Unspoken

  She picked up her cheeseburger. “If you want boxes for shipping them, just let me know. Boxes and bubble wrap I can give you in abundance.”

  “I’ll take you up on that. And that’s it for coins tonight,” Bryce offered. “Question. Why do your dogs seem to prefer John?”

  Charlotte licked a smear of mustard off her thumb. “He’s presently walking around with bacon bits in his pocket, as if I don’t know he’s feeding them. He’s trying to get them to learn to bark on command, shake hands, and catch a Frisbee. Princess is cooperating; Duchess is just looking to mooch food. They are as much his dogs as mine. I’d say we share them. John’s home is a little farther to the east around Shadow Lake. He’s the person who gets called when something goes wrong anywhere at Graham Enterprises, so it’s easier for him to live nearby. My place in Silverton is about twenty minutes north of here, though I’ve been bunking here while I get Fred’s place squared away.”

  “You two have been friends a long time.”

  She slipped a finger around a chain she wore, tugged out dog tags and two worn keepsake medals. “He’s a genuinely nice guy. Military—can be a very dangerous guy if he doesn’t like a situation. I’d say I’m somewhere between a girlfriend and a kid sister, which means I am free to annoy him and tease, but I’m kind enough to know where his lines are, and I don’t cross them if I can help it. He’s done me a few big favors, and I’ve done him a couple in return over the years. John’s the guy I called when Fred Graham showed up on my doorstep saying he was my grandfather. John would like to marry my best friend Ellie Dance, and I’d love to see that happen one day, but she’s still thinking about it.”

  They ate for a while as Bryce absorbed that answer. “Reading between the lines, John would like you to slow down a bit. This job of dealing with the estate doesn’t have to be finished in the next few months.”

  “I’m not the kind who stops easily until a task is done. Then I will full stop for a long while.” She ate a fry, considered him. “Do you like being a businessman? Managing employees? Deciding the business direction? Dealing with the finances and the profit and loss?”

  “A company that isn’t showing a profit is a charity.”

  She smiled.

  “Sure. I like business,” he answered. “I like putting all the pieces together to get to a sale or to get a product finished. And I like people as a rule. Business has lots of them. Customers, suppliers, employees. There’s a sense of having accomplished something at the end of the day when you can open the doors of the store in the morning, buy and sell goods, close up at night, and most days have made a profit after your costs. It says you were a good manager. I like being good at something that matters to people—my employees like a steady paycheck and some job security.”

  “I wouldn’t have opened my store had you said no.”

  He wasn’t quite sure he believed her. “You went for the jugular, if you remember.”

  “I did. A necessity, but I’m not sure you’d appreciate why just yet.” She pushed back her plate. “With art it was a private studio and one person, me, although most of my work was done outdoors—the high school track meet, the park, a restaurant opening. I like to sketch life happening. It was just me, and sometimes I would have John in that equation to consider, but life was mine. Now I’ve got more employees than I care to think about, and business on a big scale. They know what they are doing, and my job right now is to not get in their way and mess things up, but I’ve decided I don’t like business. The responsibility of it.”

  “That’s why you are pushing to get the estate sorted out and dealt with as soon as practical. You don’t want to be responsible for a lot of other people’s lives.”

  She nodded. “Pretty much. I’ll sell the rest of Graham Enterprises to its employees once Fred’s personal holdings have been dealt with.” She pushed back from the table. “I need dessert. Want a pudding cup?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  She came back with a glass of milk and a tapioca cup. “I hope you can afford group three of the coins. I know I’m really pushing matters, given the size of vault five.”

  She didn’t look that worried. He smiled. “I’ll have no problem buying your coins, Charlotte. When you get the group put together, we’ll find a price we agree on.”

  “If Fred hadn’t walked around this house and told me where to look, I would have never found everything he had tucked away. The rest I want to gather together are in the den, I think, and a couple of the bedrooms.”

  “Fred didn’t trust banks?”

  “Not much.” She leaned back in her chair. “I was going to work on the kitchen some more tonight, but my body is saying the day is done. I’ll drop you by your rental car. Do you know how to get to the hotel from here? I can probably find you a map.”

  “I’m good.” He offered the page he had handwritten while she was out getting dinner. “This is for you in case I don’t see you tomorrow. The list you asked for, places to contribute, suggested amounts.”

  “Oh, excellent!” She read the list as she ate the last of the tapioca. “This is good. I can do the whole page.”

  “That’s nice of you, Charlotte. Really nice.”

  She waved her spoon at him with a bit of a frown, looking uncomfortable. “If I give you the checks, could you deliver them or mail them, as the case may be?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll get my checkbook.”

  Bryce watched her leave. By her own words she didn’t believe in God like he did, yet he’d just given her a list of churches and organizations that would preach the good news about Jesus and do acts of charity in His name, and she had said yes to gifts totaling two hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.

  He knew she could afford the gifts, his total with her for the coins was now nine million two after vault five, but what he found remarkable was her willingness to give it, and to let him direct where.

  Charlotte came back with her checkbook. She wrote out checks for his list, stacked them neatly, and handed them to him.

  “Your money is going to help a lot of people, Charlotte.”

  “I think it will. You’re careful with money, so it’s going to be a good list. I do have two conditions, Bryce.”

  “What are they?”

  “You can’t tell anyone the money is from me. The checks are written from the Cleo Simm Trust, and unless you knew that signature said Charlotte Graham the best you would guess is Charles Something. I’ve actually paid people a hundred bucks to see if they could figure out the name and only one has come close to finding my name in my signature.”

  He laughed at that admission.

  She smiled and added, “Cleo was a friend of mine. We formed the trust together years ago to invest in art we both liked. I left the trust open after she passed away as the anonymity has been useful to me. I’ve given some of my art proceeds away through Cleo Simm, and now some of the Graham estate. I’m not asking you to bend the line of the truth, just keep my personal involvement as the source of the funds confidential.”

  “Okay, I can do that. The second condition?”

  “I need another page.”

  “Another—sure. I can come up with some more ideas.”

  “Thanks.” She pushed back her chair. “Let me get a jacket, and I’ll drive you over to Gate C and your rental car.”

  Bryce drove to the hotel, thinking back through what had been a very interesting day. The coins were a solid buy. He would figure out how to sell them efficiently. The challenge of that had his attention.

  Seeing Charlotte on her own turf had been fascinating. She was a woman comfortable running the business, comfortable dealing with the size of her grandfather’s estate. She truly enjoyed parts of the job if her reaction to being able to train on the big crane was a snapshot—and yet she planned to sell the business and return to her art. It told him she loved her art with a passion that was more than just a first career. It was how she thought of herself—I am an artist—and that felt like a sign
ificant piece toward understanding her.

  It was the charitable-giving list and her reaction to it that had him puzzled. There had been obvious relief when he handed her that piece of paper and a list of ideas. Her request for a second page had been genuine. She was a wealthy woman, yet he got the impression she didn’t know what to do with it. She made million-dollar deals related to the coins and was at ease making those decisions. She was comfortable dealing with money, but not so much with having it. He felt the tug of an important fact buried in that observation. He needed to determine why that was if he was going to figure her out. And figuring her out was beginning to matter more with each day.

  EIGHT

  Bryce stepped off the elevator into the entryway of Paul and Ann Falcon’s home in downtown Chicago. The fourth floor of the building had been in Paul’s family for many decades, and it made for a spacious home. A sculpture of a horse and cowboy straight from the Old West dominated the entry space. “Ann, thanks for allowing me to drop by like this on short notice,” he said as Ann met him.

  “It’s always a pleasure, Bryce. Paul just got home, but he’s on the phone—there’s been developments in a case, so he may be a few minutes yet.”

  “It’s your advice I need.”

  “Oh?” She looked at the folder in his hand. “What do you have?”

  He handed her prints of the photos he had taken of vault five and a copy of the inventory list. Surprise, then pleasure, crossed her face as she realized what she held. “Come on back.” She moved into the dining room and spread the photos across the table. “This estate just keeps getting more interesting. What did you spend?”

  “Five million six.”

  Her gaze shot to him, and then she laughed. “You’re killing me here, Bryce. I told Paul I was staying out of the business, but this is like catnip.” She scanned the inventory list. “The market is good right now. No need to hold them hoping for a better price. I’d sell, and do it while the market can absorb this volume.”

  He pulled out a chair and settled in to talk strategy. “How would you handle it?”

  “This many coins to sell and ship—simplify and standardize. Sell by the roll anything that prices below a hundred dollars a coin. That price point will push out the better grades of the draped and capped Bust coins, the large cents, half dimes and Barber halves—the ones where you’ll want to sort and grade more carefully.”

  Ann thought for a moment. “The outliers—those hard to find rare dates and mints—are where you can get a nice surprise in a volume purchase like this. You can spend the time to look for them or you can deliberately not do so and price accordingly. I’ve done it both ways. With this kind of collection I’d say don’t sort. Set the price for the rolls a bit higher and let random chance for whoever finds the semi-keys and keys bring more buyers to you. Word will spread fast that you’ve got fresh coins. You’ll make close to as much as if you had found those outliers yourself, and do it with a lot less effort.”

  Bryce saw her point. “The buyer gets the advantage on the individual rolls while I get the advantage over the entire collection.”

  “Exactly. No need to get elaborate on the selling. Just the description and the price. Five rolls, Mercury dimes 1916 to 1931, Extremely Fine to About Uncirculated—ten thousand dollars. Put the list on the website, no photos, just your reputation backing the description.”

  Ann sorted through the photos and tapped one. “These coin boxes, the odd lots, you would be better to move at auction. Something low-key. Think a big room, a bunch of tables, with groups of coins laid out. Target the week of the national coin show since it’s in Chicago this year, invite dealers to stop by and bid on the lots. Let the buyers do the work of figuring out the values. Close the auction after five days. You can always decline to sell a particular lot if you don’t get a reasonable price.”

  “Everything you just said makes sense, and it’s the absolute opposite of what I would do for higher-end coins. I’m glad I never competed with you in this business, Ann.”

  She smiled. “Two different client sets, different goals. My clients were focused on completing a collection of every Buffalo nickel or searching to find the error coin in a dozen rolls of Wheat pennies. Most enjoyed the treasure hunt aspect of the coins as much as the value. High-end coins tend to be more about wealth preservation and rarity and are individualized purchases.” She stacked the photos and handed them back. “You paid five million six. Given today’s market, I bet you go back to cash at eight million and can be there within four months.”

  “You want the job of running the prep room? I’ll find some space to rent nearby.”

  “I’m tempted.”

  “I’d love it if you would say yes. This is what I bought this week. I got a preview of the group three coins that are coming. My guess, that group is going to be another five hundred coins at around three million.”

  “Will that be the last of the coins?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She laughed. “You are having a good year, Bishop.”

  “A profitable one.” He stored the photos in the folder, then hesitated. “Do you mind if I take this conversation in a more serious turn?”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Charlotte Graham—I’m guessing it’s not her real name. Do you know who she really is?”

  “I’ve known for a few years.”

  “I wondered about that.” He knew Ann was a cop who kept secrets, all the way up to those of the former vice president. She’d been the Midwest Homicide Investigator for years before marrying Paul. “If I wanted to escort Charlotte into a museum showing, a concert, something public, is there going to be a problem? Is the press going to recognize her?”

  “A slim chance, but yes. In Chicago, a few of the more sharp reporters might be able to put it together. You shouldn’t have a problem if you stay low-key, avoid the events that would attract the press.” She leaned back in her chair, considering him. “I’m good for a plane trip, if you decide you want to take her somewhere else for an evening out.”

  He knew she was a good pilot; she’d paid her college tuition by ferrying planes around, then spent thousands of hours in the air with her job. “I may take you up on that, Ann. Charlotte gave some money to charity, took my advice on where to give it. I want to say thanks. She shrugged it off when I tried to thank her, but it matters. And she needs an evening off.”

  “It sounds like a very nice thing for her to have done—for you to do.”

  “It’s odd, because she’s said flat-out she doesn’t believe like I do. But she’s giving to churches and charities that are Christian, giving generously.”

  “I’d say that contradiction suggests there’s a lot more going on than appears on the surface.”

  “She asked me for another list of places to give.”

  “Then I’d write her another list.” Ann grew thoughtful. “Bryce, would you accept some advice?”

  “You know I will.”

  “Charlotte’s past—you don’t want to know. I realize you’re a man who doesn’t like mysteries, and not having all the facts bothers you. And yet I’ll say for your sake as much as hers, you don’t want to know. It won’t help anything. It will hurt something. If you go looking, she doesn’t get the choice to decide if she wants to tell you. I speak from experience. If she doesn’t want to talk about something, doesn’t want you to know, do her the kindness of not asking and not looking.”

  “I’m beginning to guess, Ann. I met John Key.”

  Ann smiled. “I like him.”

  “Charlotte said he’s a very dangerous guy if he doesn’t like a situation.”

  “An interesting way to put it. She’d be right. Some people have jobs so suited to their person that you can tell they’re exactly where God designed them to be. John’s a bodyguard, a security professional. He doesn’t accept that assignment for many clients, but when he does, he’ll do what needs to be done to keep someone safe.”

  “Is there a threa
t still out there to Charlotte?”

  “No. Cops killed the guys I would worry about. But I’m glad John’s still around in her life. Help her with the coins, Bryce, and whatever else she asks. It’s the right thing, the kind thing, to do.”

  Paul hung up his jacket in the bedroom closet. “I’m sorry the call ran so long that I missed Bryce. They picked up six guys at Willis Tower and fanned out to arrest another six, so it just kept rolling all evening.”

  Ann, sitting on the floor, pushed Black to turn over so she could brush his other side. “I could tell it was getting interesting.”

  “It looks like corporate espionage. A major airline is moving its headquarters, leasing thirty floors in the building, and these guys were trying to get the offices bugged before the company moves in. The place is swarming with our tech people right now, trying to figure out what they did. Looks like they were about halfway through with the job. The conference rooms were all bugged, and they were already ghosting most of the traffic on the internal network.”

  Paul tugged receipts from his wallet and change from his pockets. “We’ll know more once we figure out who was paying to have it done.” He put his phone on to charge. “I’m guessing Bryce also had interesting news since he asked to stop by.”

  “Charlotte dropped a nice bombshell on him. She showed him a vault full of coins. Bryce spent five million six on seventy thousand coins, and if he doesn’t clear eight million inside four months, I’ll be surprised.”

  Paul paused to process that news. “So it was a volume of coins. I wondered. She had called the first coins chum.”

  “They’re the lower price range of coins Bryce doesn’t normally handle. This volume—I’ve seen some nice hoards and bought this big once or twice, but it’s rare to find this range of coins at the price she was offering. Charlotte has quite the coin collection to sell. Bryce said there’s also another group of the high-end coins coming, probably five hundred of them in the range of three million. He’ll have a challenge finessing that cash flow, but, man, what a nice problem to have.”