Unspoken

  “You don’t want to hold it for a few years?”

  “I’ll still have forty-seven more to sell.”

  He got up from the table and from the shelf picked up one of the Indian Head pennies they had sent to PCGS last month that was now waiting to go back to the showroom floor. The hard plastic case protecting and displaying the coin, the label officially grading it as an MS-63, the barcode assigned by PCGS giving it a traceability across buyers—it made storage and safeguarding of a rare coin easier on the buyer.

  Devon did an expert job on the grading, so the cost of the PCGS service wasn’t normally worth the expense, but for this roll of coins it would be useful. He’d keep a record of the barcodes given for the fifty coins in Charlotte’s roll and for his own interest track them over the next decade to see where they ended up in various collections. “Have Kim find me when she gets in. I’m going to give her a hunting license to sell the lowest fifteen Wheat pennies once we know the official grades.”

  Bryce met Charlotte at her shop Thursday evening. He didn’t take her flowers, but he did take her chocolates. “These are for you,” he said as she walked in.

  Charlotte took the ribbon-wrapped box with enough caution that Bryce laughed. “And to think I’m the one who’s wary. You sold me some very nice coins, Charlotte.”

  “I’m about to sell you some more if we can agree on a price.”

  “We’ll get to that.” He had his checkbook in his pocket and cash in the bank, but found himself oddly not in a hurry to get to that bottom line. “What’s with the rental car? Your truck having problems?”

  “I just came from the airport. I smell good coffee?”

  “I brought the rest of a pot from next door, and the remains of a cheese tray we had set out for customers.”

  “Thanks.” She crossed the room and poured herself a mug. “I’ve got the inventory list, but it’s still handwritten.”

  He settled in a chair so she would stop prowling and settle somewhere herself. “If I can read your handwriting, it will be fine. What are you thinking?”

  “One million eight.”

  He steepled his fingers.

  “What, too high?” She perched on the arm of a chair and ate some of the cheese slices.

  “Two million two would help me sleep easier at night. There are five outliers. The 1841 Liberty Proof in particular.”

  “I saw it. It’s a nice coin.”

  “There are only a handful in existence that grade higher.”

  “I’ll split the difference with you at two, so you can sleep.”

  “Thanks. You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

  “Bad day.” She took a deep drink of the coffee. “I was in New York.” She dropped into the chair with an abrupt move and leaned her head back against the wall, her gaze still on him. “I’ve got a twin sister. We had words.”

  There were two of them. He found that knowledge oddly terrifying. “Sorry to hear it.”

  “John’s sorting it out.”

  He waited a beat, but she didn’t elaborate. “He sounds like a good friend to have.”

  “He’s good at damage control. Not that this one is going to get stuffed back in its bottle, but he’ll handle what can be handled.”

  Bryce realized suddenly she looked raw. Someone had sucker-punched her, and it was barely below the surface. “Family words can be tough.”

  “Let’s change the subject, Bishop.”

  He racked his memory for topics. “We do okay talking about dogs.”

  She laughed and nearly choked on the coffee. “They are probably on a sugar high about now. This time I left them with Ellie, and she’s a soft touch when they both decide to sit and watch her fix a meal. I’ll pick them up tomorrow on the way home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t checked me out, Bishop. I’m not that naïve.”

  “Graham Enterprises, Trust, Wisconsin. You’ve got a place in Silverton.”

  “Small place, but nice. I’m not there as much as I would like. I’ve been camped out at Fred’s place while I empty out the rooms.”

  “Your sister hasn’t been a help?”

  “Not named in the will.”

  “Ouch.”

  “My sister married a good man, but a man with a serious flaw, like a rupture in a nice diamond. He’s addicted to gambling, and no matter how many times he gets his life straightened out and his marriage back together, he hits a stressor and falls back into his pattern. Fred told me I’d have to handle the problem, that he wouldn’t name my sister in the will. I think she had laid down the law with him and insisted she not be named so as to protect her husband from the weight of it.

  “She’s cut me off from helping them financially—it’s her marriage and who am I to say what she needs to do. I can help with her girls’ college fund, be lavish with the birthday and Christmas gifts, pay for a nice family vacation in the summer, but that’s it. Her husband knows there’s some money. He has no idea of the scale of it.

  “I made the mistake of visiting while I was in New York on business and walked into another crisis. Made a second mistake of offering to help. Made it only to Tabitha when I knew he wouldn’t overhear, but still got slammed back hard. Money doesn’t solve the problem, and having more of it only makes matters worse. Like I don’t already know that.” She turned the coffee mug. “Like I said. Bad day.”

  An understatement, if he had ever heard one. Jesus, what words might help here? Bryce thought the quiet prayer while waiting to see if Charlotte wanted to offer anything else about her day. When she said nothing more, and no words came to mind that might help, he shifted the conversation. “What’s John going to do?”

  “Get Thomas back into Gamblers Anonymous as a condition of paying off the debt, tell Tabitha after it’s done.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s grace, and another chance, which is what he needs. Tabitha would like the justice of the consequences to fall this time. But I think I understand how close Thomas is to giving up. He loves his wife and kids, and he’s getting to the point he’s going to decide leaving is the only thing he can do for them. Not a good outcome. My sister loves him, and he’s a good husband and dad when he’s not being an idiot trying to reach for the moon for his big win.”

  “You like him.”

  “Yeah, I do. He was there for Tabitha when she needed someone in her corner. That matters to me. So I’ll let John handle what can be handled, and keep my distance once again.”

  She sighed and briefly closed her eyes. “Been through too many of these days lately.” She leaned forward and set aside the empty mug. “Every sister relationship is different—some are close, others like rivalries. Tabitha and I, we were close—really close. But some things in life can be destroyed if enough pressure is applied. Life ruptured for us at sixteen, and not by our choice. There are fragments of our relationship we both have worked hard to carefully glue back together, but what shattered isn’t ever going to be repaired. It’s not like a smashed piece of glass that can be remelted and reformed. We love each other, but we’ve basically stayed apart for the last ten years. Talk every Sunday afternoon, but otherwise don’t get together. My mistake for making the visit. The estate I have to deal with now, it’s just another source of pressure.”

  “It shouldn’t have to be a mistake.”

  “Maybe someday.”

  “Who’s the oldest?”

  She half smiled. “I am. By a few minutes.”

  “I could have guessed that.” He got up and retrieved the coffee, filled a mug for himself and refilled hers. “I’ve got a brother who is an astronaut, and another who is a submariner.”

  “And you sell coins.”

  “Dad’s always appreciated the laugh in that. Families are strange, no matter how you look at it. One sister who works in the production side of movies—finds the advertisers, the props—another who runs a car-repair shop with her husband. I’m the middle-child businessman.”
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  “You’re all close?”

  “Yeah. But I know the ugly feeling of having had words with a sister.”

  “Mine was named People magazine’s Model of the Decade. My sister.”

  He smiled at the way she said it. “Pride. Now that we do share. She’s family, and family you brag on.”

  “If I had to compete with her in looks, it would have been a rivalry. We got spared being identical twins.” She got up to pace. “You need anything before I disappear for a few weeks?”

  He wondered how much of the restlessness was nerves. “No, I’m good. Looks like I’ve got plenty to do.”

  She put the handwritten inventory list on the display case.

  He wrote her the check that made the coins his.

  “Thanks.”

  “How many more coins do you have, Charlotte?”

  “That’s a conversation for another day. Will you lock up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks for the chocolates.” She pulled out her keys, picked up the gift-wrapped box, and disappeared down the back hall.

  He heard the security door chime as she left. A twin. There were two of them. He felt immensely grateful he was only dealing with one.

  “Has Charlotte told you much about herself?” Paul asked, turning over one of the coins he had bought.

  Bryce paced Paul’s home office. “She likes Irish setters.”

  Paul laughed.

  “She’s told me a bit,” Bryce expanded. “Graham Enterprises. Lives in Silverton. Details Chapel had already given me. She’s got a twin sister, Tabitha, in New York, and a brother-in-law, Thomas, who gambles. Chapel is now certain she’s the sketch artist CRM.” Bryce turned to look at his friend. “Would you be interested in confirming that?”

  “I’ll confirm it because she’s not made it a secret,” Paul replied. “She’d tell you yes if you asked directly.”

  “We haven’t had the kind of conversation that lends itself to the question.” Bryce forced himself to settle in a chair. “She met her grandfather for the first time about six years ago, got to know him a bit before he died. She’s selling things from his estate at several storefronts—antique furniture, collectibles, odds and ends. She’s sold me about a thousand coins, and has more to sell.”

  “So another layer of the puzzle.” Paul set aside the coin.

  “I’ve got the feeling you know the whole story, Paul.”

  “I do now that it’s become of interest to me.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  Paul studied him. “She’ll tell you what she wants you to know.”

  “Which is probably why I feel off-kilter every time I’m around her. I’m aware I’m seeing only part of the truth, and it is annoying, not to mention frustrating. She’s mentioned John a couple of times. Would you know who that is?”

  “John Key. An interesting man. I’ve met him more than once.”

  “Can you tell me more without crossing into what is private?”

  Paul thought about it. “John was her bodyguard for a few years, back when she was twenty.”

  “There was trouble?”

  “The kind most people don’t survive.”

  “You don’t see that when meeting her.”

  “From what I hear, there’s a lot to admire about the lady. I know cops who worked the case. They were surprised to hear she was in Chicago.”

  “She’s what, mid-thirties, forty, now? Would I find an answer if I went back looking for one?”

  “Probably. Would suggest you don’t. You’ll feel like you’re standing on hot bricks if you know the story. She doesn’t need that.”

  “It’s history for her.”

  “Don’t know how much of it’s forgotten history, but I’d say she left it behind a long time ago.”

  “Then I guess I’ll find out when she decides to tell me.” Bryce got up to pace again. “She’s interesting, Paul, in an oddly she’s-dangerous kind of way.”

  “Ginger is easy to be with, Charlotte is not.”

  Bryce walked over to the bookshelf and thumbed a book. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t start planning a future. I think she’s already got one.”

  “She’s not my type—” He turned when Paul laughed. “Seriously, she’s just this unfamiliar aberration that has turned up in my life, and I can’t easily take my mind off her. And John Key—she doesn’t wear his ring but you can hear it in her voice. They’re close.” Bryce stopped pacing and returned to the chair and the point of the visit. “You said you wanted to talk about the buyer syndicate.”

  “Talking about Charlotte is more interesting.” Paul held up a hand to stop the reply and went with the change of subject. “You’re pocketing cash commitments for six months?”

  “I’m buying with my own cash first. But if I need more cash than I’ve got ready at hand, I’m willing to make a buy for a syndicate. I’ve bought three million six, and she’s still got more coins. She hasn’t said, but I’m beginning to think she’s got the full spectrum. I’d like to be ready for whatever she has.

  “If you want in,” Bryce continued, “the commitment needs to be liquid and able to be wired. Any U.S. coin pre-1964—it might be ten-dollar gold pieces or it might be Buffalo nickels and Mercury dimes. If I think it’s a good deep value, I’ll buy it. If I deploy the cash, it’s locked in with the coins as the collateral. I’ll sell them however seems best to maximize their value. Cash distributes at the end of each year based on syndicate share.”

  “The upside being you’re buying coins at incredibly good prices.”

  “That’s the plan. The bulk of the profits are locked in by the initial purchase price. But it’s likely to be illiquid for a number of years.”

  “I’ll talk it over with Ann and get you a number. Dad wants in.”

  “You were showing off your coins?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Bryce smiled. “The nice thing about you having a wife who used to be a coin dealer is you can tell me yes to fifty coins for two fifty and not get a lecture about diversifying your investments.”

  “Ann wanted to buy another hundred and flip them. I told her it would be impolite to go into business against a good friend who was selling you the coins in the first place.”

  Bryce laughed. “I like her instincts. It confirms my own. I marked the coins up to make a nice profit on my buy, and pros are still circling wanting to seize the opportunity for the value. Hence the reason for the syndicate. If I let what Charlotte is selling make it to the market, I’ll miss the biggest profit opportunity I’ll probably see in my lifetime.”

  “She’s leaving value on the table.”

  “She calls these coins chum.”

  “Charlotte used that word?”

  Bryce nodded. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “How deep have you had Chapel dig into who her grandfather was?”

  “A lot of newspaper articles about Graham Enterprises, but only a few lines about the man who owned it. He wasn’t known in his community for his charitable donations to civic causes. I think he kept what he earned during his ninety-two years, had a place to store it, and just let it accumulate.”

  “He built a nice collection.”

  “I’ve floated his name to other dealers, and no one has a record of doing business with him, either buying or selling. Eventually one of these coins will be rare enough a dealer will remember the actual coin, know who bought it, and I’ll have the name of at least one of the straw buyers he was using.”

  “Makes sense. These are raw coins, not slabbed, which suggests he built his collection long before the internet and professional grading became the norm for higher-end coins.” Paul thought about it. “Charlotte knows what she’s got to sell. The estate inventory for tax purposes would have seen to that. She’s had that in her hand for over a year. If these are chum, it makes you wonder—are you going to see a large volume of coins, or are you going to see a few of the whales?”

  A whale was one of the
rare coins that came to market only once in a generation, which began at six figures and often kept going at auction to seven figures. Bryce pondered Paul’s question and then voiced his private worry for the first time. “Paul, I’m afraid I’m going to see both.”

  FIVE

  Paul leaned across Ann for the remote as the ball game entered a rain delay, muted the volume, and set it back on the table. They were trying to share the couch in the den, but it wasn’t working particularly well, both of them encircled with loose papers and open files. He stuck his pen and calculator into the insulated cup holder, looked through the snack options on the table, and opened the can of peanuts.

  “What do you think of the ice-skating rink?” Ann asked, setting aside the file she was reading.

  “I think Boone wants to drive around on a huge ice-resurfacing machine, a Zamboni they’re called. The numbers are fine. He can turn around the business easily enough if he converts the front part of the building into a pizza restaurant and staffs it with families of those who have kids coming to practice or have a hockey game. Nothing to say a two-hour shift waiting tables the third Wednesday of every month won’t be a popular and easy job to fill. He only needs extra help when the stands are full anyway.”

  “We should plan a visit to see it once he’s got his kid’s hockey team wearing Falcon jerseys.”

  “I’ll let you and Vicky set it up. Tell Margaret to put it on my calendar.”

  “What did Bryce have to say last night?”

  Paul hesitated.

  “What?”

  “What do you think of Bryce Bishop and Charlotte Graham?”

  Ann sat up, startled. “No way.”

  “I’m just reading the tea leaves, but I tell you, she has his head turning.”

  Ann picked up a pillow and covered her mouth, laughed, lowered the pillow enough to ask, “How much, one to ten?”

  “Sevenish. He’s intrigued. He doesn’t know what to do about that, but it’s got him thinking.”