"Could you find out?"

"Well… there must be some papers, so I suppose so. It will give me something to do. Shall I call you when I find out?"

"I'd appreciate that." I found one of my business cards and scribbled my home number on it as well before handing it to her. "You can call me anytime."

She tucked it into her jacket pocket. "Thank you, dear. I'll let you know what I find."

We finished our lunch and drove back to the warehouse.

I offered her my hand before leaving her in the care of Michael and the mourners. "Thank you again for your help, Mrs. Ingstrom."

This time, she squeezed my hand as if we were conspiring together. She smiled a bit, her face pleating suddenly into once-familiar lines. "I'll do my best," she whispered.

I returned to the auction floor. A different man was at the podium. He was older than Will, sleek as a salmon-gorged sea lion, but not much fun. He took himself too seriously to get the crowd whipped up and his performance was distracted and sloppy, closing a beautiful mahogany console far too fast. He shrugged the grumbles off, then turned the microphone and gavel back over to Will. The paddles began to fly again.

Will took another short break just before the surgeon's cabinet came up and resumed the podium a couple of lots afterward. No one was interested in the crusty thing but me, and I got it for twenty dollars.

About six thirty, the final gavel rang down on a massive bronze propeller and the auction was over. I'd acquired a client's chair with rotted upholstery as well as the surgeon's cabinet. I wandered over to the table at the back to pay for my lots and wait for a word with Will. A man in a raincoat got into line behind me.

Will had just stopped by the table when the lady who'd bought the deck prisms stormed up and shoved her way to him.

Her voice was carbide-tipped. "I'd like a word with you, Mr. Novak!"

Michael took my check and looked up at her. "Which word would you like?"

She shot him a withering look. "Not you! That one!" she spat, jabbing a red-tipped finger at Will.

Will stepped forward but kept the table between them. "Is there a problem, Mrs. Fell?"

"You know there is, William Novak! You know I was tricked into overbidding on that glass," she shouted. "And you did it! You—you massaged me into going that last bid!"

The raincoated man tried to butt in. "Excuse me, I think I'm next…"

Will shot him a pleading look but stayed with the woman. "Mrs. Fell, no one forced you to bid. You know it's part of my job as the auctioneer to get the best price I can for the client, and encouraging faltering bidders is part of that job. If you felt the bid was too high, you should have dropped out whenever you wanted. Now, we have other customers to—"

"I was going to drop out! You tricked me! You, you tantalized me, like a fish on a hook!"

Will started to asnwer, but the main in the raincoat leaned forward.

"I believe I am next!"

"Sir, I know you are, but…"

The second auctioneer stepped up behind Will. Up close, he had broad shoulders and an incipient paunch. He was approaching sixty, not entirely without grace, but his dark gray eyes were chips of flint over his Irish nose and tight mouth. His voice was much less bland now. "What's going on over here, Novak?"

Will spread his hands. "A small misunderstanding, Brandon. Mrs. Fell is unhappy about her bid…"

"I can see that." He looked at the man in the raincoat, who pouted and began his lament again.

"I am next!"

"Of course, sir. Mr. Novak will assist you."

Brandon shot a black glare at Will, then turned to face Mrs. Fell. As he turned, his face flicked into a soft smile and his voice dropped half an octave and several decibels. Downright Svengali of him. He slipped his hand under her elbow, easing her close to him and away from the table. "Hello, Jean. Always a pleasure to see you. What's the trouble?" He bent his head down over hers, looking straight into her eyes with warm sincerity.

She whimpered like a puppy. "Well, I… I think Mr. Novak finessed me into overbidding. I'm very upset. It just isn't fair." She didn't seem to notice that Brandon was moving her to the end of the table, out of the traffic flow. I looked at Will and Michael with an incredulous expression. They made identical shrugs and Will turned to the main in the raincoat. Two more customers had come and gone before Brandon returned. Mrs. Fell was nowhere to be seen. Brandon hooked Will's arm with a much rougher grip than he'd used on Jean Fell.

A few feet from my end of the table, the men stopped. Being a professional eavesdropper, I listened. Brandon's profile had no trace of warmth or charm now.

He growled at Will. "Do not—ever—argue with a customer like that, Novak. What do I pay you for? And when I tell you to take over a customer, you do so! You are not a customer here. You are not a partner here. You are an employee, and when I say 'Do this, you do it! Do you understand me?"

Will remained cool. "We have an agreement, Brandon—"

"That agreement doesn't mean squat if I say it doesn't! Get it?" He glowered at Will.

Will said nothing. I could see his jaw tighten as Brandon continued to bore his furious gaze through him. "Yes."

"Good." Brandon turned and stalked back to a glossy blond woman someone had told me was the younger Mrs. Ingstrom. The smile was back by the time he reached her, and he strolled off with her arm through his, his head bent to her every word and a fond laugh trailing behind them.

I leaned over and whispered to Will, "What a piece of work."

He gave an embarrassed shrug. "I'd better get back to work. Then we can talk after."

He moved behind the table. He had a genuine smile for every bidder, and I could see that people liked William Novak. They stopped to chat for a moment as they paid; they smiled back when he smiled at them. He even looked good as he got increasingly dust-covered and dirty, with his hair falling down over his glasses as he carried out boxes and furniture.

He worked well with Michael, too. They joked around and laughed and took turns with the computer and carrying out the stuff. They acted more like buddies than father and son. Finally, the last of the customers was taken care of. Mikey returned from carting out some boxes and offered to help me with my chair and cabinet.

Will forestalled him. "Why don't you finish up your paperwork, Michael? I'll help Harper and then I'll come back and help you and Brandon close up. OK?"

Michael gave a knowing grin and turned back to his laptop computer. Will picked up the chair and I grabbed the cabinet. He followed me out to my truck. We shoved the two pieces into the back.

He looked around the almost empty lot. "Well, looks like there's no one waiting in ambush for you today."

"It makes a pleasant change. Oh, and thanks for introducing me to Ann Ingstrom. She remembers the parlor organ and is going to look for some papers that may give the name of the current owner. I could be only one step away from finding the benighted thing."

"That would be great." He looked around and his face turned pink. "I was wondering…"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if I could… if you would like to have dinner with me."

"Tonight?" I asked.

"Yes, tonight. After I finish up here. It shouldn't take long."

I sagged with disappointment. "I'd love to, but I can't tonight. I've got some momentum on a missing person and I need to take advantage of it while I can. Could I take a rain check?"

"Does that mean I'm on for dinner the next time it rains?"

"Even sooner, if I can manage it. Can I have your phone number?" I felt like a teenager asking such a question.

He fished a card out of his pants pocket and wrote something on the back, then handed it to me. "My home phone's on the other side. Call me when you can."