arnott's coin is still with the mysterious purchaser," I explained. "Anyway, it was a lightly circulated specimen, so it couldn't have been the one we carried from Eighteenth Street to Riverside Drive."

She frowned. "There were five of the nickels altogether."

"Right."

"Now there's one in Washington, one in Boston, one in Cincinnati, one in- Philadelphia?"

"Right."

"And one that your friend in Oklahoma sold to some mystery man. So the mystery man is Colcannon. Except he can't be, because that coin's circulated and Colcannon's was a perfect proof."

"Right."

"So there are five nickels plus the Colcannon nickel."

"Right."

"Which Colcannon doesn't have anymore, and which wasn't at Abel's, so we don't know where it is."

"Right."

"Which means the nickel we stole was a counterfeit."

"It's possible."

"But you don't think so?"

"No. I'm positive it's genuine."

"Then there are actually six nickels."

"No. Only five."

She sat for a moment, puzzling, then threw her hands in the air. " Bern," she said, "would you for chrissake quit cocking around? My whole head hurts except for the part I normally think with, which is numb. Just explain, will you? Simply, so I can understand it."

I explained. Simply. So she could understand it.

"Oh," she said.

"Does it make sense? Stand up? Hold water?"

"I think so. What about the questions I asked you earlier? There was a Third Burglar who killed Wanda. Do you know who he was?"

"I have an idea."

"And do you have an idea who killed Abel?"

"Sort of. But I can't be sure of it, and I certainly can't prove it, and-"

"Tell me anyway, Bernie."

"I sort of hate to say anything at this stage."

"Why? Because you don't want to spoil the surprise? Bern, if you were really sincere with that apology you gave me a few minutes ago, why don't you prove it?"

I shifted a little on the chair. There are those who might have said I squirmed. "We've got to get out of here," I said. "It may have been a mistake giving out your number. If the man who wants to buy the coin could find out my name and how to reach me, he might have a connection in the Police Department or access to one of the phone company's reverse directories. I don't want us to be where he can get at us. He knows I'm going to be at this phone at two, so-"

"There's time, Bern. You can tell me your theories and we'll still have plenty of time."

Archie extended his forepaws and stretched. "Archie's no name for a cat," I said. "The cat's Mehitabel, remember?"

"He's a boy cat, dum-dum. He's Rex Stout's Archie, not Don Marquis's Archy."

"Oh."

"I could always get a pet cockroach and name her Mehitabel. If I knew it was a girl cockroach. Why am I sitting here talking about cockroaches? You changed the subject, dammit."

"I guess I did."

"Well, change it back again. Who killed Wanda and Abel?"

I gave up and told her.

Afterward we set up the answering machine with a simple message that I recorded, telling whoever called to ring me at Denise's number. I got my attaché case from Carolyn's closet, where it was still keeping the Chagall company. We got out of there and took a cab to the Poodle Factory. We went inside, and when we emerged a couple of minutes later my attaché case was the slightest bit heavier. Carolyn locked up and we caught another cab to the Narrowback Gallery.

On the way there she wanted to know why we had to go to Denise's place. I said I'd already told her, and expressed the wish that the two of them got along better.

"You might as well wish for wings," she said. "Oh, she's all right for a scarecrow, but don't you have better taste than that? There must be an attractive straight woman somewhere in New York. How about Angela?"

"Who?"

"The waitress at the Bum Rap."

"I thought you decided she was gay."

"I decided the question calls for research. Monday I'm gonna ask her a question that'll let me know if she's gay without tipping her off if she isn't."

"What's the question?"

"Something like, 'Angela, how about you and me getting married?'"

"You don't think that's overly subtle?"

"Well, I might work on the phrasing a little."

Any pleasure Denise might have felt at seeing me was completely obliterated by her reaction to the sight of Carolyn. The dismay showed clearly on her face. "Oh, the dog lady," she said, "I don't seem to remember your name."

"It's Carolyn," I was saying, even as Carolyn was saying, "You can call me Ms. Kaiser." It was going to be a long afternoon, I realized, and I was glad I wasn't going to be on hand for very much more of it.

"I didn't recognize you at first," Denise said. "I didn't remember you as being quite so short as you are, and at first glance I thought you were a child."

"It's my air of innocence that does it," Carolyn said. She stationed herself in front of one of the more striking paintings on display, tilting her head to one side and planting herself with her hands on her hips. "Painting must really be fun when you don't have to make it look like anything," she said. "You can just sort of smear the paint on any old way, can't you?"

"I'll make some coffee," Denise said. "And I'm sure Ms. Kaiser must want something to eat."

"No, I don't think so," Carolyn said. "I haven't had much of an appetite lately. Maybe I'm getting anorexia. I understand it strikes some women late in life."

It went on like this, and I might have been able to sit back and enjoy it if they hadn't both been favorite people of mine. God knows there was nothing else for me to do. They didn't need a referee; they were doing fine all by themselves, and nobody was bothering to keep score. Jared, I learned, was out for the afternoon. I thought that showed sound judgment on his part.

The phone rang at two o'clock. I picked it up, held the receiver to my ear, and waited until I heard a familiar voice. Then I nodded shortly and passed the receiver to Carolyn.

"The gentleman you're calling hasn't arrived yet," she said. "Please call again in precisely fifteen minutes."

She hung up, looked at me. I grabbed up my attaché case and got to my feet. "I'm on my way," I said. "You know what you're supposed to tell him when he calls?"

"Uh-huh. He should go to the Squires coffee shop at the corner of Madison and Seventy-ninth. He should sit at the table farthest from the door and wait, and you'll either join him at his table or have him paged under the name of Madison, as in Avenue."

"And if he asks about the coin-"

"You've got it."

"Right."

"You've got me involved in something," Denise said. "You're still a burglar, aren't you, Bernie? Of course you are. The leopard doesn't change his spots. Or the convict his stripes, apparently."

"They don't wear stripes in prison anymore."

"Oh, but they should. They're so slimming. But you'd know what they wear and don't wear, wouldn't you? You've been there. And you're still a burglar. Are you a killer, too?" She looked at Carolyn. "And what are you, exactly? His henchperson?"