Antiques & Collectibles 09 - Mint Condition Murder

by Ellery Adams

  “I read on your store’s website that you were both twenty-one when you opened Pockets of Time. I wanted to ask Charlotte about it, to find out how you accomplished so much at a young age.”

  Rene looked at her from under her bangs. “Why didn’t you get in touch with me?” Her tone sounded slightly accusatory, as if Molly had done something wrong.

  “I had heard that A Checkered Past was opening, and when I called Charlotte to set up an interview, I did ask her if you could join us. She said no, it would just be her. Are you involved with A Checkered Past?”

  Rene took a sip of coffee. “No, it was Charlotte’s idea to open the shop here, not mine.” She leaned back into the cushions. “She got interested in antiques because the Hendricks owned an antiques store. She worked there over the summers. Mrs. Hendricks would take her antiquing, too. She learned a lot from her, and her husband.”

  “Where was their shop?”

  “In Montpelier.”

  Molly looked at her. “Here, in Vermont?”

  “Yes, but our goal was to get out of Vermont and move to Boston.” She took another bite of croissant. “You aren’t going to write about any of this, are you? Because I’d rather you didn’t. It’s too personal. Charlotte didn’t like to talk about the past.”

  Yet she named her new store A Checkered Past, Molly thought. She wondered if there was some kind of meaning behind the name.

  “I can leave out how you met, and your childhood in foster care.”

  “Thank you.” Rene sighed. “The truth is, Pockets of Time was Charlotte’s passion, not mine. I only got on board because I had no clue what I was going to do with my life. At least Charlotte had a plan. She was the heart and soul of the place. I’m the office manager.”

  “That’s an important role.”

  Rene looked at her. “I was the one who had to tell her we’d have to close the store.”

  Molly was shocked. “You’re closing Pockets of Time?”

  “We had no choice. The last few years have been brutal to our bottom line. We’ve only survived because Charlotte refused to close, and started giving me money from her personal accounts to help pay the bills. I told her it was too much, and unsustainable. She’d go broke eventually. Finally, two months ago, I got her to agree to a going out of business sale beginning November first and running through the end of December. I have an ad ready to go in the Globe starting next week.” She took a sip of coffee. “It was difficult for Charlotte to accept that our run was over. I tried to encourage her. I told her it would all work out in the end, that we’d be okay. We had a plan to sell the shop, and we could split the proceeds.” She paused. “What I didn’t know was that Charlotte was all ready to make her own plan. Just a week after we agreed to close Pockets of Time, she informed me she was going to open a new store in Vermont. I was astounded. I told her she was crazy. We didn’t even have enough money to keep Pockets of Time open, how was she going to open a new store, and stock it, because I wasn’t going to let her take anything out of Boston. That merchandise was going to be sold as we’d agreed. She told me she would use her savings, and the money she made from the sale of her condo.”

  Molly thought this was interesting. “So, out of the blue, she told you she’d made this plan?”

  Rene nodded. “And now she’s dead, and I wish I had done more to stop her from going through with it. If I had, she’d be alive. I feel like this is all my fault.”

  “You can’t think that way,” Molly said. “She was a grown woman, and it was her choice to open A Checkered Past.”

  “Right, and now I’m going to be stuck trying to unload another store, since I’m the executor of her estate. You don’t know anyone who would want to buy it, do you?”

  “Not offhand, but I can ask around.” Molly took the last bite of her croissant. She was tempted to take another one, but decided one was enough. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt Charlotte? Was there someone from your past who held a grudge, or maybe she’d had some kind of falling out with?”

  “I can’t think of anyone.”

  “Did she date?”

  “Yes, she did.” Rene hesitated. “But as I told Detective Lombardi, I have no idea who she might have been seeing. Charlotte kept her personal life private, because five years ago I told her I didn’t want to hear anything more about her escapades.”

  Molly was confused. “What kind of escapades?”

  “She liked to date married men, and I disapproved.”

  Molly was shocked. Charlotte was turning out to be a lot more complicated than she had imagined.

  “Why do you think she did it?”

  Rene finished her coffee and set the cup and saucer on the coffee table. “She told me it suited her, because she got what she wanted. The attention, gifts, dinners, and shows, even the occasional weekend away. She thought it was great, having it all without having to make a commitment.” She pursed her lips. “It was terrible the way she used men, and they were terrible for getting involved with her, lying to their wives.”

  “Did she ever date anyone who wasn’t married?”

  Rene shrugged. “If she did, she never told me.”

  “What about when you were living in Montpelier?”

  Rene shook her head. “Neither of us dated in high school, and we moved here right after we got our diplomas.”

  Molly felt her eyebrows shoot up. “You lived in Burlington?”

  “Yes, for three years. We couldn’t move to Boston right away, it was far too expensive, and we needed time to save up enough money to open a store of our own. We rented an apartment, and got jobs.”

  “Did she have any boyfriends, or other friends besides you, while you were living here?”

  “Charlotte did have a male friend, strictly platonic, but I don’t remember his name.”

  Too bad, Molly thought. “Where did you work?”

  “Charlotte found a job at an antiques store called Memory Lane. I was a teller at Midtown Savings Bank.” There was only one Midtown Savings Bank and it was on Main Street. “Charlotte liked to hang out at a nightclub on the weekends called Katz. They had live bands, and she loved to dance the night away. She probably danced with dozens of men, but never brought anyone home.” Rene glanced at her watch. “I’m so sorry, Molly. I have another appointment. I’m going to have to cut this short. Or are we done?”

  “One more question. Did Detective Lombardi mention what we found in Charlotte’s desk?”

  “Oh, yes. The candy box with some old coins and a gun. He showed me photographs. I told him I had no idea where she’d gotten them. I’d never seen any of it before.”

  “What about the desk? Any idea where she bought it?”

  “Of course. She bought it at Memory Lane. The owners gave her a really good deal on it.”

  Rene stood up and smoothed her skirt. “I want to go to my room and freshen up before I head out.”

  Molly opened her purse and took out a business card. “If you think of anything that might help, or remember any of these men’s names, could you let me know?”

  “I will.” Rene took her card. “Look, I appreciate that you want to look into Charlotte’s death, but if you are going to write something about her, will you please make it nice? Don’t mention the married men, or the foster care.”

  Molly wasn’t going to make any promises, but she said, “I always strive to be fair, and write an informed, and relevant, article.”

  That descriptor covered a lot of bases, but Rene didn’t seem to realize that. She smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “Oh, and feel free to take the rest of the croissants home with you.”

  Chapter 7

  The Hotel Vermont’s lobby had a door that led directly into the public parking garage. As Molly pushed open the door, she heard her cell phone ring in her purse.

  It was Lombardi. “You have good timing,” she said. “I just finished talking to Rene.”

  “What was your impression?”

  “I’m not sure. I
thought at first she was being honest with me, but the more I’m thinking about it, I feel like she was keeping something back. She cut the interview short, too. Said she had another appointment.”

  “Did she tell you how she met Charlotte in foster care?”

  Molly got out of the way of a car coming down the ramp she was rounding. “Yes, and how after high school they moved from Montpelier to Burlington, and worked, and saved money. I thought it was interesting that Charlotte never dated anyone when they were living here, but she liked to date married men in Boston. What does that say about her?”

  “Maybe she feared commitment.” Said the voice of experience, Molly thought. “Whatever her reasons, I wanted to let you know I’m driving to Boston this afternoon. I’ve already talked to a friend of mine with the Boston PD. He’s making arrangements to get me into Charlotte’s condo, and I plan on stopping by Pockets of Time to have a chat with the sole employee on the payroll, Wendy Ross. Rene told me she’s manning the store.”

  “Does Rene know you’re going to talk to her?”

  “She doesn’t know I’m going to Boston. I causally asked her about her staff. Also, I did run a background check on Rene. Looks like she ended up in foster care because her parents had died three months apart, and no one else in the family wanted her. Similar story on Charlotte, sadly. Not sure of the cause of death in either case. Other than that, there’s nothing on her. No bankruptcies, arrests, not even a parking ticket. She did say she had a spare key to Charlotte’s condo if the police in Boston needed it, maybe trying to be helpful, but at the same time, it also means she might have already stopped by there and taken anything I might want to find.”

  Molly walked over to her car. “I’m going to see if Memory Lane is still around.” She had keyless entry, and the doors automatically opened. “If it is open, I’ll talk to the owners. Rene said Charlotte bought her desk there.”

  “Let me know if you find out anything interesting.”

  “I will.” She started the car’s engine. “Have a safe drive to Boston.”

  “Wait, don’t hang up. I have more to tell you. We went through Charlotte’s phone and laptop. She used the laptop for business, and there wasn’t anything personal on it. The phone was different. We discovered a pattern of phone calls she made to one particular number.”

  “Good! You found something. Who was she calling?”

  “Wyatt Lyman.”

  Molly frowned. “Why is that name familiar?”

  “Because Wyatt is the son of Pamela Lyman.”

  Molly stared at her phone. “The woman my father married.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so. Wyatt’s president and chief executive officer of Lyman Construction. He’s married, has two kids.”

  Molly sighed. “He sounds right up Charlotte’s alley.”

  “I’m on my way to the company now to talk to him. When Pamela’s late husband, Joseph, was alive, she was president, and he acted as CEO. He died four years ago, she took over both roles, and when she left the company last year, Wyatt took over. She still serves on the board of directors.”

  Molly rubbed the space between her eyes. What were the odds that her father, a man she had no contact with her entire life, who was suddenly interested in meeting her, was married to the mother of a suspect in Lombardi’s murder case?

  “Are you going to be talking to Pamela and Nathan?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to see what Wyatt has to say.”

  “Rene told me Charlotte had a platonic relationship with someone, but she couldn’t remember his name. Do you want me to call her and ask her if it was Wyatt?”

  “No. I’d rather you didn’t. Let me see what Wyatt has to say about this. If he was the platonic friend, I’ll find it out.”

  “Got any other bombshells before I go?”

  “Yes, I do, actually.”

  Molly laughed. “I was joking. What now? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “It’s a good one,” he said. “We got a match on the gun from Charlotte’s desk. It’s been linked to a homicide case fifteen years ago.” Molly was amazed. “It belonged to a Burlington resident named Larry Pruett. He was killed during a home robbery, and whoever robbed him, killed him with his own gun.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, and it’s a cold case,” he said. “Also, there are no fingerprints on the tin box, or the gun, or any of the coins. And we did have an expert look at the coins, and she confirmed what Lex told us. They’re originals, or ‘practically new,’ as she put it.”

  “Who examined them?”

  “Her name is Darcy Meadows. Chief Taylor knows her. She lives in Hanover, New Hampshire, but has family here. She was at the station super early this morning. You know, now that we have a connection to the Pruett murder, I can’t help but think it’s interesting that he was killed fifteen years ago, and Rene said she and Charlotte moved to Boston fifteen years ago.”

  “You think they had something to do with his death?”

  “Timing is everything, sometimes,” he said. “I’d like to know what was stolen from his house, but the case file wasn’t recorded electronically at the time, so I’ve got very little information to go on. I talked to Detective Shelly Osborne with the cold case division, and she’s going to pull the files from the archives.”

  “Your case could overlap with hers.”

  “Yes, it could,” he said. “Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. No more bombshells. But, hey, on that other subject we discussed, did you make up your mind about your father?”

  “No. Not yet. I suppose you’d like me to meet him, so I can ask him and Pamela if they knew about Wyatt’s possible affair.”

  “I would never ask you to go into the lion’s den,” he said. “That’s entirely up to you. I’m at Lyman Construction.”

  “Good luck.”

  “You, too.”

  Molly took a moment to look up Memory Lane on her phone. The shop advertised itself as a pawn shop and antiques store, which explained why she had never heard of it. She didn’t have any interest in pawn shops, even if the store sold antiques. The store claimed to be family-owned, going back to 1989, which sounded promising. Its longevity could mean someone working there would remember Charlotte.

  She backed out of the parking space, mindful of speeding drivers coming fast down the ramp. As she turned out of the parking garage, she saw Rene getting into the passenger seat of a black Mercedes sedan parked at the curb. She would have loved to have gotten the license plate number, but the car was parked between two other cars, and she couldn’t see it. As she drove past, she looked over at the driver’s-side window. A man with gray hair was driving, but he was facing the passenger door as Rene got in, and she couldn’t see his face.

  She wondered who he was. An old friend? Or someone helping her make arrangements for Charlotte’s funeral? She drove on, realizing Charlotte’s case wasn’t going to be easy to solve, not if it had ties to the past. The cold case interested her, too. She hoped Lombardi could find out more about it soon.

  Chapter 8

  Memory Lane was located on Route Seven in a strip mall between a nail salon and a vinyl record shop. There were no cars parked in front of the store, but the lights were on. An elderly man who looked to be in his eighties was behind the register counter polishing a pair of silver candlesticks. He looked up and smiled at Molly as she made her way over.

  “Hello. May I help you?”

  “I hope so,” she said. “I’m looking for information about a woman who used to work here. It’s for an article I’m writing.” She handed him a business card. “My name is Molly Appleby.”

  He read the card. “I know your name. Collector’s Weekly. One of my favorite magazines.” He stuck out his hand, and Molly shook it. “Marcus Lee, owner.” He tucked her card into his shirt pocket. “Who’s the woman?”

  “Charlotte Blair.”

  His eyes widened. “I hadn’t heard her name in years, and then I heard the news about h
er death yesterday. I can hardly believe it.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Well, she worked here for about two years.” He looked at her over his spectacles, and his eyes were bright. There was nothing wrong with his mind or memory. “My wife and I were impressed with her right from the start. She was young, but very eager to learn, and she already knew a lot about antiques. She had a really good eye for window displays. Whatever she’d set up in the window, somebody always bought it. Never failed.”

  “I understand you sold her an antique desk.” Molly was curious to hear how this came about, since from her quick observation of Memory Lane it appeared they sold only low-value items, such as kitchen textiles, quilts, and glassware. There wasn’t a single piece of fine furniture anywhere, only some beat-up dressers shoved into a dark corner. She wondered if his pawn sales were what kept him in business.

  “I do remember that desk,” he said. “It was a Queen Anne beauty. Mary, my wife, and Charlotte found it at a yard sale. Mary knew it was something special, and got it for thirty bucks. She thought we could resell it for a couple of thousand, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I mean, really, take a look around, Molly. As you can see, we don’t do high-end classy here, and that desk was way out of our league. Charlotte asked if she could buy it, and we let her have it for fifty bucks.” He laughed. “We made a whole twenty-dollar profit.”

  Molly smiled. “Charlotte still had the desk when she died. I helped the police search it, and we found an antique candy tin in a hidden drawer. There were some rare coins and a gun in it. Does any of this sound familiar?”

  Marcus looked shocked. “A gun? Rare coins? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “She didn’t buy those items here?”

  “Not the gun, she didn’t. I don’t sell firearms. Never have, never will.” He paused. “As for the coins, well, I suppose she might have bought them from Quincy Clarke. He’s a coin collector. I always call him for advice, if someone wants to pawn or sell coins. He lets me know if they’re worth the trouble.” He smiled. “If they are, of course, he usually buys them.”