Unraveled (20 page)

Kelly pulled on her sweats. Room service. That sounded good. So did the Pinot Noir. She sensed she’d need the Jacuzzi
and
red wine to get to sleep tonight. Too much aggravation for one day. Way too much.

Fourteen

Kelly
merged from the interstate exit lane into traffic flowing on a major thoroughfare in northeastern Denver. A huge exhibition building lay up ahead. Kelly joined the line of cars turning into the exhibition center’s vast parking lot, which looked packed already. After ten minutes of winding through rows of parked cars, Kelly found someone backing out and quickly claimed it.

Another sunny Colorado day beckoned, tempting Kelly to grab the mild temperatures while they lasted and take a hike through the Poudre Canyon. Kelly resisted. Not today. Today was for research, she reminded herself and shoved her keys, money, and a folded paper into her jeans pockets, then headed for the exhibition hall’s front entrance.

Kelly was amazed at the steady stream of people entering the exhibition hall. The filled parking lot indicated that hundreds of people were already inside the huge building. Both men and women of all ages were walking toward the banks of glass entry doors. Couples pushing baby strollers, children in tow. A large banner stretched above the doors announcing GUN SHOW. NATION’S LARGEST. OVER 1,000 DISPLAYS.

Pushing through the doors, Kelly paid her admission to a man wearing a Colorado Rockies baseball hat and entered the huge hall. Only to be stopped within a few feet by a woman who checked her admission ticket and inquired if she was carrying any firearm, warning that no loaded weapons were allowed within the building.

The immense building was packed. Every aisle was filled with people and vendors. Kelly scanned the hall from side to side, trying to estimate the number of aisles. Fifteen? It was hard to tell because of the number of people browsing, standing, and talking. Observing the crowd, it reminded Kelly of the Camping and RV show she had attended with Mimi and Burt last fall.

Merging into the crowds, Kelly scanned the green-clothdraped display tables. Firearms of every description lay spread out on the tables, mounted on wooden stands, or locked inside glass cases. Rifles and handguns, camouflage hunting clothes, backpacks, hunting scopes for rifles, canteens, camping gear.

Kelly walked slowly through the aisles, trying to check the tables on each side as she went. The woman at the entrance said dealers in antique firearms were scattered throughout the hall. Spotting an old-fashioned rifle laying between the modern hunting models, Kelly examined the wellpreserved piece. An 1877 Springfield, the card read. She looked for more old weapons, pistols or revolvers, but didn’t see any and moved on.

Finishing that aisle, Kelly turned into another and immediately spotted another old rifle displayed amongst the modern Browning deer-hunting models. Kelly leaned over the table and admired the older rifle’s gleaming wooden stock and long metallic barrel. An 1895 German hunting rifle, the card read. In excellent condition, she noticed. Farther down the table was a “European” 1842 rifle with bayonet attached. Amazingly, there was only a little bit of rust visible.

Beside it lay an antique sword with a hand-carved ivory handle labeled
The Seige of Vienna, 1683
. Kelly marveled at the sword’s good condition, considering its age. Next to it was an English cutlass, dated 1804. Its inscription read:
Death to the French!
Right beside the cutlass was a collection of engravings of the French Revolution. Farther down was a 1906 U.S. Cavalry saber. And beside that was another sword labeled
The Mexican War, 1830s
.

Fascinated by the historical displays, Kelly glanced around for more vintage firearms. In the next aisle, she spotted some revolvers mounted on a red velvet display stand. At last, she thought, and waited her turn to examine them. The couple ahead of her took their time, commenting on antique weapons. Kelly noticed this vendor’s displays stretched to three adjacent tables. Maybe she’d found the mother lode.

She approached the display and scanned the antique handguns. All of them were revolvers, not pistols. The gun Fred Turner had was a pistol, which used a magazine to hold cartridges that slid into the handle. Revolvers had a cylindrical chamber with bullets and were easily recognized as the guns that “cowboys” used. Unable to see the adjacent table, Kelly observed the revolvers displayed. Colt .45s and Colt .44s from the 1870s. Another from 1892. All were in excellent condition, she noticed, metal barrels gleaming, some of the handles carved in ivory.

Peering down to the next table, she saw modern carbine rifles as well as more modern handguns. Glancing around, she spotted the vendor still talking with that couple. Kelly approached and positioned herself right behind the couple who was describing their own antique gun collection to the attentive dealer. Once the couple turned to walk away, Kelly gave the vendor a bright smile.

“You’ve got a beautiful collection of antique firearms here,” she complimented, gesturing down the tables.

“Thank you,” the older man replied, then took a sip from his coffee cup.

Kelly recognized the logo of a gourmet coffee franchise and her caffeine lobe woke up from its crowd-induced slumber. Later, she thought. “I was wondering if you carried any pistols from World War Two.”

“Sorry, I don’t have any at the moment. Were you looking for a particular model?” he asked, clearly interested.

Digging into her back jeans pocket, Kelly withdrew a folded printout of the photo she’d taken at Fred Turner’s cabin. “I’m trying to find a pistol like this one. We’re looking to buy one for my father’s sixty-fifth birthday.” Kelly had chosen a convenient and easy fictional explanation to explain today’s search.

The vendor scrutinized the photo, eyebrows furrowing. “Whose hand is that?”

“My uncle’s,” Kelly continued breezily. “He thought it would give perspective.”

“Hmmmm, looks kind of like one of the German pistols, maybe a Mauser. Who’s gun is this? Your uncle’s?”

“Yes, it is. But his memory has deteriorated a lot and he can’t remember much anymore.” Kelly shrugged. “Anyway, my dad always wanted a pistol like my uncle Bob’s. I was hoping to find one at this show. Do you have any idea who carries guns like this? This exhibition is huge, I don’t know where to begin.”

The vendor handed the photo printout back to Kelly. “I think John Bridger may have some Mausers along with his antique pistols.” He pointed out into the sea of tables and the tide of people moving past them. “I’m not sure, but I think his table is somewhere over there, a few aisles from the other wall.”

Kelly glanced out into the morass of people, filling the aisles, and sighed inwardly. “Hey, thanks, I appreciate it,” she said as she stuffed the photo into her pocket. Merging back into the crowds again, Kelly made note of which aisles she’d covered, then skipped the next five, aiming for the other half of the hall.

Entering an aisle, Kelly moved faster since she didn’t find any tables with antique weapons. She did see several tables of Native American turquoise jewelry and hand-carved belts next to another table filled with intricate beading comparable to what she had seen at fiber arts shows.

Coming to the end of that aisle, Kelly was about to start the next when she spotted the gourmet coffee franchise and hastened over. She needed caffeine for this time-consuming task. While she waited in line for the strong coffee, Kelly sniffed a delectable aroma. Glancing down the row of food vendors, she saw the barbeque signs. And noticed all the people sitting at tables in the food court area, enjoying barbeque, fries, corn dogs, salads, and ice cream. Kelly’s stomach growled. Trying to be good, Kelly didn’t give in to the cookies that sat beside the coffee register. Caffeine would have to fill her up for now. She had work to do. After she’d talked to that last dealer, she’d reward herself with a barbeque sandwich. Trying to ignore the others munching happily away, Kelly rejoined the throngs in the aisles.

Table after table of hunting rifles, scopes, handguns small and handguns large, handguns that would do Dirty Harry proud. Interspersed with tables of books. Books on guns. War histories. Biographies. Soldiers’ diaries. There were even tables displaying soldiers’ uniforms from past wars—World War One and Two. American uniforms. British uniforms. French uniforms. German uniforms. Japanese uniforms. Even Vietnamese uniforms. Next to that were several tables of hunting equipment, which Kelly sped by, until something caught her eye. An LED pocket light. She’d been looking for one exactly like that. Glad she’d brought her credit card with her along with some cash, Kelly paid for it and quickly returned to her search.

Another aisle, then another. More guns. More rifles. More books. And in between, a beautiful display of silk scarves. Kelly had to examine the fibers and recognized the work of some of the same vendors who had scarf displays at the fiber arts shows. Fascinating, she thought, as she continued on, slowing for a display of family wartime photos. Turning into another aisle, she passed by a table of crystal jewelry, then she spotted something up ahead. Once the crowd moved along, Kelly saw two curved antique pistols in a glass case.

Glancing down the vendor’s table, she glimpsed more pistols. At last, she exulted, noticing the vendor’s name displayed above the table. JOHN BRIDGER, ANTIQUE FIREARMS, it proclaimed. And rightly so, Kelly decided, admiring the dueling pistols displayed in locked cases. Antique Flintlock pistols. Another pistol from the American Revolution, circa 1780s, the display read. Pistols that Kelly had only seen pictured in Hollywood movies.

Marveling at the beautiful condition of the pieces, Kelly inched her way down the table. She saw several pistols displayed that resembled the one in the photo. Drawing closer at last, Kelly was able to lean over the table and scrutinize the vintage weapons laying there. The vendor was absorbed in conversation with another customer.

There were three rows of older pistols. Kelly looked at each, noticing the way the barrel looked, the handle. Then, she spotted it. A pistol that looked like the one in her photo. She approached that row and scrutinized the pistol, feeling her pulse race. That looks just like it, she thought, digging out the photo from her back pocket again.

She examined the photo, then the pistol on the table, then the photo. It was a match. Or, as close a match as she had found so far.

“May I help you, miss?” the older, gray-haired vendor asked with a friendly smile.

“Yes, yes, you can.” Kelly returned his smile. “I’m trying to match this photo with a pistol, and I think I’ve found it. I didn’t know what kind it was, but it must be this one.” She pointed to the pistol on the table below. “The photo looks just like this German Mauser you’ve got here. What do you think?” She handed the photo to the vendor.

The older man examined the photo and nodded. “Yep. That’s a Mauser, all right. Where’d you get this photo?”

“Off the Internet,” Kelly lied again. She had a selection of plausible explanations available, depending on the questioner. She sensed this vendor might not buy her memorydeficient uncle story.

The vendor peered at her. “Whose hand is that?”

“I dunno. Some guy on the Web,” she gave a dismissive wave. “I’m just trying to find a real German World War Two pistol for my uncle Harold. He’s a real history buff, and he’s getting kind of old. He fought in the war.”

The man handed the photo back to Kelly. “Did you want to purchase the pistol yourself?”

Kelly shrugged. “I wish I could. Uncle Harold will have to buy it. I don’t think I have the money.” She pointed at the seven-hundred-dollar price tag on the German Mauser.

He smiled. “Actually, a gentleman told me he’s planning on buying that pistol today, so it won’t be available. He’s building a collection.”

“Do many people buy these pistols? They’re kind of pricey.”

“Collectors, mostly. But some people buy them from family estates. Our soldiers brought the pistols home from Europe after the war.” He reached into his shirt pocket. “Take my card and give it to your uncle. He can check out my website online and contact me. If he’s interested in purchasing a Mauser like that one, I can let him know when I’ve got one in stock. Then, we can set up an appointment. Of course, I live in another state, so he’ll have to travel or wait for another gun show to come into town. But there’s no guarantee a Mauser like that would be available. They’re beautiful pieces.” He handed her a card.

“Yes, they are.” Kelly glanced at the card. “Tell me, Mr. Bridger, where do you get most of these pistols? Do people come in and sell them to you? Do you go to estate sales or something?”

“We mostly obtain these vintage pieces from private collectors. Tell your uncle I’d be happy to give him the name of a couple of other vendors who carry vintage weapons who might have one available. He can e-mail me.”

Kelly examined his card. He lived in New England. “Thanks. I’ll e-mail you tonight, if it’s okay. My uncle doesn’t go on the web.” She smiled and extended her hand. “Thanks again for your help, Mr. Bridger. I really appeciate it.”

“Glad to help, miss,” Bridger said, returning her firm handshake.

“Mind if I take a photo of the Mauser?” Kelly thought to ask.

“You can, but I’ve got better photos online at my website,” he said before turning to another customer.

Perfect, Kelly thought. That way, she could find out where some of those other pistols came from and maybe where they wound up. But first, hunger pangs had to be satisfied. Her coffee had run out two aisles ago, and the barbeque beckoned.

Kelly
merged her car into the interstate highway traffic heading north from Denver. Since it was Saturday midafternoon and no rush hour, she should be back in Fort Connor in an hour. That should give her enough time for a short run on the river trail before she went to dinner with Curt and Jayleen.

Her cell phone’s music sounded on the seat beside her. A classic rock song, loud guitars. Staying in the right-hand lane, Kelly slowed her speed a bit and reached for her phone. Steve’s number flashed on the screen. Startled, Kelly clicked on. “Hello?” she said cautiously.