Unspoken (12 page)

Four years, three ransoms, a reorganized task force, cops who burned out physically and emotionally, reward money for leads, fund-raisers to secure ransom money, and constantly the press—
what had happened to Ruth Bazoni
?

Bryce didn’t try to figure out all his emotions. Instead he just absorbed the breadth of it, then shoved it back into the boxes and went upstairs to turn in for the night. All that activity and Charlotte had probably not known it was happening. She’d watched the days pass and wondered what her family was thinking, doing. Wondered if God was ever going to send her help.

Ruth Bazoni.

Bryce tossed his shoe into the closet, then hurled the other one after it.

P
aul settled beside Ann on the couch in the den, and she set aside the pages she was working on. “How did Bryce take it?” he asked.

“Not well. It shocked him. Then I think it was simply pity I was seeing, to go along with the pain.”

“He’ll get past it.”

She nodded. “He’s a good guy. He’ll absorb the hit and shift to deal with it. It’s just going to take time.”

“I can feel your sadness, see it.”

“She never gets a break, Paul. She carries deep inside what happened for the rest of her life.”

“So do you, Ann, with your own experience. Not the same level of burden, I know, but similar at its core. Not your choice, and it will be there forever to deal with. But she’s tough, like you. She copes. I admire that.”

Ann turned on the couch to fully face him, resting her back against the armrest. “I think it might be a good idea for you and Bryce to play some pool, go running, put a few things on the calendar—give him a sounding board if he needs it.”

“I’ll do that.” The only thing that was going to help Bryce and Charlotte right now was time, but eventually some conversations might be helpful.

Paul glanced over at the whiteboard leaning against the wall, looking for a change in subject, for there was nothing that could be done at the moment for Charlotte and Bryce. Ann had been working on the cold case.
Baby Connor. A kidnapping gone wrong.
She’d made three notes. We’re looking for: 1. Murders in the area the year after baby Connor died; 2. A name for the voice on the tape; 3. A family in the area with financial trouble—maybe a couple of guys and a woman, maybe an older woman.

Before the case was solved, the board would likely be covered with notes and questions and ideas. He reached for the list on Ann’s lap that she had been marking up. “Where did you decide to start?”

“Names of people in the pub the night the call came in saying baby Connor was dead. Cops looked at the people on the list to see if their voice was that of the caller. It wasn’t a scientific audio comparison. The cops simply tried to find all the people on the list, have a conversation with them, write
not him
or
maybe
next to the name. For the possible matches cops tried to come up with a reason to get them in an interview room so a recording could be made of their voice and the audio guys could have two tapes to compare. Are there old tapes still in evidence so we could have the sound guys today take a second look?”

“I’ll check. There probably are. I only asked for the files, not the physical evidence.”

“Do you think we can solve this, Paul?”

Paul reached over and ran a hand down her arm. “I can tell you’re sad when you’re pessimistic about solving a case. You’ve dealt with harder cases than this one. We both have.” He took her hand in his. “Let’s take Black for his walk and then turn in. We could both do with an early night.”

“I hope she’s not having too hard a night.”

Paul didn’t have to ask who she meant. “Charlotte’s a survivor, same as you. And you shouldn’t count Bryce out. The man may surprise both of us for how he handles this.”

B
ryce Bishop pulled into the drive of Fred Graham’s home and parked behind Charlotte’s truck. John had said she was back. It was a gorgeous day and he made a guess, circled the house. Charlotte was sitting in a chair on the back patio, looking out over Shadow Lake, a sketchbook on the table beside her. He walked up the path to join her.

“I’m fine at two million eight for group three.” She wanted to talk coins and dogs, he’d oblige her. He knelt to greet the Irish setter that came over, thought it might be Duchess. The other setter merely smacked a tail on the deck but didn’t rise.

Bryce pulled an envelope from his pocket and offered Charlotte the check. He was beginning to get numb to the fact he was carrying checks with all those zeroes and
million
written out.

She smiled as she folded it and tucked it into her pocket. “It’s nice doing business with you, Bryce.”

He walked to the edge of the patio, pushed his hands in his back pockets, looked out over the lake. It was peaceful here. She had mentioned there was good fishing. Maybe he could talk her into taking him out for an afternoon. He hadn’t fished in more than a decade, but he might enjoy it. She might too. “How was New York?”

“Busy.” She sent a tennis ball sailing into the yard, and Duchess
took off after it. “If you don’t mind simple, I’m having grilled cheese for a late lunch. You’re welcome to join me.”

He glanced back at her, surprised. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“I saw a play while I was in New York.” She picked up her sketchbook and led the way inside. “I would tell you about it, but I was lost within the first ten minutes. Something about two neighbors and a common love for birds.”

“How did you happen to choose it?”

“One of those impulses where you ask the hotel concierge what tickets are available for that night. The fact they were unsold should have been my first clue.”

Bryce smiled. “Business go okay?”

“I read a lot of paper, signed a lot of paper. They are handling all the odds and ends of ownership that Fred had in companies. I’ve opened the last of the safe-deposit boxes, so hopefully there should be no more surprises to find on that end. Another few months to get it all signed and sealed, and I’ll have to decide what to do with the rest of what they’ve found.”

In the kitchen Bryce saw a card table where the dining room table had been. “The furniture is moving out.”

“John laughs at me over my priorities. I like moving some of the more important pieces so I can see progress. I need to see some progress. I’ve kept the bed I’m sleeping on and the patio furniture.”

She moved over to the refrigerator and pulled out butter and cheese slices, opened a drawer for bread. Bryce slid a folding chair out and sat at the table, staying out of her way.

Charlotte glanced over at him. “Do you regret the vault five buy? Now that you’ve got the group three coins to also deal with?”

“No regrets, Charlotte. The lower-priced coins are simply a different animal to sell. Different clients, different focus. Ann is good at managing them. We’re selling rolls at a pace that will put us through most of the coins in about ten weeks. The rest we’ll move by auction at the summer coin show.”

“I’m glad, as I appreciate having vault five dealt with. I think we’re getting a handle on the other stuff around Graham Enterprises. Fewer surprises are appearing when we open up storage units, just more of the same. There’s still a lot of work to be done, but at least there seems to be ways to tackle it all.” She turned the sandwiches in the oversized flat skillet. “Somewhere in the pantry there are probably potato chips.”

He got up to find them. A few minutes later she brought over a plate stacked with grilled cheese sandwiches. They ate lunch sharing the bag of potato chips, sliding the container of chip dip back and forth.

“I’d offer dessert, but John finished the ice cream last night, and I had the last tapioca for breakfast.”

“Sounds nutritious.”

“I’m remarkably tolerant with myself over what I eat and when. Pizza’s a pretty good standby even for breakfast.” She picked up her glass of ice tea. “Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to sit.”

The living room still had two comfortable chairs, but the couch was gone, the glass display case, two of the tables. The stereo had been moved to the floor. Bryce took a seat while Charlotte wandered the room.

“I figure if I wrap something every time I walk into this room, I’ll eventually get it cleared.” She started wrapping the porcelain birds that had been in the display case.

Bryce smiled, but understood it. She was getting the job done.

He had no idea what to say to this woman. Four days of her in New York, his five-hour drive this morning, and he didn’t have a grasp on it yet. But ignoring it wasn’t going to make it settle. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, wondering at the wisdom of asking anything further. He finally said, “Can we talk about the after of it?”

She shrugged.

“Why Texas?”

“The press was predominately Chicago and New York, where my sister modeled. I didn’t want the congestion of the coasts, and I didn’t want to be cold anymore. The Keeler-Resse clinic has a branch in Houston, and the doctors encouraged me to spend a few months there. It helped, in its way. John tutored me through my GED and first two years of college. Then I started selling sketches and realized I already had a career I could enjoy.”

She pushed the wrapped items around inside the box on the floor and closed it, taped it shut. She got to her feet. “I’m single for life, Bishop. Lots of money, lots of reasons for someone to overlook the baggage I bring. That’s not going to happen. I don’t need the pity. So I’ve built a life I like for myself. I’ll go back to it full time once Fred’s estate is dealt with. I like my art. I like my friends.”

“John loves you.”

“No. He likes me—rather a lot. He loves Ellie. Big difference.”

“Are you afraid of the flashbacks?”

“This is not a conversation I want to have with you, Bryce.”

“It’s been eighteen years. You never had a choice, Charlotte. You do now.”

“I was thirty before I kissed a guy by my choice.”

“How was it?”

“Not something I’ve repeated.”

“Charlotte—”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Bryce. It makes me mad.”

“Actually, I was going to say something along the lines of practice would probably help.”

She pushed hair away from her face. “Yeah. Probably. Not going to happen either.”

She pushed the box over to join the others by the door. “I’ve been putting off dealing with the safe Fred pointed out in the
master bedroom. It’s behind a false wall. You want to see what’s in it today?”

He felt like breaking something. “Sure.”

Bryce lifted stacks of coins out of the safe and handed them to Charlotte to box. He’d given up trying to count, but it looked like a good portion of group four was going to come from this safe. He finally reached to the back of the safe and lifted out the last stack. “I’ve never seen anything like this estate,” he said as he handed them to her.

Charlotte added the coins to the open box, glanced at the boxes of coins by the closet, then looked back at him. “Ellie, John and I—we had to decide on someone to buy the coins. That’s why I pushed you that first day. I couldn’t afford to give you a choice. You were the pick from a long list of names we had considered. It had to be one person. We couldn’t let this estate become common knowledge.”

“Apology accepted. But I did have a choice, Charlotte. Not a good one, but I could have said no and let you open your store. It would have been a character-building exercise to have had to compete with you in business.”

She laughed. “I’m glad you said yes. I’ll bring these coins down to the storefront in a couple days, get them priced.”

“You don’t want me to just buy them here?”

“As minor as it sounds, I feel better taking your money when I know the coins are safe in the store next to Bishop Chicago.”

He smiled. “Create your bubble-wrap balls for the coins and take them to the store. I’ll buy them from you there. I’m enjoying this, Charlotte.”

“You’ll forgive me if I say I’m getting really tired of old coins? It will be nice to have them done with.”

“I can understand that.” He offered her a hand to help her
up. They were going to be finished long before he would like them to be.

Bryce opened the display case in Charlotte’s store to pack the last of the group three coins. He would take them over to Bishop Chicago for Devon to grade and Sharon to photograph. Kim was doing an excellent job getting them sold. They were running a solid thirty-percent profit on the coins sold so far. He should be thrilled, but he found it hard to find enthusiasm to match that of his staff.

Group three would be done today—Charlotte would need the space for group four—and he’d head back north after he completed this task to retrieve more vault five coins for Ann’s team. The work was getting done, and he was getting tired. “Tell yourself another fib, Bryce,” he muttered, pausing to pour himself coffee.

The truth was, he missed Charlotte when he didn’t see her at least every few days.

She had loaded him up with more coins and then disappeared again. She’d taken off for Ohio, then Texas, then taken a detour to close a safe-deposit box in Wyoming that had been overlooked. He hadn’t seen much of her the last three weeks. It was hard to tell if she was avoiding him. Her schedule made it easy for her to find reasons to be gone, but he thought she might be. He did miss her. And what was he going to do about that?

He heard the back security-door chime. “Charlotte?” He put down the coffee and turned toward the back hallway.

“Yes.” She came into the store proper, no dogs with her this time. Her tan had an edge of a sunburn, and her hair looked lighter, if only the illusion of being sun-bleached. She looked good, really good. His mood lightened considerably. “Nice to see you. How was the travel?”

“Hot. Texas was miserably hot. Wyoming was just having a heat wave. I’d love if that was the last plane I’m on for a while. Anyway . . . I heard you were heading north. I stopped by to see if I could get a ride with you?”

“Sure.”

“Wait till I tell you the rest. I’ve got a problem I need to work around. I can’t go until late tonight. I arranged to ship some art I had stored in Texas. It was supposed to arrive three days from now, only it shipped early and will be arriving at Ellie’s between four and six today. She would cancel her own travel plans if I told her, so I’m just going to stay long enough to sign for it. Could we leave after six, seven at the latest? I’m dangerous driving that late at night, as I fight sleep, but tomorrow’s John’s birthday and I normally try to fix him breakfast on his birthday. I’d hate to mess up tradition.”

“We can make it a late trip.”

“Thanks.” She settled into one of the comfortable chairs and looked around. “I still like this storefront. The remodel job came out nice.”

“Going to let me take over the lease when you get done with the coins? Bishop Chicago could use an expansion.”

“I’ve got some other plans for the space first, but one day.” She dug into her pocket for a piece of candy. “I heard from my sister briefly this morning.”

“Everything okay?”

“From what little she said, yes. The girls are having a musical recital next month. She said the girls were going to send me invitations, but she’d be relieved if I could come up with a reason to decline. There’s been a reporter asking questions about me, and she’s afraid he might think the recital is something I might attend. Tabitha said she’d tape the recital for me, so I could see it that way instead.”

Bryce carefully closed the display case. “What are you going to do?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I won’t go. That’s Tabitha’s call to make. But I’ll find something better than a lame excuse for the girls for why I can’t be there. It happens, the media. Every couple of years there’s a reporter hoping to make a splash in his or her paper, the ‘what happened to . . . ?’ article with me as the feature. Tabitha can’t avoid that publicity, modeling keeps her in the public eye, and she never could escape the media onslaught—that’s one of the reasons I like her husband so much. Thomas is like John. He pushes back on the press and protects his family from it. But he can’t stop it from happening. She’s the door to someone wanting to find me, and reporters know it.”