“You mean if he can make a profit?”
“It happens all the time. If you wanted to make an offer, on the horse chestnut or indeed any of the works, I could relay it and see what response it receives.” And how much of an incentive would it take? Buell thought it would have to be substantial. “The man’s a private buyer, not a dealer, so he wasn’t planning on this, but who doesn’t like to turn a quick profit? The prospect of a ten percent gain wouldn’t move him, but if he could double his money, well, that might be a difficult temptation to resist.”
“In other words, offer him twenty-four thousand?”
Buell gnawed on a fingernail. “May I make a suggestion? Round it up to twenty-five. It’s a far more impressive number.”
“It’s impressive,” Keller allowed.
“And I daresay you’re impressed with it yourself, having expected to take home the painting for twelve. Still, you could pay twenty-five or even thirty-five thousand for that painting and still come out well ahead.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely.” Regis Buell leaned in close, let his voice drop. “Look how rapidly the entire show sold out. Declan Niswander’s price is about to shoot through the roof. If you were to ask my advice, I’d tell you to offer the twenty-five and go higher if you have to. And, if the buyer were to ask my advice, I’d have to tell him not to sell.” He smiled conspiratorially. “But he may not ask. Would you like me to sound him out?”
Keller said he’d have to think about it.
“First I had to reach the guy,” Dot said, “and then he had to reach his guy, and then he had to get back to me.”
“It’s always something,” Keller said.
“The questions surprised him, but he came back with answers. The client thinks Williamsburg ’s perfect, and he doesn’t care how many people come to the party. If you want to make an omelet you’ve got to break some eggs, and you might as well cap a few mushrooms while you’re at it.”
“And if the wife’s around-“
“Fine with him. Remember how he wanted it dramatic? I guess that comes under the heading of drama.” She cleared her throat. “Other hand, Keller, it doesn’t sound much like your kind of thing.”
“No, it doesn’t. What about the gallery? He have anything to say about that?”
“He didn’t like the idea.”
“What didn’t he like about it? Never mind, I don’t want an answer.”
“Then you’re not going to get one,” she said. “What do you think of that?”
Monday morning he went over his bid sheet, then addressed an envelope to a dealer in Hanford, Oklahoma. Lately the ads were full of Internet auctions. You could buy and sell online, and when your stamps came you could use special philatelic software to design your album pages and other software to maintain an inventory of your holdings.
Keller didn’t have a computer and didn’t want one. He figured he was spending enough money already.
He mailed the letter on the way to Grand Central and caught a train to White Plains. When he got to Taunton Place Dot opened the door for him and he followed her to the kitchen. The TV was on, tuned to a game show, but the sound was off.
“You took me by surprise,” she said. “What’s wrong, Keller? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I, uh, phoned.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know that. You phoned and I said come on up. Oh, that explains the look. You thought I’d forgotten our phone conversation. You figured I was starting to go ga-ga, just like the late lamented. No, I think I’ve got a few more years yet before my brain turns to jelly. All I meant was I didn’t hear your cab drive up. Or pull away, either, as far as that goes. What did you do, make him drop you at the corner?”
“No, I-“
“Remember when he had everybody doing that? He got it in his head it drew attention, people coming here all the time, so everybody had to walk a block or two, and that really drew attention. Did you walk a block or two?”
“I walked from the station.”
“All the way from the station?”
“It’s a nice day.”
“It’s never that nice,” she said. “You must have been in a big hurry to see me.”
“If I’d been in a hurry, I’d have taken a cab.”
“Keller, I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh.”
“For all the good it did me. Let me look at you. I guess it’s not much fun, working in your own city. Bright side, you’re not dead or in jail. You think there’s a chance of wrapping this up while that’s still true of both of us?”
“It’s all settled.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not the sarcastic one,” he said. “I handled it over the weekend. It’s all taken care of.”
“Account closed.”
“Yes.”
“End of story.”
“Right.”
“You never said a word on the phone, and you always do.”
“I’m usually calling from out of town. I figured I’d be here soon enough, I’d tell you in person.”
“And you usually seem, oh, what’s the word I want? Triumphant? Not bursting into song necessarily, and maybe even a little reserved, but like you’re the cat bringing in the dead mouse. Pleased with yourself.”
“I’m pleased.”