notebook.”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Helene. “I’m actually hoping that the detective catches up with Donovan. Maybe he’ll put a detail on the house?”
Simon smiled at Helene’s uncharacteristic phrasing. “Wouldn’t hurt. Then I’d feel better about you two working there when I’m in class.”
“Helene,” said Charlotte. “I need a favor. In the notebook that Olivia gave to me, which is the final volume, the entire middle part is in French. I believe it is the same sort of thing she’s written all along, except there’s a difference in tone, as if she realizes something she didn’t know before. I’d like you to translate those pages for me, if you think you can bear it.”
“Of course, Charlotte.” She finished her coffee and set the cup down with determination. “I guess I never really knew my sister, and this is one way I might be able to understand her better.”
There’s more to it than that, Charlotte thought to herself. I think it says that Olivia had another copy of Least Objects.
Simon offered to drive to the pawn shop, and at first Charlotte refused, thinking she wasn’t up for riding all the way out there on the back of a motorbike, but he gestured at a black Land Rover parked on the street behind her Jeep. “That’s yours?” she asked, not hiding her surprise.
He grinned. “The winters are long and cold here.”
Once they were on the road, Charlotte called Detective Barnes and left a message to say where they were going, why, and requesting a meeting for an update and some new theories. She barely ended the call when the phone rang with Barnes calling her back. She filled him in with many of the things she had shared with Simon and Helene.
“I think Olivia might have left some indication her final notebook of what Mitchell and Donovan are looking for, but I’m having Helene translate those passages in order to be accurate. The handwriting is also pretty bad in that one, so it might take some time.”
“Anything solid you can come up with is more than welcome, Charlotte,” said Barnes. “We’ve got a lead on Donovan Targman’s whereabouts, and should be able to bring him in later today. The only thing I worry about is they have keys and can just let themselves in, like Bosley Warren did. I’ll let you know the moment we have Mr. Targman in custody, and then I want you and Mrs. Dalmier to be on the alert for the other players in this drama.”
While Charlotte was talking with Barnes, she occasionally glanced at Simon, taking in the way he drove. He was clearly used to driving on the right-hand side, perhaps because he’d spent so much time in different countries, or perhaps he was just an ambidextrous driver. She didn’t think she could easily drive in the left-hand lane in England, herself, or at least not without a lot of practice.
“By the way,” she said to Simon, when she rang off with Barnes, “I saw the photos of my moving day. Thank you for those. They were great.”
He smiled. “You’re more than welcome, Charlotte. Do you miss your house yet?”
She shook her head. “Not really. It’s still a little bit like I’m on a vacation. But that could change in an instant. Tomorrow is the last time I will see my stuff, you know, before the sale. And the house is on the market, so that could go at any time, soon. Maybe that’s when I will finally feel dispossessed.”
Simon nodded as he listened. “I’ve done a bit of traveling light, myself. Obviously. Sometimes I have to remind myself that not everyone does, or even can. People do get attached to places, stuff, their homes, and they just pine for them.” He turned toward her for a moment, with that undefinable expression of his again. “I don’t think you’re one of them, though.”
“Is that good or bad?” she asked.
He didn’t answer immediately, his attention focused on maneuvering through a badly-designed interchange that would take them onto the highway leading to the pawn shop. Charlotte wondered at herself, for being attracted to a man who left her confused as to where she stood with him. If a friend was experiencing the same kind of attraction, Charlotte wouldn’t hesitate to advise stepping back and taking a closer look at her own motivations: was the attraction because the inscrutability was hard to crack, to tame? And if she succeeded, would the appeal dissipate, and the respect for the man be lost?
“Good,” he said, startling her back into the present. “Very good, I should think.”
Oh! Charlotte thought. Then, just to be contrary, she said, “I’m a nester, you know. I’m not happy unless I have a place I can call my own.”
“But it doesn’t have to be the same exact place, does it? I’d bet you could turn a tent into your nest if you were so inclined.” He glanced at her sideways, with a hint of a smile, then pulled into the dusty, pot-holed parking lot in front of Warren Brothers Pawn and Payday.
Charlotte’s palms were cold and clammy as they entered the shop. Now that she knew who Toley Banks was, and aware of what he could do, the prospect of facing him again made her stomach hurt, even with Simon there to back her up. She remembered Banks’ driver, Doc, and wondered if Simon could handle him in a match. Snap out of it! This wasn’t a crime show on television. If Toley Banks decided to pull a gun on them, there was nothing either she or Simon could do about it. No, she had a legitimate reason to be there, ticket in hand, the cash borrowed from Helene in her purse. Just stay cool.
Simon didn’t look the least bit worried as he walked around, taking in the variety of things for sale, with particular attention to a display of motorcycle helmets. Charlotte had given him a list of items she thought were missing from Olivia’s house, but they agreed that he shouldn’t be too obvious about looking for them in the shop.
Ilona was gabbing on the phone (did she ever stop?) as Charlotte approached the counter, but when the clerk caught sight of Simon, she hung up quickly, ignored Charlotte, and strutted over to the counter nearest the helmets. Her cleavage was on fine form for his viewing pleasure, and Charlotte’s annoyance increased as Simon smiled at Ilona the same way he did at Lola. She sighed, and continued to the counter, where she rang the metal bell for service.
She had put so much thought and energy into expecting to deal with Toley Banks, that when Mitchell came out from the back room and greeted her like an old friend, she didn’t know what to say.
“Charlotte!” he crooned, “what a surprise! You’re looking beautiful, as always.” He grasped Charlotte’s hand with both his own, and gave it a little squeeze. “What brings you all the way out here today?”
“Oh, um,” she stammered, then handed him the pawn ticket. “I’ve come to get my jewelry and silver back, if that’s okay.” Oh, stop being a wimp, she told herself. Of course it’s okay!
“Not a problem, not a problem. Just give me a moment, and I’ll track them down. You’re redeeming everything, then, the full amount?”
She nodded the affirmative, and he went into the back room. Or rooms. Charlotte had no idea how extensive the “back room” was, then imagined it had to be substantial if it held all the things that couldn’t be sold. She decided to browse through some shelves herself, in particular the collectibles, since Simon continued to flirt with Ilona.
She spotted a trio of Olivia’s Capodimonte flower baskets almost immediately, and two small McCoy vases, as well. One of the vases, she knew, was purchased for sixty dollars in the 1970’s, but here the sticker said only $45, which Charlotte found odd. The basket trio was marked at forty dollars. She didn’t know if this was a fair price or not, but suspected that it was lower than it ought to be. Nonetheless, a mental calculation of the estimated number of small collectibles in Olivia’s house, times, say, an averaged-out price of twenty dollars apiece (some were worth far more, others were nearly worthless), would be around thirty thousand dollars. They would likely bring more at an auction, where collectors would bid against one another. If Donovan was selling off things now, he was throwing money away.
Seeing Mitchell again, his insistent charm and too-knowing eyes, convinced her that Donovan was not selling things off willingly. She moved over to the bookshelves, where
there were two framed newspaper articles hanging on the wall nearby: one was of Bosley Warren’s luck with Least Objects, and the other was Wesley Warren’s obituary.
“Isn’t it just the saddest thing?” Ilona had finally stopped trying to seduce Simon, and came up next to Charlotte.
“I imagine it’s been a shock. What will happen to the business?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I suppose it’ll go on, ‘cause you couldn’t buy the kind of attention Bos’ book got. It’s a shame, though, ‘cause Wes was the one who knew what the book was worth, and he thought he knew where to find another one, too.”
Ilona now had Charlotte’s full attention. “He knew where to find another one? You’re kidding!”
Ilona shook her magenta hair off her shoulder with an air of authority. “I’m not.” Her eyes followed Simon around the shop. Charlotte scrambled to think of another question before Ilona’s short attention span evaporated, but Mitchell came back out to the counter just then, with her jewelry and silver. She walked to the counter, and Ilona walked over to Simon. Of course. I might as well have come here on my own, she thought.
“Here you are, Charlotte.” He opened the bag with the jewelry and checked off the itemized list as he chatted. “How is your search for the notebooks coming along?”
Charlotte