The Scarlet Ruse (5 page)

He stared at me, uneasy and upset. "She is a good person. She isn't used to anything rough."

"Rough?" I asked him.

"No offense," he said.

Meyer said, "You look terrible, Hirsh. Travis will drive you home."

"It's not even as far as the bank, but the other way. So I can't walk it?"

"I'll walk with you," Meyer said.

"Why should you bother?

"Why shouldn't I?"

On the way out through the store, by prearrangement, Hirsh told his two ladies that Mr. Travis McGee was going to do what he could to help out in this terrible situation, and he would appreciate it if they would answer questions and show him things and so on. Meyer told me he would go his own way, do a little research maybe, take a bus probably, and see me at Bahia Mar.

I liked the way Mary Alice handled the customer. She was plugging an outfit which, with stamps, album, manual, hinges, and so on, came to $24.95. The man finally said he couldn't go over fifteen dollars. She told him there was a $14.95 kit, but she could assemble something better for him. She took items from stock, added them up, and told him it came to $14.50. Then she threw in another packet of stamps as a birthday present from Mr. Fedderman. She did not patronize the man. She made it seem like a better deal than the more expensive spread.

The narrow store seemed jammed full of merchandise in a bewildering confusion. But as I got used to it, I could see there was a logical order to the storage and display, and see that everything was bright and clean.

After the man left, she moved over to where I stood at the counter and said, "It's sort of a policy in the trade, you know, to encourage kids to collect. But look at what some of these countries are doing. This stuff is just a bunch of… gummed labels. And they grind it out in such millions, they'll never be worth more than what they're worth this minute. I've told Hirsh I wish they'd all get together and boycott the countries that take advantage." She turned a page. "Look here. This is a new issue for Grenada; it's an island near Trinidad that used to be part of the British Empire. They've got a contract with some company that grinds out stamps and sends a few of them to Grenada for postal use and sends the rest directly to dealers like us and splits the profit with the government in Grenada. It's just a racket. Gee, I guess we're no better. Our government encourages collectors. Every stamp that isn't used means no postal service is required, so it's practically all profit. People buy all the commemoratives as they come out, in whole sheets and tuck them away like an investment. Some investment! You go to sell them, somebody will take them off your hands like for seven percent discount off face value. That's because they print hundreds of millions of every one." She hesitated. "I guess you don't want to know about stuff like that."

"Why not? If I was looking into a theft of paintings, I'd want to know something about art."

"What are you? Some kind of investigator? I know you are Meyer's friend. He's such a dear, sweet man. We all love him."

Before I could answer, a man came in and was greeted by name. She went back to the safe and brought out five little brown envelopes. The man sat on a stool, took out his own magnifying glass and, one by one, inspected the gold coins. Big coins. Mary Alice waited patiently. Finally he said, "Okay, dear. These three. Tell Hirsh this one is a slider, and I don't like the strike on this one. That makes six hundred and twenty, doesn't it?"

She used scratch paper and said, "Six forty-four eighty with tax, Mr. Sulzer."

He produced six hundreds and one fifty. She made out a receipt and gave him his change. He said, "When are you going to change your mind about some nice Sunday?"

"If I do, I'll let you know, okay?"

"How is he doing locating a 1930?"

"Gee, I don't know. He was complaining about finding one that wasn't the quality you want. I really don't know much about coins, like I keep telling you. If he finds one, I'm sure he'll phone."

Sulzer left. She made a face at me. "He collects double eagles. St. Gaudens, not the Liberty Heads."

"What's a slider?"

"He won't buy anything except B.U. or better. That means Brilliant Uncirculated. The only things better are choice, gem, and proof. This one here, he thinks it could just as well have been called A.U., or Almost Uncirculated. So if a coin is sort of in the middle, where you could maybe honestly call it one or the other, it's what a dealer calls a slider. I don't feel a thing for coins. I mean they're valuable, and they keep going up and all, but I don't want to own them. Let me get these back in the safe with the money."

When she came back I said, "What about some nice Sunday?"

"Oh, he's got a sailboat. And a lot of ideas."

"And you've already got somebody you'd rather go sailing with?"

"Yes, but not the way you mean that. You didn't tell me what kind of investigator you are, Mr. McGee."

"Travis or Trav, Mary Alice. I'm not any kind. I just try to find things people lose. On a percentage basis. Salvage consultant."

"I hope you find the stamps."

"You'll probably be able to tell me where they are."

She bit her lip and tilted her head. "Now that's kind of a rotten thing to say."

"How so?"

"I wouldn't do anything like that!"

"Like what?"

"Steal anything."

"You, dear? I mean you are a bright woman, and you probably saw something or heard something or know something which doesn't seem important at all, but is really very important. When you and I find out what it is you know, then it will tell us where the stamps are."

She frowned at me. "I don't like cute."

"What?"

"You said that the way you said it so I would take it wrong. You wanted me to. You wanted to see me react. Okay, I'm reacting. I don't like that kind of cute. Don't play little games with me. If I'm waiting for you to play games all the time, I won't be thinking of how to help, will I?"

"Good point."

"You did it on purpose?"

"Certainly. Can I take you to lunch?"

"She'll be back in ten minutes. Sure."

"Seems quiet around here. Don't you get bored?"

"Bored! I'm about ten thousand jobs behind right now. I've got a whole mess of new issues to mount. Our mailing is going to be late this month. It goes to six hundred people. I've got three appraisals I'm working on, for estates. I took two of them home to my place, because they aren't all that important moneywise. But the other is back in the safe, and it's pretty nice. It's nicer than Hirsh said it was going to be."

"And if you wanted to, you could pull a nice item out of it and replace it with something cheaper, and nobody would know?"

She turned away from me and began straightening albums on one of the shelves behind her.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"I'm waiting until I can say something."

I waited. She turned back. "Here is the only way I can say it. Excuse my French, I don't give a goddamn what you would do or wouldn't do. Or what anybody else in the world does or doesn't do. If I steal, somebody knows. Me! That's why I can't, won't and don't. And I am going to have lunch alone, thanks."

"I guess you should. I guess nobody is really worthy of breaking bread with you, dear. We ordinary mortals are unable to tell at first sight just how totally honest and decent and virtuous you really are. At first glance, you look like a sizable and pretty lady, and I have the vague feeling that many pretty ladies have done unpretty things over the last few thousand years. By all means, lunch alone and think clean and honest thoughts, dear."

She went white and then red with anger. She slapped her palm on the plate glass counter top. "But I am getting so goddamn tired of you accusing me of things!"

I yelled too but just a little louder. "So move the scenario elsewhere, you silly bitch! Move it to Chicago. Mr. X, the expert, buys for Mr. Y, the investor. Miss Z keeps the records and handles the merchandise. X, Y, and Z go to the bank a dozen times. The merchandise is stolen and replaced by cheap goods. Who do we blame, dear? X, Y, or Z. You were there! Who? Who? Who?"

She blinked and blinked, and the tears welled and spilled and trickled. She made an aimless gesture, and I took her hands and held them. She looked down and said, "I guess I just… I don't…"

The door opened, and the pressure on the mat bonged the overhead bell. Jane Lawson peered at us.

"What's going on? Are you crying, Mary Alice?"

"We were just going to lunch," I told Jane.

"Let go and I'll get my purse," Mary Alice said.

After we'd ordered a drink, Mary Alice went to the women's room to repair the tear damage. She came smiling back and sat and sipped and said, "You're kind of wearing, you know? Or maybe it's the whole rotten day. I feel ragged around all my edges."

"It doesn't show."

"On me it never does. I could be dying, and people would tell me how great I look. I always wanted to be one of those mysterious little girls with the hollow cheeks and the sad eyes. I wanted to have a kind of accent. You know. Like Hungarian."

"And all the sad-eyed little Hungarian girls want-"

"I know. I know. You've got a funny look on your face, Trav."

"I just found out I don't have to wonder about one thing that didn't fit too well. I don't have to accuse you again."

"Thanks for practically nothing."

I reached across and touched the bridge of her nose and pulled my hand back. "The answer is right there."

She looked puzzled, took out a mirror, and turned her head toward the light. "Oh. The little groove place, huh? From the glasses. But why would… Oh, I think I see. If I inventoried all those things and cut the mounts to size and put them in the book, wouldn't I see they weren't the same when I looked back through the book that day? The answer is, I don't wear my glasses in the bank. The close work is all done. The answer is vanity. Okay. No matter what kind of frames I get, I look like a big goggly owl."

"How about contacts?"

"I can't adjust to the hard ones. You can't get bifocals in soft lenses. I wear them to see close, and then I'd have to take them out to see across the room or drive my car or cross the street. Or wear glasses for distance when I was wearing them."

"Oh."

"Jane says the only thing faster than light is me whipping my glasses off when a customer comes in. I know it's silly. I think my husband made me sort of supersensitive about them."

"How?"

"I shouldn't mention him because I don't like answering questions about him, and so I hardly ever do."

"No questions."

"Thanks. We better order, maybe?"

We ordered. After the food came, I said, "I know you didn't find out until this morning, but you must have some idea of how it was done."

"I can't believe it really happened. I keep thinking Hirsh has to be wrong. He's really old. Don't old people get weird ideas sometimes?"

"That would be a pretty complicated fantasy."

"But for me it's easier to believe."

"Why do you say that?"

"Look, it's the detail, the volume. If I had no interruptions and everything right there, it would take a long time to take the good items out and put the bad items in. There are thirty-six double-sided pages in that stock book. Seventy-two pages and about ten to go. Okay, that means about ten items per page. I'm pretty quick with my hands. They're kind of big but quick. So I have to take an item out of the horizontal strip and put it aside and then select the item that goes there and put it where it should be. Ten seconds to switch one? Fair guess? So six hundred single stamps, pairs, blocks and plate blocks all in mounts would take six thousand seconds, or one hundred minutes, or an hour and forty minutes. And if I could get very whippy and do it in five seconds, it would still take ten minutes less than an hour. Just exactly how am I going to do that sitting practically touching two men at a little table under a bright light? The goodies have to be right there in that book! Or the bank is crooked. Take your choice."

"Would you be able to remember the arrangement, the way you put the items in the book?"

"Sure."

"And you could see well enough to-"

"I'm not that blind. I found the Barbados page, and it was too full to take the ones we'd brought that day, even if I'd moved the items closer together. And I like to arrange the stamps on the pages. You know. Spaced to look nice. It doesn't matter to Sprenger. He wouldn't care if we put them in a cigar box, I guess. But they are nice, and they represent a lot of money, and it is sort of… a response to the quality and the money to arrange them nicely."

"Do you think if you had your glasses on that day in the bank, you would have seen something was wrong?"

"From what Hirsh said this morning I should hope so! Bad centering. Stains and toning and fading. But not in every case."

"Why not?"

"Well… take Barbados for example. Scott 53, the four-penny rose is worth about fifty dollars unused, for a real good one. But Scott 53b in the same condition is worth fifteen hundred dollars anyway. Know what the silly difference is? Well, 53 is perf fourteen on all sides, and 53b is perf twelve and a half on the sides."

"What do those numbers mean?"

"Like fourteen. Those little holes so you can tear the stamps apart, it means there are fourteen holes in a space two centimeters long. You use a gauge to measure, something with the different gauges all printed on it. So you couldn't look in the stock book and tell with the naked eye if you had the ordinary 1875 four-penny rose or the special one. The special one is worth so much more because there were so few of them printed."