An Uncollected Death

by Meg Wolfe

hesitated to answer. What should she tell him? The truth, that there was only one more to go? Perhaps that would reassure him that she was almost finished with the search, and he would be more patient about waiting until the place was turned over for the auction.

  “Very well, actually. We’ve found nearly all of them, in spite of quite a few things having been moved around against Helene’s explicit wishes.”

  Mitchell feigned surprise, not quite pulling it off. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’ve no interest in the notebooks apart from wishing you the best of luck in finding them.”

  “Oh, I know you don’t care about the notebooks,” began Charlotte, and then suddenly stopping as she felt an arm move across her back, settling with a hand at her waist.

  “What about the notebooks?” asked Simon. He left his arm around her, and she felt her brain go blank for a couple of seconds.

  But only for a couple of seconds. Her thoughts raced from one misgiving to another: was he patronizing her by acting like her “protector,” was he doing this out of genuine concern, or was it purely subterfuge, because he knew something that she didn’t? There was only one thing she could do that would both cover the legitimate possibilities and her own sense of dignity: act as if the attention was both welcome and expected.

  She tilted her head a little to look up at him adoringly. “Darling, this is Donovan’s friend, Mitchell. He was asking how our search for Olivia’s notebooks was coming along, because I know he’s in a bit of a rush to get in there, himself.”

  She felt Simon’s hand press hard against her waist in warning. “Oh, yeah,” he put out his other hand and shook Mitchell’s. “Simon Norwich. So you’re the fellow who makes lasagna.” The inflection in his tone opened up a wide range of interpretations.

  Mitchell, for once, looked as if he didn’t know what to say—which meant he wasn’t in control of the situation. “That’s right. Well, then,” he looked down at the jewelry to hide his irritated expression, and finished checking things off.

  As Mitchell moved to the silverware, Simon, whose hand hadn’t left Charlotte’s waist, began talking to her about the jewelry that was in another display case, in particular a “pearl choker” that he thought would look lovely on her. She looked at him in alarm, but he pressed his hand hard again, so she played along. Ilona came back around the counter, her heels clacking loudly, and her face in a thorough pout. Charlotte put her own arm around Simon’s waist and pulled him a little closer.

  “You spoil me,” she cooed.

  “Anything for my favorite wench,” he murmured.

  Wench? She bit back a retort, and made the most of the moment of cuddling, resting her head against his shoulder as Mitchell finished up the paper work.

  He looked up at her. “That’s it, then. If you have the amount due?”

  Charlotte and Simon let go of one another as she retrieved the money and gave it to Ilona, who ran it through the cash register.

  Mitchell looked tense, as if forcing himself to be professional and cordial. “Nice seeing you again, Charlotte, and meeting you, Simon.” Then he turned and went into the back room.

  Charlotte wished she could ask Ilona more questions, but the moment had passed, and the clerk’s obvious irritation made it highly unlikely she would be forthcoming with answers.

  Simon continued their charade by taking Charlotte’s elbow and leading her over to the jewelry counter, pointing out a pearl choker that probably really would look good on her. But she was certain the “couple” act was coming to a close, and fought back the temptation to get snarky.

  It didn’t help matters that as soon as they got back in the Land Rover, he burst out laughing.

  “Well done, Charlotte! That’ll keep the smarmy git off balance.”

  “You really think that bit of theater will stop him from moving stuff around Olivia’s house? That he’ll think my big bad boyfriend will make his life difficult if he gives me any problems?”

  He sobered up. “That I don’t know, to be honest. It might even make things worse. But one thing I know about his kind, if they haven’t got all the angles worked out, it makes them nervous. And when they’re nervous, they make mistakes. Mistakes that might give away what the game really is.”

  Charlotte had to give him credit for the attempt. “And here I thought I was actually going to get a pearl choker,” she joked.

  He started the engine, then gave her a pat on the knee. “Anything your little heart desires, love.”

  She clobbered his arm.

   

  Simon had to get back to campus, so he dropped Charlotte off at Helene’s, where she gave as light-hearted an account of their adventure as she could.

  Helene saw right through it. “Hmm. You sleep in the man’s bed, serve as his damsel in distress, and blush nearly every time you hear his name. You have it bad, Charlotte.”

  “Well, it isn’t reciprocated, so please don’t tease or say anything to him, okay?” Charlotte’s stomach growled, partly because it was lunch time, and partly from being so nervous at first at the pawn shop.

  “I’m sure I won’t have to,” said Helene. “He’s not stupid.”

  “That makes it even worse. I know he likes women that look like Lola or that tramp at the pawn shop, lights up like a Christmas tree around them. And that isn’t, and will never be me, I’m afraid.”

  “And thank goodness for it! He likes you a lot more than you think, my dear. He certainly respects you. I know that seems like cold comfort right now, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you are feeling a bit lonely at times. But he might not want to start something he wouldn’t be in a position to continue in a few months’ time.”

  Charlotte looked up at Helene, and realized she could be right. Simon wasn’t a citizen, and probably only in the country as long as he could have a work visa. If the university didn’t give him another year’s contract, he would likely have to leave.

  Her cell phone rang; it was Detective Barnes.

  “We got Donovan Targman,” he said.

   

  The first thing Helene did was call her lawyer, who in turn called another lawyer better suited to represent someone charged with burglary or criminal trespass—or even murder. Then Charlotte drove her to the city jail, where Donovan was being held.

  “I will do what I can to get him out on bail, but I want to talk to him first. The detective said that could be arranged. I want to know, once and for all, if he is being coerced by Mitchell and that loan shark, and just what it is they think they’re looking for.” Helene looked and sounded determined—just short of imperious, Charlotte thought.

  “That’s the the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?” Charlotte came to a stoplight, and as she waited, she had a worrisome thought. “Do you think he’ll be charged for Olivia, you know—”

  Helene’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Detective Barnes said he’s being questioned about it. This is awful.”

  They drove in silence the rest of the way, and said little until Barnes met them in the waiting area and expedited their access. Barnes and Charlotte went into the observation room, and Helene went to talk to Donovan in the interview room.

  Donovan was already there, seated at the table. He hung his head when he saw her, and spoke quietly. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Helene.”

  “Oh, Donnie. Please tell me what this is all about.” Helene sat down at the table across from him, her back to the two-way mirror.

  Charlotte was surprised by how similar the set up was to things she’d seen on television crime dramas, and it calmed some of her initial nervousness. Her heart not only went out to Helene, but to Donovan—as he looked up at his aunt, he looked twenty years older than he was, as if he was wearing every hardship, heartbreak, disappointment, humiliation, and loss of hope that he’d experienced in his life all at once. He seemed exhausted and afraid, a man at the end of his rope.

  “Whatever you do,” he whispered, “do not break the contract with Warren Brothers.”
<
br />   “What are you looking for?” Helene pleaded. “What is in that house that is worth all of this?”

  “Mom told Wesley Warren that she had a first edition of Least Objects, but that it was more valuable than the one they sold.”

  “That’s why he was there that night?”

  Donovan nodded. “They own me, I’m trying to pay them off, but I can’t, not without Mom’s stuff. Too much interest.”

  “What happened that night, Donnie? Can’t you tell me?”

  He shook his head. “Just don’t break that contract. Don’t go there alone. Be careful, you and Charlotte both.” His eyes were glazed with fear. Then he wouldn’t answer any more of her questions.

  The guard indicated that Helene’s time was up, and she sighed. “I’ve retained a lawyer for you, and we’ll take care of bail.”

  He shook his head. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  Helene rose to leave. “Well, I can’t leave things like this. Be careful, Donnie. And stay in touch.” She turned and the guard let her out.

   

  They stopped at The Coffee Grove for a late lunch, and Helene used her cell phone to cancel her afternoon student.

  “I can’t face teaching right now, my head is just too full of this tragic mess.” She took a bite of chicken pecan salad. “Besides, I’ve started translating those passages in the notebook that you mentioned, and I’d like to finish it. It’s a lot of pages, but it’s absorbing.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I wouldn’t bother you with it, but something tells me it’s