First Gravedigger Read Free Page B

up the evaluation. Half a day shot.
    Outside I crumpled the photocopy of my Meissen evaluation into a ball and looked for a place to throw it. Not a wastebasket in sight, of course. I stuck the wadded paper in my pocket.
    Back in my office I lit a cigarette and tried to think. The scenario had changed. At one time I’d been the fair-haired boy at Speer Galleries, in line for the role of heir apparent. Speer was in his seventies; he was going to have to step down before too much longer. Three years ago I’d arranged for Speer to find out “accidentally” that Christie’s had offered me a good position in their New York office; he’d immediately countered with a substantial raise. Speer hadn’t wanted me to go then, and I had no intention of leaving. I wanted to run Speer Galleries myself; I wanted it so badly the wanting made me vulnerable.
    But now it was clear that what I wanted wasn’t what Speer wanted. Speer wanted me out. And he was going about getting me out in a particularly nasty way—giving me more work than I could possibly handle, rigging the evidence. That little stunt with the Meissen Leda—Speer was inviting a showdown. But I wasn’t accepting any invitations today. I decided I needed an ally.
    I went into Peg McAllister’s office and told her what had happened.
    She was stunned. “You mean he deliberately substituted a piece of new Meissen? Earl, are you sure? Couldn’t you be mistaken?”
    I just looked at her.
    She answered her own question. “No, of course you wouldn’t mistake a thing like that. And Speer would never get two pieces mixed up. It had to be deliberate.”
    â€œExactly,” I said. “And why did I have to make that evaluation in the first place? It wasn’t urgent—it could have waited until Wightman got back.”
    â€œYou mean Speer set you up?”
    â€œI mean Speer’s been setting me up for over a month now. All those extra evaluations I’ve had dumped on me? I could have finished the Alice Ballard cataloguing by now if it hadn’t been for them. So Speer just now told me that if I didn’t finish the Ballard job this week he’d give it to someone else—and then he hands me a new job that’ll take most of the rest of today. He’s setting me up, all right.”
    Peg was nodding, disturbed. “Yes, he’s quite capable of doing a thing like that. But he wouldn’t do it without a reason. Why, Earl? What’s he got against you?”
    â€œI don’t have any idea,” I lied. “Personality conflict, I guess.”
    But Peg wasn’t buying that. “Not good enough. There’s a man who’s been here ten years that Speer can’t stand. But he’ll never get rid of him because he’s so good at his work. And you’re good at your work, Earl. You must have done something to him.”
    â€œBut I didn’t,” I lied again. “I don’t know why he’s out to get me. I haven’t done a thing!”
    â€œOh, come, dear boy, think back,” said an officious voice behind me. “Not even one little indiscretion to return and haunt you? Even the blessed saints themselves don’t claim to be that pure.”
    I faced him angrily. “You have something to say, Wightman? This is a private conversation.”
    â€œOh, I always have something to say,” Wightman told us unnecessarily. “And if you want privacy, shut the door. The Speer just consulted me about your little boo-boo with the Meissen, and I am now in the process of riding to the rescue. The June-bug says you have a photocopy of your evaluation. I’d like it back, please. Can’t leave our dirty linen floating about, you know—dreadful metaphor, I apologize.”
    â€œWhat are you hinting at, Wightman?” Peg asked with a touch of asperity. “Who’d want that evaluation?”
    â€œ Spies, ” Wightman hissed