had removed his shoes to avoid soiling the fabulous Kilim prayer rug under the chair. Likewise his socks, because he enjoyed the pleasantly rough texture of the carpet on his toes. Behind him, tastefully displayed on a splendid John Goddard tea table, a Matthew Norman carriage clock nibbled away the seconds. Taking no thought of the diminishing number of ticks and tocks allotted to him, Ralph Briggs inked numbers into a leather-bound ledger. He attended to his accounting as if time could be purchased like bread or wine. Presently, the task was completed. He raised the lid of a cherry box that concealed a small control console, pressed an ivory button. Within two beats of his heart, waves of the Budapest Strings began to wash over him in great, soothing sweeps. The enchanted dance of Schubert’s Ständchen carried him off to a distant, peaceful land.
Losing count of the golden minutes, Ralph Briggs sat with his eyes closed.
His reverie was interrupted by the throaty rumble of a V-8 engine, the crunching of seventeen-inch tires on gritty white gravel. He removed a priceless Abraham Louis Breguet timepiece from his vest pocket, stared at the elegant chronometer. Eight fifty-nine. It must be Charles. The droll Indian chap is a full minute early .
CHARLIE MOON switched off the ignition.
Miss James flashed a smile at her man. “You promise not to be too long?”
“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.” He tarried for a moment, holding her hand.
THE FRONT of the antique shop was dominated by a fifteen-foot-wide plate-glass window. On each side of the large glazing was a narrow crank-operated ventilation window; each of these had been opened to allow a whiff of fresh air into the musty interior. Before the Ute had a chance to push the doorbell, Ralph Briggs opened the door. “Good evening, Charles.”
“Hi, Ralph.” Moon looked at the white man’s bare feet. “Business been that bad?”
“Do not be snide.” Briggs sat down on a nondescript three-legged stool, slipped on a pair of comfortable deer-skin moccasins, then got up to peer past the towering Ute. “Your major hug is in the car?”
“That’s main squeeze .”
“Do forgive my grammatical shortcomings. I must make a note to start hanging around pool halls and shopping malls so that I may master the vernacular.”
“You are forgiven. And by the way, Miss James is my only squeeze.”
“She is not coming in?”
“That’s right.”
“She doesn’t know what you’re up to, eh?” Briggs did not wait for a reply. “Well, I suppose she will find some way to amuse herself during your absence.” A twisting breeze stirred up the darkness. He squinted at the shuddering shadows cast by a congregation of quaking aspens, locked the door with a key.
Moon followed the proprietor of The Compleate Antiquarian past a carefully orchestrated array of furniture and glassware that suggested a posh Victorian parlor. Briggs stopped at a display case in the rear of the showroom, pointed. “There is the piece you have been lusting after. Allow me to say that I am both amazed and gratified that you exhibit such good taste.”
The Ute was quite familiar with the small treasure, but he leaned to get a closer look. Among a dazzling array of glistening pearls and bejeweled butterflies was The Ring. The eternal circle was purest gold, the setting a brilliant green oval.
“I have never seen a finer emerald.” Briggs said this in a reverent whisper.
Moon shot a sideways look at the fussy little man. “Ralph, I can’t afford to get in trouble with my sweetheart, so I gotta ask—you dead sure that’s the real McCoy?”
“No. I am a total charlatan, the setting is a piece of medicine-bottle glass, the ring is common brass.” Briggs arched an eyebrow as he removed the item from the case, placed it on a small square of black velvet. “Frankly, I doubt you would know the difference. Though perhaps your fiancée would.”
“She’s not my fiancée yet.”
Losing count of the golden minutes, Ralph Briggs sat with his eyes closed.
His reverie was interrupted by the throaty rumble of a V-8 engine, the crunching of seventeen-inch tires on gritty white gravel. He removed a priceless Abraham Louis Breguet timepiece from his vest pocket, stared at the elegant chronometer. Eight fifty-nine. It must be Charles. The droll Indian chap is a full minute early .
CHARLIE MOON switched off the ignition.
Miss James flashed a smile at her man. “You promise not to be too long?”
“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.” He tarried for a moment, holding her hand.
THE FRONT of the antique shop was dominated by a fifteen-foot-wide plate-glass window. On each side of the large glazing was a narrow crank-operated ventilation window; each of these had been opened to allow a whiff of fresh air into the musty interior. Before the Ute had a chance to push the doorbell, Ralph Briggs opened the door. “Good evening, Charles.”
“Hi, Ralph.” Moon looked at the white man’s bare feet. “Business been that bad?”
“Do not be snide.” Briggs sat down on a nondescript three-legged stool, slipped on a pair of comfortable deer-skin moccasins, then got up to peer past the towering Ute. “Your major hug is in the car?”
“That’s main squeeze .”
“Do forgive my grammatical shortcomings. I must make a note to start hanging around pool halls and shopping malls so that I may master the vernacular.”
“You are forgiven. And by the way, Miss James is my only squeeze.”
“She is not coming in?”
“That’s right.”
“She doesn’t know what you’re up to, eh?” Briggs did not wait for a reply. “Well, I suppose she will find some way to amuse herself during your absence.” A twisting breeze stirred up the darkness. He squinted at the shuddering shadows cast by a congregation of quaking aspens, locked the door with a key.
Moon followed the proprietor of The Compleate Antiquarian past a carefully orchestrated array of furniture and glassware that suggested a posh Victorian parlor. Briggs stopped at a display case in the rear of the showroom, pointed. “There is the piece you have been lusting after. Allow me to say that I am both amazed and gratified that you exhibit such good taste.”
The Ute was quite familiar with the small treasure, but he leaned to get a closer look. Among a dazzling array of glistening pearls and bejeweled butterflies was The Ring. The eternal circle was purest gold, the setting a brilliant green oval.
“I have never seen a finer emerald.” Briggs said this in a reverent whisper.
Moon shot a sideways look at the fussy little man. “Ralph, I can’t afford to get in trouble with my sweetheart, so I gotta ask—you dead sure that’s the real McCoy?”
“No. I am a total charlatan, the setting is a piece of medicine-bottle glass, the ring is common brass.” Briggs arched an eyebrow as he removed the item from the case, placed it on a small square of black velvet. “Frankly, I doubt you would know the difference. Though perhaps your fiancée would.”
“She’s not my fiancée yet.”
Similar Books
