Unspoken (5 page)

Charlotte hadn’t been difficult to deal with tonight, but he still felt off-kilter with her, like there was a layer of truth beyond the layer he could see. Two of the framed sketches—both penned drawings capturing a group of kids having a friendly snowball fight—were signed
CRM
. He should have asked her about them. He should have asked where she was from, what she did for a living, why Chapel couldn’t find much of a history
for her. Instead he’d asked nothing important, and learned very little.

John.
That name had stuck in his mind. She trusted whoever he was with her dogs. Yet another piece of the puzzle that was Charlotte to wonder at. She was a wealthy woman who drove a beat-up truck, didn’t wear jewelry, not even earrings, and drank her coffee black. He wondered how many other holes in the picture he might get filled before she disappeared from his life. She’d be gone as soon as she had sold him the last of the coins. But based on tonight, maybe that wouldn’t be as soon as he had thought. This wasn’t likely going to end with three groups of coins.

Devon cleared off the worktable. “You really have a Mint-issued roll of 1909-S vdb’s? I’ve never seen one before.”

Bryce set it on the table and pulled over a chair. “Maybe.”

Devon laid out cloth, pulled on gloves, and picked up the roll. “Now this is a beautiful sight.”

Sharon took several photos of the roll, both end coins, the stamp on the paper. “Okay.”

Devon looked at Bryce. “You sure, boss?”

“Let’s open it and see.”

Devon carefully peeled back the paper, unrolled it, and laid the coins across the cloth in rows of ten coins. “Second row, fourth coin,” Sharon said softly, and Devon turned it over.

“If that isn’t a sixty-six I don’t know what would be.”

Devon turned each coin, taking his time, and finally leaned back. “I’m at four thirty-five, conservatively. What did you pay?”

“One twenty-five.”

“A Bishop deal. Send flowers.”

Bishop laughed. “Or something. These are gorgeous coins.” He leaned back in his chair. “A really nice chum.”

“Chum?”

“Her description of these coins. Makes me wonder what else she’s going to be selling.”

“I think you can afford to take us to lunch.”

“I’m thinking the company needs a free delivered-lunch policy,” Bryce replied, sharing a chuckle but serious about the idea. “You know those five hundred coins we’ve been having a delightful time selling? There are four hundred eighty-nine more coming right behind them, which, as a group, are a step up in rarity.”

“Will you have enough cash?”

“I’ll borrow some money against my home, and I’m working on a few more ideas.”

“You . . . no offense, boss, but really?”

“Would you pass up on these coins knowing the profit margin in them?”

Devon looked at the coins and then at his wife. “I’d sell everything up to our firstborn.”

Sharon snapped his photo. “We’re having kids?”

“Bishop makes us wealthy enough with this deal, we might be able to afford to have one or two.”

Sharon set aside the camera and grabbed Devon’s tie. “There’s about to be fraternizing in the office, boss.” She planted a kiss on her husband. “I want two.”

“Okay.”

Bishop picked up the camera and snapped a photo of the two of them. “Sharon, he’s going to be a great dad. Just remind him of that when he’s complaining about the lack of sleep.”

“We should celebrate or something. Your coins, not us having a baby.”

Bishop laughed. “That’s got merit too. We’ll come up with something nice where we can include friends and family once we get all the estate coins dealt with. Devon, let’s send all fifty of these to PCGS and get them officially graded and slabbed.
I’m thinking two of the better coins we auction ourselves to feel out the market price, and then auction the best coin at the national summer show.”

“You don’t want to hold it for a few years?”

“I’ll still have forty-seven more to sell.”

He got up from the table and from the shelf picked up one of the Indian Head pennies they had sent to PCGS last month that was now waiting to go back to the showroom floor. The hard plastic case protecting and displaying the coin, the label officially grading it as an MS-63, the barcode assigned by PCGS giving it a traceability across buyers—it made storage and safeguarding of a rare coin easier on the buyer.

Devon did an expert job on the grading, so the cost of the PCGS service wasn’t normally worth the expense, but for this roll of coins it would be useful. He’d keep a record of the barcodes given for the fifty coins in Charlotte’s roll and for his own interest track them over the next decade to see where they ended up in various collections. “Have Kim find me when she gets in. I’m going to give her a hunting license to sell the lowest fifteen Wheat pennies once we know the official grades.”

Bryce met Charlotte at her shop Thursday evening. He didn’t take her flowers, but he did take her chocolates. “These are for you,” he said as she walked in.

Charlotte took the ribbon-wrapped box with enough caution that Bryce laughed. “And to think I’m the one who’s wary. You sold me some very nice coins, Charlotte.”

“I’m about to sell you some more if we can agree on a price.”

“We’ll get to that.” He had his checkbook in his pocket and cash in the bank, but found himself oddly not in a hurry to get to that bottom line. “What’s with the rental car? Your truck having problems?”

“I just came from the airport. I smell good coffee?”

“I brought the rest of a pot from next door, and the remains of a cheese tray we had set out for customers.”

“Thanks.” She crossed the room and poured herself a mug. “I’ve got the inventory list, but it’s still handwritten.”

He settled in a chair so she would stop prowling and settle somewhere herself. “If I can read your handwriting, it will be fine. What are you thinking?”

“One million eight.”

He steepled his fingers.

“What, too high?” She perched on the arm of a chair and ate some of the cheese slices.

“Two million two would help me sleep easier at night. There are five outliers. The 1841 Liberty Proof in particular.”

“I saw it. It’s a nice coin.”

“There are only a handful in existence that grade higher.”

“I’ll split the difference with you at two, so you can sleep.”

“Thanks. You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“Bad day.” She took a deep drink of the coffee. “I was in New York.” She dropped into the chair with an abrupt move and leaned her head back against the wall, her gaze still on him. “I’ve got a twin sister. We had words.”

There were two of them. He found that knowledge oddly terrifying. “Sorry to hear it.”

“John’s sorting it out.”

He waited a beat, but she didn’t elaborate. “He sounds like a good friend to have.”

“He’s good at damage control. Not that this one is going to get stuffed back in its bottle, but he’ll handle what can be handled.”

Bryce realized suddenly she looked raw. Someone had sucker-punched her, and it was barely below the surface. “Family words can be tough.”

“Let’s change the subject, Bishop.”

He racked his memory for topics. “We do okay talking about dogs.”

She laughed and nearly choked on the coffee. “They are probably on a sugar high about now. This time I left them with Ellie, and she’s a soft touch when they both decide to sit and watch her fix a meal. I’ll pick them up tomorrow on the way home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t checked me out, Bishop. I’m not that naïve.”

“Graham Enterprises, Trust, Wisconsin. You’ve got a place in Silverton.”

“Small place, but nice. I’m not there as much as I would like. I’ve been camped out at Fred’s place while I empty out the rooms.”

“Your sister hasn’t been a help?”

“Not named in the will.”

“Ouch.”

“My sister married a good man, but a man with a serious flaw, like a rupture in a nice diamond. He’s addicted to gambling, and no matter how many times he gets his life straightened out and his marriage back together, he hits a stressor and falls back into his pattern. Fred told me I’d have to handle the problem, that he wouldn’t name my sister in the will. I think she had laid down the law with him and insisted she not be named so as to protect her husband from the weight of it.

“She’s cut me off from helping them financially—it’s her marriage and who am I to say what she needs to do. I can help with her girls’ college fund, be lavish with the birthday and Christmas gifts, pay for a nice family vacation in the summer, but that’s it. Her husband knows there’s some money. He has no idea of the scale of it.

“I made the mistake of visiting while I was in New York on
business and walked into another crisis. Made a second mistake of offering to help. Made it only to Tabitha when I knew he wouldn’t overhear, but still got slammed back hard. Money doesn’t solve the problem, and having more of it only makes matters worse. Like I don’t already know that.” She turned the coffee mug. “Like I said. Bad day.”

An understatement, if he had ever heard one.
Jesus, what words might help here?
Bryce thought the quiet prayer while waiting to see if Charlotte wanted to offer anything else about her day. When she said nothing more, and no words came to mind that might help, he shifted the conversation. “What’s John going to do?”

“Get Thomas back into Gamblers Anonymous as a condition of paying off the debt, tell Tabitha after it’s done.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s grace, and another chance, which is what he needs. Tabitha would like the justice of the consequences to fall this time. But I think I understand how close Thomas is to giving up. He loves his wife and kids, and he’s getting to the point he’s going to decide leaving is the only thing he can do for them. Not a good outcome. My sister loves him, and he’s a good husband and dad when he’s not being an idiot trying to reach for the moon for his big win.”

“You like him.”

“Yeah, I do. He was there for Tabitha when she needed someone in her corner. That matters to me. So I’ll let John handle what can be handled, and keep my distance once again.”

She sighed and briefly closed her eyes. “Been through too many of these days lately.” She leaned forward and set aside the empty mug. “Every sister relationship is different—some are close, others like rivalries. Tabitha and I, we were close—really close. But some things in life can be destroyed if enough pressure is applied. Life ruptured for us at sixteen, and not by our
choice. There are fragments of our relationship we both have worked hard to carefully glue back together, but what shattered isn’t ever going to be repaired. It’s not like a smashed piece of glass that can be remelted and reformed. We love each other, but we’ve basically stayed apart for the last ten years. Talk every Sunday afternoon, but otherwise don’t get together. My mistake for making the visit. The estate I have to deal with now, it’s just another source of pressure.”

“It shouldn’t have to be a mistake.”

“Maybe someday.”

“Who’s the oldest?”

She half smiled. “I am. By a few minutes.”

“I could have guessed that.” He got up and retrieved the coffee, filled a mug for himself and refilled hers. “I’ve got a brother who is an astronaut, and another who is a submariner.”

“And you sell coins.”

“Dad’s always appreciated the laugh in that. Families are strange, no matter how you look at it. One sister who works in the production side of movies—finds the advertisers, the props—another who runs a car-repair shop with her husband. I’m the middle-child businessman.”

“You’re all close?”

“Yeah. But I know the ugly feeling of having had words with a sister.”

“Mine was named
People
magazine’s Model of the Decade. My sister.”

He smiled at the way she said it. “Pride. Now
that
we do share. She’s family, and family you brag on.”

“If I had to compete with her in looks, it would have been a rivalry. We got spared being identical twins.” She got up to pace. “You need anything before I disappear for a few weeks?”

He wondered how much of the restlessness was nerves. “No, I’m good. Looks like I’ve got plenty to do.”