Unspoken

  Ann nodded. “I know what you mean, Bryce. Where is she now?”

  “Her flight to New York is not until noon. She’s probably still at Ellie’s.”

  “Better to have a conversation today than several days from now.”

  Bryce got to his feet. “Thanks for telling me. And for the warning earlier that I didn’t want to know. You were absolutely right. I wish I didn’t.”

  Bishop rang the bell at Ellie Dance’s home, expecting to get no answer even if Charlotte was still here. He didn’t imagine she was going to want to see him before she left for New York. Especially when she found out—

  Charlotte opened the door before he could complete the thought.

  “Charlotte . . .”

  He didn’t know how to begin. On the drive over he thought he had worked out what he would say, but the words failed him as he saw her.

  “Come on in, Bryce.”

  She stepped back to let him enter, walked into the living room ahead of him. She picked up the book on the couch to put it on the table, took a seat and pulled her legs up under her. “You know,” she guessed.

  “Ann told me.”

  “Why hadn’t you looked me up and already known? I laid a bread-crumb trail right to the answer with the fact my sister was named Model of the Decade. There’s only one of those in a decade.”

  “It simply didn’t occur to me, Charlotte. The background report had you being from Texas and the sketch artist CRM. It never crossed my mind that you were originally from here. I thought I knew who you were. I just hadn’t asked you to confirm it.”

  She looked . . . he could see what John must have seen in those early days . . . the bruised emotions of a survivor. He walked over to the window to look out at the traffic.

  A minute passed.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte, about what happened.” He kept his eyes on the street outside, but he had to say it. He still felt sick with shock and grief, and neither of those emotions was going to improve matters with her right now.

  “I don’t talk about it. Never have. Never will.”

  He turned, pushed his hands in his back pockets. “I won’t ask.”

  She shrugged.

  It seemed important to say something else. “I remember when you disappeared. I was starting college. And I was graduating when you were found.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Bryce could feel the seconds tick by. Jesus, give me some help here, please. I’ve known about this for only a couple of hours, and I’m drowning here, trying not to make it worse, but feeling appalled at the idea I’m supposed to ignore what shattered this woman’s life.

  He glanced around the room, seeing a few pictures of Ellie and Charlotte, several more which included John. Friends. Family. He latched on to that thought and looked at Charlotte. “How about your dad? How’s he doing?”

  “He lives near my sister in New York. Had a stroke and thankfully doesn’t remember those years. I go see him when I’m in town. He thinks I’m his nurse’s niece and tells me how much he likes jazz. He gets agitated after I visit, like part of him is trying to remember, and the doctors have carefully suggested that maybe it would be better for him if I visited less often. He seems okay with Tabitha and the girls, so they have a meal with him every week. When Tabitha and I talk on Sundays, she’s good about telling me how he’s doing.”

  “You’re not catching any breaks, are you?” he murmured.

  “The name change confuses him. I changed my name after it happened, Ruth Bazoni doesn’t exist anymore. I was Charlotte March until my grandfather showed up. I decided his family name was more appropriate and would lead to fewer questions, so I became Charlotte Graham when I moved back here.”

  “John knows. Ellie,” Bryce said, trying to form a picture of those who knew.

  “Paul does, and you’ve just said Ann knows,” Charlotte added.

  “She won’t speak out of turn.”

  “Not a concern. I know her by reputation,” Charlotte replied, “and we share some common friends. Don’t treat me differently, Bryce. It will annoy me.”

  He nodded, but wondered just how he was supposed to do that. The knowledge literally hurt. “I’ll go take a look at the coins for group three today, have an answer for when you get back. You need a lift to the airport?”

  “Already covered.”

  “How long will you be in New York?”

  “Three days, maybe four if business bogs down. Lawyers can be slow when they feel a need to explain every detail after I got the gist of it in the first five minutes.”

  He smiled. “I’ll track you down when you get back. We’ll talk coins.”

  She half smiled back as she nodded. “Maybe dogs too. Let yourself forget you know, Bryce. John has, enough it doesn’t color how he nags at me.” She studied him. “It’s not fragile glass you’re dealing with, Bryce. I survived. I shouldn’t have. You want to remember something, remember that. I’m neither nice nor particularly soft.”

  He didn’t understand her perspective on herself, but accepted that her comment originated in one of the many layers of her history. Nothing was going to be simple about this woman—nothing ever had been. But now he was understanding the reason. “Why doesn’t John travel with you? Reporters have long memories, and you’re still a story.”

  “I vetoed it years ago. I don’t look like my sister, and she’s the one whose photo is everywhere. I know John has security around me when he thinks circumstances warrant it. He’s got my truck tagged. Probably Mitch or Joseph will be on the flight this afternoon. We’ve got an agreement that I won’t ask so he won’t have to tell me. He handles the security so I don’t have to worry about it. But unless someone really tries to find me, they aren’t going to link Ruth Bazoni to Charlotte Graham. Your background check didn’t turn it up.”

  “You must have had some law enforcement help burying those name changes,” he guessed.

  She nodded. “For that, and a few other matters that keep my identity under wraps. They are inclined to do what they can—an apology of sorts for not being able to do more when they couldn’t find me.”

  “One question, Charlotte, and I promise to leave it be. Did you know that you were only miles from your home?”

  “I knew the street I was on, had guessed the house.”

  He closed his eyes. “Okay.” When he opened them he met her gaze, and he knew what she meant when she said she was a survivor. She had known, and she had lasted four years.

  Chapel Security had been fast. Bryce had three boxes of material to read regarding the Bazoni kidnapping, most of it from newspapers, along with four videos of prime-time television shows done about the case while she was missing, interviews with the FBI and local cops working the ransom demands, another six tapes of press conferences, fund-raisers, newscasts. Bryce spread it across his desk at home and went through it all late into the night, dug out his old video equipment and watched several of the tapes. He got to relive it, from the search for the missing girls, the initial ransom demand, the hope when Tabitha had been freed to the desperate realization Ruth wasn’t going to be so lucky.

  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.

  ELEVEN

  Paul 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.”

  TWELVE

  Bryce 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 a
nd 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.