by Jerri George
“Pretty much,” Dawn said thoughtfully. “Good old Dad, he was all about business.”
Maybe if he wasn’t, Aunt Marj would have been happier. Candace was certain of one thing. Uncle Dan’s role of big brother to both Brad and Eric. He challenged them in everything—sports, grades, and certainly in business over the years. They competed in any arena where one could keep score. After graduation, Eric entered a corporate position while Brad opened his clothing manufacturing business with Cynthia, but Dan bested them both. Surprisingly, Eric and Brad succeeded where Dan missed out entirely—in the affairs of the heart. Unlike Uncle Dan, the younger men met their wives within months of each other and were married until their deaths. Of course, now she knew all was not as it seemed.
“They weren’t much older than you and I are now when they were in the thick of it all,” Candace said loudly enough to be heard. “Of course, your dad had the investment capital, but he and Uncle Dan sure were powerhouses.”
“Mmhmm, I remember your uncle’s meteoric rise from floor trader to investment manager, then opening that huge brokerage office here in Denver.” Dawn bent over a mirrored frame to catch her reflection and twisted her lip gloss cover to apply it heavily. “Always wondered what he had to do to get there.”
“What do you mean?” Candace asked.
“Dunno, just sayin’.” Dawn gathered her bag and a scarf from the foyer closet and experimented with different looks.
As far as Candace knew, Uncle Dan's sharp eye for growth potential and keen business sense made him the imposing figure he became on Wall Street, nothing more, nothing less. She had to hold her breath to refrain from asking Dawn what she was inferring by that comment.
Instead she asked, “Isn't this picture in front of the Brown Palace Hotel the time your dad and mom visited us and almost moved your family to Colorado?”
Candace touched another framed memory.
Dawn was not only reflective but Candace noticed a glint in her eye and she sounded surprisingly astute about it all. “Yup, things were sure different back then, Dad always said the 80's were all about growth, expansion and high interest rates. Everything they touched seemed to turn to gold.”
“Whoa! Listen to you. I always wondered why you didn't follow in your father's footsteps. By now I bet you’d have a corporate jet, penthouse offices in New York and Boston and never look back.”
“What’s that old saying? When I got around to wanting what he had, what he had wasn’t worth wanting? After Dad was gone, Mom thought about living in Denver. Not exactly the stock market capital of the world.” Dawn sounded contrite. “I'll always remember our dads joking about the fact Denver was nothing more than a small horse-trading town pretending to be a big metropolis. Besides, after your father died, your uncle had no use for business and he was the one who knew it all.”
Dawn was correct about her take on the financial climate back then, and it was Dan who most enjoyed predicting which companies were ripe for the takeover picking. Eric and his wealthy friends, devoted movers and shakers, all loved to follow Uncle Dan’s particular style of harvesting and snatching profits. It was common knowledge Eric not only loved the kinship but also the money and his chance to become a boardroom buddy of Dan's.
Once Candace’s parents were killed, her uncle's focus turned to condensing his personal portfolio, liquidating his brother's holdings, and trying his hand at surrogate parenting. He relinquished all client account management and the hands-on nurturing of companies to the New York office executive VP's and senior analysts. It was clear Dawn felt Uncle Dan left her dad stranded in a sea of investment waters that turned choppy as the 90’s emerged and, according to the letters in the attic, stranded without the love of his wife. Candace wondered if Dawn felt Dan was responsible for her father’s suicide. Maybe Dawn confronted him about the letters. Maybe she had been the one who had attacked him. Candace quickly dismissed the thought.
“Hey, are you ready to blow this pop stand? I thought we’d go to some clubs in Lo-Do. I know how much you love it there.” Dawn grinned and winked while marching out the door. Denver’s popular lower downtown entertainment district was where anyone who was anyone spent evenings networking, dating, or in Dawn’s case, usually carousing.
I knew it. Candace frowned. Anton would certainly hate parading around town while Dawn was making connections.
Chapter 16
Candace knew all too well that Dawn had been drinking since she was knee-high to a grasshopper and could really hold her liquor. It didn’t surprise her when following an incredible Cuban meal, Dawn convinced them both to join her for a drink. One great aspect of Denver was its abundant number of bars per square block. Cowboys with wide brims and corporate types with ties were happy to cough up whatever funds were necessary to keep girls, like Dawn placated and dancing.
Although Candace knew this was not a choice spot in Anton’s mind, when Dawn offered to spring for the drinks, she watched as Anton acquiesced and imbibed. He ordered Russian vodka, neat, tossed it back then promptly excused himself feigning exhaustion. Against his upbringing but well deserved, he left the tab for Dawn.
Very little time passed before Candace elected to move them away from the bar into a booth, but Dawn would have no part in it. Coveting their time alone, drinking shooters while Candace sipped wine, Dawn reminisced. “You know, my dad was on top for so many years,” she spoke, looking into a shooter. “They didn’t call him “The Brick” for nothing.”
“I haven’t heard you talk about your dad for a long time. I can’t believe you remembered his old nickname.”
Their conversation in the apartment earlier must have touched a nerve.
Dawn didn’t hesitate to down that shot and order another. “If it wasn’t for Black Monday in 1987, life would have been so different.”
“Remember that day we found out about Dad?” Dawn squeezed Candace’s arm so hard red fingerprints were left on it.
Candace could see this wasn’t heading to a good place and was a bit uncomfortable with the topic herself. “You know, maybe we should get you home.”
“That fall after the car accident at the ranch—remember?” Dawn asked slurring her words.
“Yes, I remember.” That day had been the first time Candace was sure Dawn really understood how she felt.
Candace’s psychiatric treatment in Florida ended in late summer after plans for her to attend boarding school were thwarted by her serious bout with depression. She and Uncle Dan were taking a much-needed vacation on the newly baptized ‘Double K’ as fall kicked in. It seemed fitting to recognize their newly formed “family” in this way, and Dawn had joined them. Most of the conversations centered on where Candace would now attend and finish high school. They had pretty much decided she would give the school a try if Dawn would go with her. It seemed like a great solution. It was agreed that Uncle Dan would hire a tutor to work with both girls over the holidays to get them ready.
Dan accepted a call one afternoon that changed their well laid plans. He was informed Dawn’s father had ended his life the prior evening with a single gunshot to the head. As her uncle shared in the eulogy, he gave days later, he had lost his best friend. There would be no more daily phone calls, no guidance requests, no more raucous parties, off color jokes or juicy stories to share. He would be sorely missed.
The immediate sensory blackout was palpable. Dan lost a partner, and Dawn’s world was altered as if her own father had driven off a cliff.
“That bitch!” Dawn flipped another shooter into her mouth.
Candace suspected she knew the bitch Dawn was referring to.
She clearly remembered the media took hold of the story with a vengeance. Eric “The Brick” Ehrlickson had invested his substantial holdings with Dan's firm in Colorado. As the markets began to slide along with many stock offerings, adjustments were made by those tracking the market closely with the exception of one of Dan's VP's, Ms. Pamela Lloyd-Everett.
Uncle Dan had described his VP sev
eral times, each time adding more of her snake-like features. Candace pictured a tall, seductive blonde fresh out of Stanford. A threat to all masculinity, she stood taller than most when she wore spiked heels with her designer wool suits and open-necked pastel silk blouses. Appropriate below the knee pencil skirts, and seamed stockings provided an unmistakable accent to the back of her slender calves. Dan described her as smooth as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, but their garden was bank and brokerage house conference rooms. She slithered deeper into Dan’s business once he was otherwise occupied by the loss of his brother and sister-in-law and parenting his new ward.
Dan tracked little of the day-to-day operation back then. The bottom line was Pamela used her slimy ways to infiltrate and boast impressive earnings on the back of Dan’s best friend's portfolio. According to Uncle Eric, Pamela painted a powerful picture for clients eager to turn a profit. Stocks and bonds held closely by baby-boomers were, in her opinion, on par with purchasing a family station wagon. These investments were deemed staid and boring when any man’s real desire was to take a spin in a late model sports car. She spent her time orchestrating the liquidation of their assets while advising them to buy targeted investments that by her definition was more like “speeding toward wealth with the top down” helping her own commissions race everyone else’s to the finish line.
Accusations were widespread in the investment community and shared around the dinner table. It would have all but ruined Uncle Dan had charges not been filed against Lloyd-Everett and Pamela, summarily fired. Her exit from the firm did little to heal the devastation or comfort friends of Eric when he shot himself a week later, the newspapers reported. Stories that made Dawn hate her viciously.
Dan tried to rectify the hole in all their lives. Having sold or protected his own investments, he saw to it the girls spent quality time with him on all school vacations and provided trips abroad, lessons in scuba diving and horseback riding, spa weekends and concert excursions complete with backstage passes and limousine escorts. He sent both young ladies on a twenty-one-day cruise of the Greek Isles for a graduation present, and if that wasn’t enough, they celebrated their eighteenth birthdays on a joint trip to Paris. It was then Uncle told Candace, if money could not buy happiness, it certainly helped to see the girls’ smile after years of tears and misery.
Candace was desperate to get Dawn off this depressing roller coaster of memories. “Dawn, I’ve found it’s best if we don’t dwell on all of it. It’s in the past.”
“Sometimes the past is the only place I feel accepted or comfortable, Miss Candy Kane.” Dawn snorted.
Candace cringed. “Well, I try really hard to concentrate on the happier times. Do you remember all those trips we took with your mom to Manhattan for fashion week? What did she used to call them—fashion junkets? I swear she would have flown us halfway around the world trying to be a replacement for my mother. She never could tolerate designers west of the Mississippi.” Candace knew instinctively if her own mom were still in her life, she would have been just as involved in fashion week and designer collections.
“Well aren’t you a Pollyanna? My mom always did treat you like royalty. What the hell was so great about you? You have no idea what it was like to be me.” Dawn swilled back another shot and splayed across the bar.
Candace motioned for the bartender placing her index finger on one side of her neck making a slow movement across, as if to slit her throat, signifying the end of drink service. She really didn’t know what to say at this juncture and had too much on her own mind. It was better to just take Dawn home and end the night. She certainly wouldn't want to remind her of any further reason to despair. Though Candace lost both parents when she was young, it was obvious Dawn was the one who felt more isolated and alone. It was true, Candace’s parents died in an accident, not at their own hand. Who knew how Eric’s unhappiness had affected Dawn? Clearly, Aunt Marj had been unhappy as well.
Candace removed Dawn’s heels and a scarf from around her neck as she practically poured her into her bed. She hoped Dawn didn’t throw up on her Gucci blouse. Candace rustled through Dawn’s drawers for pajamas. She settled on an oversized Victoria Secret sleep shirt and slipped it on so she could crash on the couch while Dawn slept it off. She padded across the hardwood floor into the kitchen to grab a snack of cheese and crackers and a glass of Sprite, then called voicemail.
Tripp had called confirming her visit to his dad’s office tomorrow. Anton checked in more than once, concerned with her whereabouts, and Sheriff Sam called to ask for contact info on Anton and Dawn. Why on earth would he want to talk to either of them?
Then, Jesse had left the oddest message around nine pm. “I hope you’re coming back tonight. The sheriff came by to question me, and I don’t know what to do. I will be at the ranch later. Please come home by morning.”
It was too late to return the call, but her plan was to leave first thing in the morning. What did Sam want with Jesse? He had questioned her?
A quick call to the nurse’s station revealed no change in Uncle Dan’s condition.
Sleep would be an elusive commodity tonight.
Chapter 17
The early morning sun reflected from the floor-to-ceiling wall mirror into Candace’s eyes. A mile closer to the big ball of fire than most places in the country, it seemed to shine on Denver for the majority of every day, summer, winter, spring or fall. She stretched and grimaced against the pain in her neck and shoulders. Expensive skinny leather couches were built for design, not comfort, and left little to be desired for sleeping. Thankfully, not a peep came from Dawn’s bedroom all night. Candace hoped that meant Dawn had gotten some uninterrupted sleep. The fundraiser was less than twelve hours away, and the last thing she needed was a hung-over, cranky hostess.
She had a full day ahead. She would get dressed and leave before Dawn woke, head down to Gallegos, confer with the doctors, talk to Sam about the investigation, check in at the ranch, get to Harry Long’s office, grab the paperwork, interrogate Tripp, and be back by four o’clock for the event. She didn’t need to wear anything fancy and had two or three chef coats and a few after party dresses in the closet at the office.
Candace took a shower, tried to find an acceptable fragrance of perfume and slipped into a simple black shirt to freshen her pair of straight leg jeans. Her shoes from last night would have to suffice since Dawn’s feet had always been humongous. Her strappy high-heeled sandals weren’t made for comfort, but luckily she kept a change of boots at the ranch.
A piece of dry toast and a small glass of orange juice was all the breakfast the kitchen was equipped to provide. Assuming that Dawn would hardly be in the mood to eat for several hours, if at all today, she wiped crumbs from the counter, rinsed out the glass, and took off.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Candace exploded into her cell on the way to Gallegos. Vexed by lack of a decent night’s sleep, the last thing she wanted to hear was some stupid assumption from Sheriff Sam as to the identity of her uncle’s attacker.
“Look, CJ, we have reason to believe that Pedro Alvarez had a motive for trying to kill your uncle.” Sheriff Sam was firm in his resolve. “When you get back to town, please come by the station. We can go over the details.”
“I can’t come to the station. I need to get to the hospital and back to Denver in time to work an event. I don’t have time for this, Sam. Why would Jesse’s son Pedro want to kill my uncle?” She was speeding and impatient at the endless expanse of road in front of her.
“It seems he has a long history of jealousy where Jesse and your uncle are concerned. Word around town is he blames your uncle for his parents’ divorce and was drinking heavily that night. You told me yourself you couldn’t reach Jesse the night of the attack. She admits she was bailing her son out of jail. He’d been arrested for being drunk and disorderly.”
No wonder Jesse called her last night.
“I’ve taken him in for questioning. I spoke with the mother, and she can’t alib
i him,” he continued.
Jessie was likely a wreck. Confronted by the police, Uncle unconscious, and her son a suspect? Candace had to talk to her.
Candace gripped her phone tight. “This is just hogwash. Don’t question Pedro without his attorney, Sam. If Jesse doesn’t have one, I’ll get one. Do you understand?”
“Why would you want to protect someone who almost killed your uncle?”
“Because I’m sure he didn’t do it, and I owe it to Jesse to help in whatever way I can. The kid is young and just doesn’t get their relationship. Many people have wondered about them over the years, including her own husband, but that doesn’t prove anything, and it certainly doesn’t mean Pedro would kill over it. Why, after all these years?”
“I’m just telling you what we turned up. I shouldn’t even be discussing it with you but he looks good for it, CJ. I’m going to get his DNA to help prove it.”
“Don’t you dare test his DNA!” Candace just needed some time to talk to Jesse and get a lawyer there. She ended the call abruptly to call the ranch. Getting no response, she called Jesse’s cell phone. No answer. Now what?
It was pedal to the metal all the way to Gallegos.
Reaching the hospital a little after eleven, Candace beelined to ICU. Thankfully Sam was otherwise occupied and would not be there to greet her today. It seemed like forever since she’d been in this place, an environment that had been so alien just last week.
Peering through the sliding glass door, Candace saw a woman standing uncomfortably close to Uncle Dan’s bedside. She was could have been mistaken for hospital staff, but her snug-fitting, periwinkle business suit was not hospital garb. The smart, peplum waist jacket accentuated her Monroe hips and, towering at over six feet, she was elevated on a pair of hot-pink Steve Madden pumps. A wide brimmed floppy hat of the same garish color concealed all but a few wisps of gray hair at liberty to roam.
