“Yes, Pilgrim,” Charles said. “Keep making your progress. I will fight for you all that I can.”
He stood for a very long time looking, at shelves, at books, at the room, and at the precious value of everything, everything at all.
“I’ve so enjoyed knowing all of you,” he said.
Slowly he climbed the stairs, back into the light.
Morgan was standing in the street, gape-mouthed, wide-eyed and blinking.
“Good morning,” Charles said.
“Oh.”
“Yes. It’s all right, Morgan. There’s a lot of work to do. The basement looks good. Everything’s down there.”
“What happened?”
“We’ll talk about it later. For now, we need to get the books out. Do you have boxes?”
“Some. Alice is getting everything.” Morgan blinked once more. “I should just start?”
“Yes, get started. Take them to my house, we’ll find room. I need to go out for a while.”
But he had only turned when a taxi blocked his way, and its door opened, and a walking stick jutted.
“Get me out,” a voice said, and Charles reached down and gently lifted. It didn’t take much force.
“Jacob,” he said. “We’ve had a bad accident, I’m afraid.”
“Bad accident? That’s nothing. I’ve seen plenty worse.”
“It’s bad enough.”
“You think you’re trying to get free advertising? It’s all over the television.”
“Oh. I haven’t been watching.”
“Of course not, there’s work to do. What’s left, anything?”
“The basement came through, Jacob. Everything’s still down there. Morgan has already started and Alice is coming.”
“Then it’s not bad at all. Just work, and I know you don’t mind that. Buck up, Charles.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much. I’m glad you’re here, Jacob. Would you like to go over to the house for the morning? When is your flight?”
“I cancelled it. I’m here to take care of your books, and someday you’ll learn how to yourself and keep your store from burning down. Stop there! Let me see!”
Morgan had just emerged with his first box and Jacob scuttled over to him.
“Leave the top off,” he commanded. “Let them dry. Not too many to a box. Now you’ll pack them special to let them dry. I’ll tell you how.”
“Oh, Mr. Beale!” Alice had arrived.
“Everything is fine,” he said. “We won’t sell much today, but everything’s fine.”
She burst into tears.
“Leave the boxes,” Charles said, “and go over to the house to see Dorothy. Everything will be fine. Come back and help when you’re ready.”
“Yes, sir,” she sniffed.
“And thank you so much,” he said. “For everything.” Her lip was too stiff to talk so she just nodded. “Morgan. Just keep working, slow and steady. Angelo could help, and Alice will too when she’s calmed down.”
“Will you be back soon?” Morgan asked.
“When I can. I need to take your little telephone.”
“Yes, sir. Here.”
“Thank you very much, Morgan. You’ve been such a help over the years.”
Morgan set the first box next to his car and went in for the second.
“Jacob,” Charles said. “I need to go out for a while. If you could just watch and help them pack.”
“What are you doing, Charles?” Jacob looked at him suspiciously.
“Just some business.”
“What business?”
“Doing what I know I have to do.”
Jacob searched him with a single glance.
“Then I’ll take care of this.”
Charles returned to his quick pace. He took a smart left onto King Street and crossed to Market Square. The crowds were thicker than the day before, with brisk-moving suited office workers squeezing between slow tourists. Most of the benches were empty and Charles picked a solitary one. He took Morgan’s telephone from his pocket, and a business card, and pushed the little buttons.
“Frank Kelly.”
“Mr. Kelly. This is Charles Beale.”
“Oh, hey. What can I do for you?”
“I need your help.”
“Sure. What?”
“Mr. Kelly, this is about Derek Bastien, and it’s a very long story. I just have one question, though. When we talked about Derek’s desk, you called it a Honaker.”
“Um, yeah. I think that’s right.”
“Who told you that it was?”
“Somebody. Let me think. Why do you want to know?”
“It’s part of the long story.”
“Go ahead,” Frank Kelly said. “I like stories.”
“Do you remember the auction where it was sold? Two people tried to buy it. One of them hired a man from New York as an agent. I’ve spoken to Edmund Cane, that agent, and he called the desk a Honaker, too.” The little telephone was awkward to hold, and Charles switched it to his other ear. “No one else so far has known that detail about the desk. Whoever told you might be the person who also told Mr. Cane. I need to find that person.”
“Okay, just a minute. I’m looking at my notes. So is it something to do with the burglary?”
“It might be.”
“Should you be talking to Harry Watts over in D.C. Homicide?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m not really sure.”
“Okay, here it is. Right after the burglary in November. Interview with Norman Highberg.”
“Norman,” Charles said. “You’re sure?”
“It’s right here. Okay, Mr. Beale, I feel like I need to know more about this long story.”
“Would you like to meet?” Charles said.
“I could come right over. Are you at your place?”
Charles sighed. “No. We had a fire last night.”
“A fire!? Oh, man, I hope it wasn’t bad. What happened?”
“It was very bad. The building was destroyed.”
The telephone gasped. “All the way? What? Everything?”
“The basement survived, where the rare books were. That was very fortunate.”
“So, wait. I mean…” Mr. Kelly struggled for words. “Was anybody hurt?”
“Yes. The man who set the fire was killed.”
“Oh, man! Oh, man. Right in the store? I don’t know what to say. Are you all right?”
“Yes, all of us are all right.”
“That’s such a great place! Oh, I’m really sorry.” And then Mr. Kelly’s investigative mind finally caught up. “Hey, what, is there something up? It doesn’t have anything to do with Bastien, does it?” A longer pause and a grimmer voice. “Where was your night guy?”
“He’s all right. He was there, but he’s all right.”
“Mr. Beale, we need to talk, and we need Watts in on this. Who’s covering it in Alexandria?”
“It’s a Detective Mondelli.”
“Okay, never heard of him, but we need him, too. Look, I’ve been getting some stuff up on your Acevedo guy, and I think I need to start moving.”
“Mr. Kelly,” Charles said. “There’s a lot more to say and many more questions. Could you meet me at Norman Highberg’s shop in Georgetown? I think we can find our answers there.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Give me a little while to get there,” Charles said.
Charles took his time. He walked the familiar length of King Street, looking in windows and watching people, but never stopping. He rode the escalator to the Metro platform with the usual dozens of other people and waited until the doors whooshed open. He chose a seat and watched Alexandria accelerate away.
The ride was uneventful. He took the Blue Line past the airport and under the Pentagon, through Arlington and finally under the river to Georgetown, a familiar and comfortable course, and very finally left the Metro behind beneath the Georgetown streets. And then he was on the streets, which were very busy and crowded. He walked the blocks he needed to, passing the storefronts and so many people. At one last door he paused, and walked in.