Montaro Caine (16 page)

“Hello, Herman,” Fritzbrauner greeted him.

“Hello, Commander.”

“Did you get some sleep?”

“A little.”

“New York weather was steaming, eh?”

“Too much humidity,” agreed Freich with a frown.

“You should go to the mountains next week,” suggested Fritzbrauner. He lowered himself into the high-backed chair behind his desk while Freich remained standing.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” Freich said, then glanced at Colette, who knew what her father didn’t: Freich hated the mountains. Freich opened the
briefcase and took out the velvet jewel box containing the coin. He handed it to Fritzbrauner along with his four-page report.

“Well,” said Fritzbrauner softly as he opened the box. “Let’s see where we are.” He gave the coin a perfunctory glance, then immediately centered his attention on the report. Meanwhile, Freich returned the briefcase to Colette along with her copy of the report. A few minutes of silence passed while father and daughter read what Freich had written. When they were finished, Fritzbrauner looked up at Freich.

“How satisfied are you that this Professor Chasman knows nothing about what Dr. Mozelle wrote in his notes?” Fritzbrauner asked.

“Reasonably sure. Mozelle kept him in the dark.”

“And,” said Colette, “in so doing, he also kept Professor Walmeyer and Montaro Caine in the dark.”

“So whether we move ahead or not boils down to the integrity of Mozelle’s notes?” Fritzbrauner asked.

“The dossier Hargrove put together was quite thorough,” Colette said. “Mozelle appears to be a solid man held in esteem by his colleagues.”

“Yes, but even men of great standing and character can be duped by fakes, scams, and shams,” warned her father. Fritzbrauner looked to Freich for comment.

“I see it exactly as Colette does, Commander,” Freich said.

“There’s always a downside,” said Colette. “Yes, we’re risking our reputation. But if we’re right and if everything in Mozelle’s notes is true, if the coin was indeed found in a baby’s hand and if it is truly made up of unknown metals from an unknown civilization, the upside will be considerable.”

“So you say go?” Fritzbrauner looked at his daughter with both pride and some small regret—for better and worse, she was very much his daughter, ambitious to a fault.

“I do,” Colette said evenly.

“Herman?” Fritzbrauner asked, turning to Freich.

“I’m inclined to agree with Colette, Commander.”

“O.K., proceed.” Fritzbrauner rose from his chair and moved
around his desk to shake hands with Freich. “As for Dr. Chasman, what are his plans?”

“To return home, I imagine,” Freich answered.

“When?”

“Two or three days if we’re done with him, and I think we are.”

“I’m sure he’s anxious to return home,” Fritzbrauner said pensively.

Colette and Freich both sensed hesitancy in Fritzbrauner’s voice. “You’d like to keep him here?” Colette asked.

“It might not be a bad idea. A few extra days, a week, maybe. Once he gets back to America, wheels will begin to turn. A delay, if it can be arranged, will be to our advantage.”

“Leave it to me, sir,” said Freich.

Fritzbrauner smiled, then turned to his daughter. “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes, dear.” He kissed her on the cheek, then disappeared into his bedroom suite.

After her father had left, Colette looked at Freich. She could tell there had been a meeting of minds between Freich and her father. “If the gamble is worth the risk, why not go all the way?” they had seemed to tell each other.

She now understood that her father’s real objective had become the same as her own—the outright, legal ownership of both coins.

A
S SHE CIRCLED THE FLOOR OF HER ROOM IN THE
T
REMONT
Hotel in Paris, awaiting a phone call that could conceivably be worth approximately ten million dollars to her and her boyfriend Victor, Cordiss Krinkle paused to consider how she had gotten here. In some way she could trace her arrival at this moment all the way back to her early Nebraska childhood, when she had rebelled against her strict Catholic upbringing and her repressively religious, admonishing mother. Cordiss briefly considered her early teenage years when she had first realized that her full and sensuous lips, her smoldering brown eyes, and her wild, unruly hair could compel men’s second looks. Then, Cordiss thought about the years not so long afterward when she became aware of the fact that her good looks would never be enough to win her all she wanted. But if she had to pick one day that had led her to this particular moment, it would have been the one earlier this year, when Whitney Carson arrived for what would be her final checkup at the Mozelle Women’s Health Center.

On that fateful morning, Cordiss had been working for the clinic as a receptionist, office manager, and general all-around helper for approximately six years. She had been drowning in a sea of paperwork, too preoccupied to notice the entrance of the young black woman until she heard someone clearing her throat.

When Cordiss looked up she saw the attractive, soft-spoken Whitney standing before her, a sheepish smile on her face, as if she had been trying to keep a secret but was not doing a very good job of it.

“Whitney Carson. Well, what a nice surprise,” Cordiss blurted out. “Sorry, my mind was off somewhere in Medicare land.”

“Hi, Cordiss, how are you?”

“Fine. But never mind me, how the hell are you? Where’ve you been?”

“Around.”

Cordiss searched her appointment book, looking unsuccessfully for Whitney’s name. “I don’t see you down in our book,” she said.

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi to everybody,” said Whitney.

“But why haven’t we seen you for such a long time?” Cordiss pretended to scold Whitney, but she truly did want to know the answer to her question.

“What can I tell you?” Whitney said. “Things get hectic sometimes. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“From that grin you’re wearing, it couldn’t have been all bad.”

“As a matter of fact, it’s not.”

“Aha! Tell me, tell me.”

“In a minute. Let me just peek in and say hello to Dr. M. first,” said Whitney, turning toward the doctor’s office.

“Oh, honey, he’s not in.”

“Aw, shoot. What about Anna?”

“No, she’s not here either. The doc’s on vacation and Anna’s under the weather. Her arthritis is pulling her down.”

“Oh damn,” Whitney said.

“Yeah. You’re overdue for a checkup, and the doctor’s gonna be pissed when he hears he missed you. Let me see”—she reached for her book—“you better come in next week. He’ll be back then,” she murmured as she leafed through the pages.

“I can’t next week. Won’t be able to for a while,” said Whitney.

“What do you mean? What about your checkup? I told you you’re due for one.”

“Some other time.”

“You want to get me fired, right?”

Whitney laughed. But Cordiss’s flip remark was heartfelt; the doctor always took very special care of Whitney, and Cordiss sensed that part of her job description involved according the same special treatment to this patient.

“You know what?” said Cordiss. “Since you’re here, I think we should let Dr. Chambers examine you. Let me see if I can get his nurse to slip you in before he goes to lunch.” She pointed Whitney down the long corridor. “Last door on the right. I’ll be there in a jiffy with your chart.”

A half-hour later, Whitney reentered the reception area from Dr. Chambers’s office.

“So, you were saying?” Cordiss asked, picking up the conversation where they had left off.

“Well, you remember that I graduated CUNY about four years ago?”

“Yes. Dr. Mozelle and Anna went to the graduation,” Cordiss said. She had found it unusual that both the doctor and Anna seemed to act as if Whitney was their own daughter, even though she knew that Whitney was not related to either of them.

“Right. Well, those first years out of school were a complete mess.”

“Happens to most of us,” said Cordiss.

“Yeah, I moved out on my own—and that was a trip. It’s a whole different world out there when you’re responsible for yourself, and that took some getting used to. My uncle didn’t want me to leave Brooklyn, but I had to earn my own living and all that. Then, because I was lonely or scared, I spent some time with my cousins down in Cleveland.
Eight months
. Then back to Brooklyn. Aaaa-nd,” she stopped and another sheepish grin alit on her face.

“And what?” Cordiss prompted with an expectant smile.

“I met a very special guy,” Whitney said.

“Now it’s getting good.” Cordiss moved closer.

“Well, it gets a lot better,” Whitney teased.

“Uh-oh.” Cordiss moved even closer.

“We got married,” Whitney whispered.

“You’re kidding.”

“No, really.”

“Oh. Wow.” Cordiss sighed, then recovered. “Congratulations! That’s great news.” She sprung up from her chair, then stepped around her desk to hug Whitney. As they embraced, Cordiss laughed and said, “So that’s what you’ve been up to, you lucky girl.” She kissed Whitney on the cheek, then led her to a couch in the center of the empty waiting room, where they both sat down. “So, Mrs.…?” prompted Cordiss.

“Mrs. Walker. Mrs. Franklyn Walker,” Whitney said.

“I like it. Mrs. Walker! So, go on, go on. Where did you meet him?”

“Uptown. At the planetarium.”

“Stargazing?” asked Cordiss.

“We didn’t spend much time looking at the sky,” said Whitney with a coy smile.

“And it was love at first sight? Just like in the movies?”

“Pretty close to that.”

“And you had this big wedding and you didn’t invite me or Anna or the doctor?”

“Well, we didn’t invite anybody; we eloped.”

“Eloped? Oh, how romantic!” The two women giggled like schoolgirls. “But why?” Cordiss asked. “Were there
problems
?”

“No, just a spur of the moment impulse.” Whitney spoke at length about how refreshingly honest, direct, and unpretentious her husband was. She described how they felt destined to be together, almost as if some otherworldly force had drawn them to each other. She spoke of how desperately she wished her mother could be with her now, in this time of her greatest happiness, that without her mother to see her through the wedding, eloping had seemed like the right idea.

“Jesus,” Whitney said when she was done, “I haven’t seen Dr. Mozelle and Anna in over a year. I’m so disappointed they aren’t here.” As she stood and slowly ambled toward the door, she added, “Give them my love. Tell them I stopped by and that I’ll be in touch soon.”

“I will,” said Cordiss.

“Also, tell them that my uncle Frederick sends them his best regards. And”—she paused for a moment—“If Dr. Chambers doesn’t mention it to them, tell them I’m pregnant.”

Cordiss tried to hide the complex emotions that were hurtling through her brain all at once.
“What?”
she asked, desperate for Whitney not to leave just yet, at least not until she had learned all she could. “You saved the best for last! Pregnant! Oh, Whitney, you’re gonna make me cry. When’re you due?”

“About six months or so, give or take.”

“Did Dr. Chambers just tell you?”

“No. He just confirmed what I already knew. That’s what I dropped by to tell Dr. Mozelle and Anna.”

“Ooooh,” Cordiss cooed, opening her arms. “It’s so wonderful. Really wonderful.”

“Thank you, I think so too. But we haven’t had a chance to talk about what’s going on in your life.”

“Oh, no, forget it,” said Cordiss. “With Victor and me it’s always the same. Nothing new. Next time I’ll bring you up to speed with all the glorious details. Meanwhile Victor is Victor, my saving grace. But I haven’t woken up to find a little gold ring on my finger yet.”

“You will, honey, I know. It’s written somewhere.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Cordiss said, adding, “I just can’t help myself; I love that rascal.”

As she turned to the door, Whitney did not notice the glazed look that had come over the receptionist’s face as Cordiss Krinkle’s thoughts switched to a private track.

“By the way, where did you say you’re living now?” Cordiss asked nonchalantly. She reached for a notepad and a pencil.

“Atlanta.”

“Atlanta?” Cordiss frowned.

“I gave up my apartment here. Packed and shipped everything yesterday. Franklyn comes from Georgia, so we thought we’d try it down there for a while, see if we have any better luck finding work.”

“So we won’t be seeing you?” asked Cordiss, her pencil poised.

“Not for a bit. But I’ll stay in touch, I promise.” She then dictated her new address and phone number to Cordiss.

“Was your husband born right in Atlanta?” Cordiss asked, affecting the casual disinterest of a medical interviewer as she jotted down the information.

“No, about a hundred and fifty miles away, in Augusta.”

“Is he a Pisces like you?” Cordiss maintained the same monotone voice.

“Aries.”

“Aries? My dad’s an Aries,” Cordiss lied. “What date?”

“April eighteenth.”

“No, my dad’s the eighth.” Cordiss smiled before returning her attention to the notepad. “Let’s see, Franklyn Walker, born April eigtheenth, 19 …?” she looked up questioningly at Whitney.

“1984,” Whitney responded. “I even know the time—10:56 in the morning.”

“I bet you even know which hospital,” Cordiss said, teasing.

“Yep, I do. County. With a midwife,” Whitney said with a laugh.

“You are hopelessly in love, honey,” said Cordiss.

“You got that right,” Whitney said. “Nice seeing you, Cordiss, take care.”

Cordiss told Whitney that she hoped to see her soon—she added that Victor frequently traveled to Atlanta on business and that perhaps the four of them could get together sometime.

“I’d love it,” Whitney said. “I don’t have too many friends down there yet. I’d even cook you dinner.”

“You’ve got a date,” said Cordiss.

Then Cordiss said good-bye with a wave of a hand and Whitney Carson Walker was gone. But long after Whitney had left, Cordiss continued to think about her. She thought back to her second year on the job to one evening when she was working after hours, and she had overheard Dr. Mozelle and Anna Hilburn discussing the circumstances of Whitney’s birth. Cordiss could hardly believe her ears when she heard them mention a coin they’d found in Whitney’s hand at her birth, how shocked they had been and how curious, afraid to mention the strange circumstance to anyone, lest they be ridiculed. They had said they didn’t want Whitney’s mother, a young woman they had cared for since she was a teenager, to become some freakish attraction just at a moment when she would need peace and quiet alone with her baby. She heard the doctor and Anna speculate about where the coin might have come from, what materials it might have been made of,
whether there might be a second coin somewhere, one that had appeared in the hands of Whitney’s future husband, what might happen if and when Whitney became pregnant and had a child. All this explained the doctor’s unusual interest in Whitney. In the following months, Cordiss took every opportunity to dig into the doctor’s old files to track down as much information as she could about Whitney. During the course of all this snooping, Cordiss also discovered a key hanging on a nail between the old wooden file cabinet and a wall in the cluttered safe that office personnel used as a storeroom. She knew exactly where Howard Mozelle and Anna kept the coin.