by Ellery Adams
“Janell said your relationship was strictly one of friendship. Is that true, or were you sparing her feelings?”
“It’s true,” he said. “Charlotte was a workhorse, she didn’t have time to date. She didn’t want to get involved with anyone seriously. She was laser focused on saving money and getting out of here. I only got to know her because Rene introduced us, thinking I could keep an eye on her. Janell said you’d already spoken to Rene, she must have told you.”
“No, she didn’t mention how you actually met Charlotte. Why did she want you to keep an eye on her? Did she need watching?”
He shook his head. “No, not in the way you’re probably thinking, anyway. Rene knew I was a fan of the nightclub Charlotte went to. It was popular back in the day, the place to be and be seen. When she heard me talking about it, she asked if I wouldn’t mind hanging around with Charlotte when she was there. Rene didn’t like to go out much, and she was worried that Charlotte was staying out late on her own. She’d had some creepy guys trying to follow her home a few times. Anyway, she introduced us, we hit it off, and we became friends.”
“You were okay with that platonic role? Being her protector, a friend, but nothing else?”
“I had a dance partner, and I didn’t have to worry about her getting serious, which suited me at the time.” He grinned. “I was young, and having fun. She wasn’t the only girl in town.”
“How long did you know Charlotte before you met Janell?”
He thought for a moment. “Must’ve been at least six months. Everything changed when I met Janell. I knew I was going to marry her. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but we clicked immediately, and I adored her mother, too. Gloria was a wonderful woman.”
“Janell said you two didn’t actually start dating until after Charlotte left town. Why did you wait to ask her out?”
“I didn’t. I asked her out not long after we met, but she felt weird about it, with Charlotte living under her roof, even though I assured her we were strictly friends.” He leaned forward. “The thing is, they were so different. When you first met Charlotte, all you could see was this gorgeous woman, with curly blond hair, and that incredible body. And the way she danced . . . I mean, it was something to watch, and I think every man at Katz fell in love with her when they saw her on the dance floor. But when you got to know her, you realized she wasn’t some fairy-tale creature. She could be a lot of fun, but she could be selfish, and self-absorbed. If you weren’t useful to her, you weren’t worth her time.”
“Sounds like you must have been useful to her.”
“Yeah, because when she went to the club, all she wanted to do was dance, and have fun without being slobbered over by some creep. I held them off for her.”
Molly looked at him. He seemed sincere, and unless he was a very good actor, she thought he was telling the truth. But she wondered if he’d had ulterior motives at the start of their friendship, hoping for more, and just wasn’t going to admit it years later.
“I talked to Janell about Larry Pruett’s murder. Did you ever meet him?”
“No, never. But I remember when it happened. Charlotte, Janell, and Gloria were extremely upset about it. And who could blame them? He was killed next door. Someone broke into his house, and he was murdered in the middle of the night. Charlotte didn’t want to keep living there. She and Rene went over their finances, and figured out they had just enough to make the move to Boston. They wanted to put Vermont in the rearview mirror.”
Molly would have loved to see those bank records, but she doubted they were anywhere to be found after so many years. She wondered if Charlotte and Rene “discovered” they had enough money because of a certain infusion of cash, courtesy of Larry Pruett finding a treasure in his house. Twenty-five coins would have netted them somewhere over a hundred thousand dollars.
Theodore said, “Janell told me the police found some of the stolen coins, and Larry’s gun, in Charlotte’s possession. I’m with Janell, in that I find it hard to believe she was guilty of the crime, but what do you think?”
“You said she was selfish, and self-absorbed.”
“Yes, but not a murderer.”
“Do you know Quincy Clarke?”
He looked confused by the sudden change of direction. “Quincy? Yes, I know him. He’s a bank customer.” He paused. “Ah. And he collects coins, and he knew Charlotte. I see where you’re going with this. You think he was involved.” Molly couldn’t believe Janell hadn’t told him that they’d discussed this. Was he pretending the concept was something new? “He’s a wealthy man. He could have bought the coins from Charlotte. Maybe you should be talking to him.”
Oh, I will, she thought.
“There was another item that was stolen that night, an emerald and diamond ring. It’s never been found. It wasn’t in Charlotte’s things. Before she moved, did you ever see her wearing such a ring?”
“No, I didn’t.” He glanced at his watch.
She realized she’d forgotten to ask Janell about the ring. “Maybe you could ask Janell,” she said. “And ask her to call me, if she remembers it.”
“I will. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. Can you think of anyone who lives here that Charlotte might have kept in touch with?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I told you all the men really liked her, and unfortunately a lot of them drank too much, and became complete idiots around her, which really turned her off. Out of all of them, there was only one guy, besides me, that Charlotte trusted. She said he was a real gentleman. I think because he was engaged to be married, and he never hit on her, not once. His name is Wyatt Lyman.”
Molly stared at him. This wasn’t good news for Wyatt. Theodore had just confirmed that he’d known Charlotte long before their affair had started. Or had there been something going on between them before?
“Do you think she would have actually gone out with him, if he had asked her?”
Theodore thought about it. “You know, I think she might have made an exception in his case.” He smiled. “It didn’t hurt that Wyatt’s from a wealthy family, and was already working at the family’s company, Lyman Construction. I think she felt a little competitive with Rene at the time, because she was with Quincy. Anyway, it was years ago. I can’t imagine they stayed in touch. Wyatt’s been with Alison since high school.”
“Do you know Wyatt?”
“Yeah, sure. We all grew up together—me, Wyatt, his wife, Alison. We went to a private school, Crossroads Preparatory. Wyatt was someone you wanted to be friends with. He was popular, got good grades, and he had a hot girlfriend. Alison was beautiful. Still is.”
“Did Alison go to Katz with Wyatt?”
“Not very often, it was a rare sighting, if she did show up. It was Wyatt’s place to wind down. He’d go after work on Friday nights, drink beer with his friends and hang out.”
“When’s the last time you saw either of them?”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw Wyatt. It’s probably years. I ran into Alison a few months ago. She came into the bank to open a new account.” He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. There was a good reason Wyatt didn’t stray. I heard Alison got into a fight with a classmate the summer before we all went off to college. Alison accused her of flirting with Wyatt, and supposedly gave her a black eye. Of course, it could be gossip, but it sounded true, because in high school she was very possessive of Wyatt, always hanging on his arm, making sure all the other girls knew he belonged to her.”
This was the kind of gossip Molly liked to hear. Not that she approved of gossip, but because every now and then there would be a grain of truth in the stories she heard, and this one sounded promising. She wondered what Alison would have done if she had found out about Wyatt’s affair with Charlotte.
“Didn’t Janell tell you about all this?”
Molly looked at him. “No. I didn’t realize she went to school with her, too.”
He shook his head. “Not high school, if that
’s what you mean. They were in nursing school together.”
Molly was astounded. “Does Alison work at the hospital, too?”
“No, she’s with a doctor in private practice. I don’t remember the name. She’s a plastic surgeon. I only know that much.”
Molly heard her phone chime in her purse. She’d received a text message. She gave Theodore one of her business cards, and got up to go. “You’ve been very helpful, Theodore. As I told Janell, if you think of anything else, something I should know, give me a call.”
“Good luck catching her killer,” he said.
Molly almost expected him to add, You’re going to need it.
Chapter 14
Charlotte had died two days ago, and unless Lombardi had found her killer in Boston, Molly thought she might be onto something. Charlotte not only had those coins and Larry’s gun in her desk, she was living next door to the man when he was robbed and killed. And she knew people, a lot of people.
Wyatt and Alison, Rene and Quincy, Janell and Theodore.
Sitting in her car in the alley behind the bank, she found the slip of paper Marcus Lee had given her with Quincy Clarke’s contact information. She dialed his number, and tapped her free hand on the steering wheel as she impatiently willed him to pick up. He didn’t. No big surprise. The call went to voice mail. She left a message, making sure to first mention that Marcus Lee gave her his number. She told him she was the senior staff writer for Collector’s Weekly, feeling confident he would know the magazine, since he was a coin collector, and politely asked if she could talk to him about Charlotte Blair. She decided not to say anything about the coins. She would leave that to an in-person interview.
The text message she’d received while in Theodore’s office turned out to be from Pamela. She texted: I talked to Wyatt and Alison. He can see you this afternoon at one o’clock at his office. Alison will see you at two thirty. She included the address for Lyman Construction, and a home address for Alison.
Molly was pleasantly surprised. Maybe she had been too hard on Pamela. The woman had certainly followed through, even scheduling her an appointment with Alison.
As she put her phone back in her purse, she hoped Quincy Clarke would call back soon. She preferred not to show up on his doorstep unexpected. It would be too easy for him to slam the door in her face. She checked the time. It was nearly noon. She drove out of town in the direction of Lyman Construction, but stopped at a fast food-restaurant on the way for a burger, fries, and a diet Coke. She ate her meal in her car, and tried to imagine Charlotte’s life as a young girl in foster care, learning about antiques from the Hendricks, becoming close as a sister to Rene. She had no idea what Charlotte had gone through before she came to be with the Hendricks, but she knew from experience those formative years as a child could greatly influence how you lived your life as an adult. After years of working with Rene, had she grown apart from her? Rene had stopped listening to her “escapades” with her married boyfriends, and from the way she’d put it, it sounded like she’d really put her foot down.
Molly hoped Lombardi was able to find out something about these married men, since Wyatt obviously wasn’t the only one Charlotte had been sneaking around with. Although from what Theodore had told her, maybe “the gentleman” was the only one she’d actually fallen in love with.
She finished her meal, and jiggled her straw in the cup to loosen the ice. She’d have to have another talk with Rene, but not until she met Quincy Clarke and grilled him about his coin collection. She wanted to know if he was involved in buying, or recommending a buyer, to Charlotte, but getting that kind of information out of him wasn’t going to be easy. Putting the car in gear, she continued on her way to Lyman Construction. It had rained overnight, and now the sky was getting dark again. By the time she pulled onto the company’s campus, it was raining lightly.
Lyman Construction’s building was a modern structure of concrete and glass, six stories tall, the mountains in the background. As Molly pulled into a visitor’s space, the rain began to come down harder. She got her umbrella out of the backseat before climbing out of the car.
As she entered the lobby, she admired the glistening marble floors, while at the same time was mindful not to slip on them with her wet shoes. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the view of the mountains, which were partially hidden by low-hanging clouds, while soft lilting flute music played quietly from hidden speakers in the ceiling.
She gave the receptionist her name, and the woman made a call to announce her arrival. She invited Molly to have a seat in the lobby, but she had barely settled onto a round leather chair when the elevator doors slid open and a lovely African-American woman stepped out. She smiled at Molly as she walked over, and said, “Ms. Appleby? I’m Jasmine, Mr. Lyman’s assistant. If you’ll come with me, please.”
Jasmine pressed the elevator button for the sixth floor, the top level, for the top boss. “Mr. Lyman has been slightly delayed, but you are welcome to wait in his office,” she said. “He shouldn’t be too much longer.”
The doors slid open, and Molly followed her down a thickly carpeted hallway. Most of the office doors they passed were closed, but the ones that were open gave Molly a view of men and women behind desks, some talking quietly on the phone, others working away on computers.
The Chief Executive Officer and President’s suite was at the end of the hall. Jasmine’s desk was positioned near the door to Wyatt’s office. She led Molly in, gesturing at a sitting area near a bank of tall windows with, yet again, another view of the mountains.
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, fruit juice, water?”
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” Molly said.
“I’ll be right back.”
Jasmine left her alone, but she didn’t close the door. As Molly sat on the couch, she could see her on the other side of the office suite. There was a small kitchenette, and she was preparing her coffee. Wyatt’s office seemed befitting of a president and CEO of a company, she thought. It was large enough for a separate seating area, as well as a long tiger maple conference table with ten chairs. His desk was the size of a small boat. She was tempted to sneak over there and have a look at the papers and notebooks that were piled on top of it, but she knew Jasmine could see her, and didn’t budge. Instead, she took a moment to admire the artwork on the walls. Most of the paintings were modern splashes of color that made no sense to her, but she did think they were esthetically pleasing.
Jasmine returned with her smile, and a tray, which she set down on the coffee table in front of her. It reminded Molly of having coffee with Rene at the Hotel Vermont. Another china cup and saucer, a white porcelain cream and sugar set, a cloth napkin.
“Mr. Lyman will be with you shortly,” Jasmine said.
Molly watched her go, wondering if she’d close the door this time. She didn’t. Jasmine took her place behind her desk, which gave her a side-eye view of Molly. If she even moved an inch, she would see it. There was an unspoken warning about it, that eagle eye watching her.
Molly added some cream to her coffee, and took a sip. The coffee was smooth and delicious, as impressive as everything else in the building, from the high-quality furnishings, to the marble lobby, to the window views of the mountains. Even the rain, which was hitting the window sideways, seemed somehow quieter in Wyatt Lyman’s sixth-floor suite.
She was almost done with her coffee when she noticed Jasmine sit up a little straighter in her chair. A moment later, a heavyset man with a protruding double chin lumbered into the outer office. He carried a leather notebook and cell phone in one hand, and with the other grabbed the message slips Jasmine was holding out to him. She heard her say, “Ms. Appleby is waiting for you.”
Wyatt clumped his way into his office, shut the door behind him, and gave Molly a nod to acknowledge her presence. He continued on to his desk to deposit the message slips and the notebook. He pocketed his phone, and then walked over to her.
“Molly, nice to finally meet
you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
She stood to shake his hand. He was breathing audibly, but his palms were dry. He didn’t seem nervous. He appeared to be a busy man, on a busy day, who probably thought he had better things to do than placate his mother by agreeing to see her.
“I haven’t heard a whole lot about you,” she said.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Yes, well, I’m sure whatever you have heard, it’s all bad.”
He sat down opposite her, and Molly searched for any resemblance to his mother. It was impossible. Wyatt wasn’t lean or fit, and he wasn’t a sharp dresser. His white cotton shirt was wrinkled, and his muffin-top belly spilled out over the waistband of his slacks.
“Can I trust you?” he asked as he smoothed his tie. It seemed to have a fresh stain on it, which he’d tried to clean, but had only ended up smudging and making worse.
“Yes, you can,” Molly said without hesitation. And she meant it. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I want to help, if I can. But that will require you telling me the truth about your relationship with Charlotte.”
He was watching her with interest, his eyes intelligent, almost eager. His mother thought he wasn’t tough enough, but Molly thought he had a pleasing, confident manner about him. If she was looking for a builder, she couldn’t imagine not hiring him.
“I know you’re an only child,” he said. “I am too. It feels kind of nice to know I have a stepsister, even if we’re all grown up.” He paused. “I honestly never thought my mother would marry again. She and my father, they were extremely close. She told me about your history with Nathan, how he walked out on you and your mother. It sounds like he was very immature at the time. I’ve gotten to know him a little. I think he’s a terrific guy. But it doesn’t matter what I think. My mother said dinner last night was a bust, but you’re game to try it again tonight. I admire you for giving it another try. I don’t know if I could do it.”
Molly didn’t like the way this conversation was going. She had no interest in discussing her father with him. “I know you’re busy,” she said, shutting down the small talk. “So, let’s talk about Charlotte, and the affair. How did it start?”
