“I’m guessing Bryce was looking for advice on how to manage the volume.”
“Simple answer. Sort, roll, and sell.”
Paul laughed, took a seat on the edge of the bed, and offered to take the dog brush to finish the job. Ann handed it over.
“He asked me if I wanted to help with the coins.”
Paul smiled. “Do it and enjoy it. You like the world of coins. You’ve handled so many you know what you’re holding at a glance. You’d consider it more fun than work.”
“A couple of months, maybe three. It’s not an opportunity that comes around very often. I can take Black with me. A prep room is basically space with a lot of tables.”
“He can sleep there with his head on your feet as easily as he does here. Call Bryce, tell him yes. I’ll join you when I’ve got the odd hour free, and you can teach me about coins.”
“I’d enjoy that.”
“How’s it going with Bryce and Charlotte? Can you tell?”
Ann smiled. “He’s definitely interested.”
Paul leaned over and kissed her. “Then it’s an extra good thing if you help with the coins—you’ll know what’s going on.”
“I think she’s been dropping clues, and he hasn’t picked them up. I suggested tonight he not go looking for information, but I’m beginning to think that was a mistake.”
“Personally I think the more time they have without the past stepping on the present, the better off they’re going to be. He’ll learn the details soon enough. It’s not like he can change what’s old history.”
“They’ll make good friends.”
“They will. And I’ll be glad to see Charlotte back in Chicago if she decides to stay around once her grandfather’s estate is settled.”
NINE
Bryce settled on simplicity for emptying vault five. He started at the first room and boxed coins until he had enough to fill the SUV he was driving, took them to Chicago where Ann had accepted the challenge of running the prep room, then returned to box and haul more. He could hire it done, but he liked the privacy and security of doing it himself. And the drives back and forth between Chicago and Wisconsin gave him some much-needed time to think. The reason he needed time to think was currently headed down the hall to join him, her off-key whistle echoing off the metal walls inside the berm.
He hadn’t seen Charlotte much the last couple of weeks, despite his hopes. He would have thought she was avoiding him, but a few passing comments from John had filled him in on her travels. She was busy hauling items to her various shops.
Charlotte appeared in the doorway of the third room, looked around, and perched on the table inside the door. “I see empty shelves. I’m impressed. You’re making progress.”
“Good progress,” he assured her, finishing packing a box and taping it closed.
She held out a bag she had in her hand. Bryce slipped off the cloth gloves and took a handful of her M&M’s. “How was Cincinnati?”
“Wet. It rained the entire time I was there. Sales have been good, though. They even sold the last of the cigar boxes.” She nudged with her foot to get a better perch on the table. “I dropped off four hundred very old books, a dozen old mirrors, five cases of Christmas wrapping paper, a wooden barrelful of bows, and probably a thousand pieces of ladies’ costume jewelry from every decade since there has been a Graham. The barrel itself is probably the most valuable item, oddly enough.”
Bryce reached for more M&M’s, and Charlotte obligingly tipped them into his hand. “To their credit, the two ladies I have running the store sorted through the items and said it would be no problem. They’ve hired four more staff so they can handle the volume. The store in St. Paul said there was a bidding war over Fred’s old desk set from his father. I had a few more items of that kind boxed, so I took them all over to St. Paul, including four trunks of dresses that must be from the 1930s and ’40s. I don’t understand vintage clothes. They said the very old shoes were popular too, and I should bring the rest of what I find.”
“Age brings character.”
“Something. I will say everything was in excellent condition. They’ve been stored in a berm for decades that stays sixty-five degrees and dry. I’ve got three more storage rooms of clothes to empty out as my next priority.”
“Any old toys?”
“An entire truckload—they’re what I used to open the St. Paul store. They sold out in less than ten days.”
“Admit it, Charlotte. You like selling stuff.”
“I’m not any good at the customer face-to-face part, but I enjoy seeing items being put to use versus being thrown away. I’m getting more efficient. I used to agonize about what to take and how to price it. It’s not such a big deal now, as I’ve realized the market will bid up the price on the few rare items, and the rest will sell if reasonably priced.”
She slid back to her feet. “Could I get a ride back to Chicago with you? I need to fly to New York tomorrow and it’s easier to leave from O’Hare than Madison.”
“Sure. Going to see your sister?”
“No. Other business.”
“I figure I’ll leave about three, if that works for you.”
“Appreciate it. I did get one useful piece of business done. The group three coins are now at my shop and priced. Stop by and tell me what you think. I’m at two million eight, but I’m flexible.”
“I’ll stop there first thing tomorrow morning. Is there going to be a group four?”
Charlotte considered him. “Would you like there to be?”
Bryce thought she was teasing, but didn’t want to chance it. “I’d like to buy whatever coins you have to sell, Charlotte.”
She smiled. “That works for me. Yes, plan for a group four.”
Bryce settled into the drive that he had done several times now, familiar enough with the scenery to know the time remaining, the exits he would like to stop at, without having to refer to the map. It was nice having a passenger along, though a quiet one.
Charlotte had her sketchbook out. He was content not to interrupt her as the hours of the drive passed. She drew with the concentration that said this was her real job. She finally snapped a rubber band around the pencils she was using and dropped them in the briefcase.
“What do you think?” She turned the pad to show him.
It was her dogs looking back at him from the page. “Nice.”
“I know their faces so well, sometimes I dream about them looking at me.”
She flipped the page. “Just a concept. I’ll do the final sketch in color.”
He glanced over at the pad and saw a misty fog over Shadow Lake, the trees faint silhouettes. “It’s beautiful, Charlotte.”
“Thanks.” She paged through the sketches. “A couple of these have potential.”
“How long have you been selling your works?”
“About fifteen years. I let Ellie manage the business side of the art for me. I just hand her the sketchbooks, and she decides what is worth selling and how to price it. She’s got an extraordinary gift herself for the business side of art. That’s rarer than most people realize.”
She pulled out her briefcase and put the sketchbook away. “There’s about an hour left in the drive?”
“Fifty minutes.”
“I stay with Ellie when I’m in Chicago. I would appreciate it if you could drop me off there. She’s on Bryston Avenue, just west of Porters Street.”
“No problem.”
Charlotte sorted around in her briefcase for a pen. “You mentioned you had another giving list for me?”
“The page is folded in that book on the back seat.”
She reached over to pick it up, looked at the cover and said, “Andy Stanley, any good?”
“I’m enjoying it.”
She tugged the page from the book. “Thanks for the list.”
“I’ve jotted down some ideas for projects—a new dorm for an orphanage in Zhanjiang, China. Four deep-bore wells for clean drinking water in Sierra Leone.
A vaccine distribution effort in Uganda. The equipment, supplies, and salaries for a health clinic serving the Mathare Valley slum area of Nairobi. Two agriculture projects targeting food transportation across Kenya. There’s also some general suggestions for several churches I know well that have strong mission budgets.”
She read through the page. “I can do your full list.”
“Seriously?” He’d put together a list totaling eight hundred thousand, thinking a few items might appeal. It hadn’t crossed his mind that she’d say yes to everything.
“My offer was to do your suggestions or tell you to scale it back. I don’t mind giving this amount.”
She got out her checkbook.
She was now at just over a million in gifts based on his recommendations. Bryce found the thought disconcerting. He’d put some care into the two lists, she’d asked for his best ideas and he’d given them, but the scale of it now began to sink in. What did I miss here, Jesus? She’s giving away a million dollars because I mentioned some places . . . this just doesn’t happen. He glanced over at her. Thank you didn’t seem sufficient, and the best he’d done so far was treat her to fast food during the drive. “Thank you, Charlotte, from all these places that will be really helped by your generosity. And thanks from me for doing this.”
She smiled. “Relax, Bishop. It’s only money.” She wrote the checks for his list, stacked them neatly for him, then pulled out the pad he’d seen her work from before, and she began to write checks to food pantries, addressing envelopes as she worked.
He realized she wrote two-hundred-thousand-dollar checks as easily as she did fifty-dollar checks, and took a moment to process that unexpected fact. “You send checks every month?”
“I prefer doing it that way. It’s easier on their planning if support is a steady amount rather than lumpy with occasional gifts during the year.”
“If you run labels for the addresses, it would save you time and you would know you didn’t skip any place you intended to give.”
She licked another envelope and sealed it. “That would fall in the category of a good idea that I haven’t made time to do yet. Ellie would jump at it, she likes to organize things, but I try not to land everything on her plate.”
“It really is a nice thing you’re doing,” he offered. Words were failing him just when he wanted something eloquent to say. Jesus, what’s an encouraging word here? She’s doing something that truly matters. I want her to hear that.
“I’m not particularly nice, Bryce. I’ve just got the resources to write some checks this year, and it makes sense to use some of the money this way.”
He watched the stack of envelopes grow. “You said you don’t believe like I do. What do you believe in, Charlotte?”
She gave him a long look, then signed a check before she replied. “I would call myself a struggling Christian. I was raised attending church every Sunday, baptized when I was ten. But I’ve got some doubts about God.”
She’d addressed the topic rather than brush off his question, but Bryce sensed the conversation was going to be short. He chose to go to what mattered most to him personally. “God is all about grace, the same as you showed your brother-in-law. We repent, He forgives us, and we get another chance. We need a clean slate, and can’t earn that new chance, so Jesus paid the penalty for what we’ve done wrong in life. It’s a goodness we don’t deserve, but need, and a magnificent act of grace. God likes to forgive.”
“I know.” She finished writing another check. “That’s the problem. God is too good. He’s too willing to forgive. He would have forgiven the men who hurt me.”
The car swerved slightly right, and he put his attention back on the road. “Charlotte—”
“They’re dead,” she went on, “so it’s theoretical now. But it also isn’t. God meant it. He would have forgiven them if they asked him to. I don’t know that I’m interested in a God who would give a second chance to the men who hurt me.”
He breathed in very carefully over the pain in his chest. “What—?”
“I don’t talk about it. I’m not talking about it any further.”
He literally bit down on his tongue to stop his words, afraid he was going to take a wrong step, say the wrong thing, and do real damage because he didn’t know what he now had to know. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. So am I.”
Charlotte finished stacking the envelopes and pulled out her sketchbook again. She shut down the conversation like a wall, and Bryce let her have the silence.
Them. Plural. He felt sick. And she was right. God would forgive even the men who hurt her, had they repented and said forgive me. Jesus, what happened? How do I even begin to find words to have a conversation with her about it?
Bryce had rented as the prep area for the coins part of the third floor of the office building where Chapel Security had its headquarters. He walked into the large room shortly before eight a.m. The boxes he had unloaded from the SUV the night before were stacked on a push trolley by the east wall, the top two boxes now open.
Ann was at the third table sorting silver half-dollars. The people he had hired to help her were not in yet.
Bishop pulled out the chair across from her. “Ann, I need to know.”
She took one look at his face and set aside what she was working on. “Something happened?”
He nodded.
Ann took a deep breath. “Bryce, she’s Ruth Bazoni.”
Shock ripped through him, then grief, pain, and enormous sadness. Pity finally overwhelmed every other emotion in him.
She laid a comforting hand on his arm. “I’ll get you some coffee.”
TEN
Bishop could vividly remember, shortly after his college graduation, seeing a television interview with Charlotte’s twin sister.
“Ruth and I were sixteen when we were kidnapped, initially held for twenty-four hours by two men in a van that just drove around. The older man had just returned with the ransom money. He tossed the duffel bag into the back of the van with us. ‘Your dad paid this, he’ll pay more. Only one of you is getting out of this van.’ The words had no more than left his mouth than Ruth planted her feet in my ribs and shoved me out of the van. I fell onto the pavement. The guy slammed the door shut, laughing. It was the last I saw of my sister for four years.
“It was four years and three ransoms before the FBI found the two men, killed them, rescued her. Everything Dad had left to sell, my modeling income, a loan against my future earnings, even donations from strangers paid ransoms two and three. Though Dad and I thought she was probably dead, we just couldn’t give up hope. She saved my life that day, at the cost of her own. She looked like a skeleton with skin when she was found. She was twenty, yet her gaze was of someone in her eighties. She’s never said a word—to the cops, to her doctors, to her family—about those four years. She just smiled at me and said, ‘I missed you.’”
Ruth Bazoni had disappeared from the public view, changed her name, and rebuilt her life. John Key had helped her.
Bryce closed his hands around the coffee mug Ann brought him, needing the warmth. “She talked about God briefly. It shook me. Now . . . now I get where she’s coming from. She doesn’t know if she wants to believe in a God who would be able to forgive the men who hurt her.”
Ann traced a circle on the table with the cold soda she had brought over for herself. “I imagine, Bryce, that God broke her heart, that she couldn’t trust Him to keep her safe. If He loved her, He wouldn’t have let her stay trapped in that nightmare for four years.”
“It’s hard to comprehend, Ann. Four years, three ransoms. She was just sixteen when it began. Just a kid.” He tried to get that image in his mind to square with the woman he knew today, and he couldn’t do it.
“It’s a black eye to the FBI and the task force of local cops who worked the case. It shouldn’t have dragged on that long,” Ann said. “They finally found the two guys, killed them and rescued her, but it was four very long years. The fact she was fou
nd less than three miles from her home, had been there the entire time—there’s a reason it’s the most famous kidnapping case in recent Chicago history.”
Bryce thought about all the media the event had attracted, even during the missing years, and then after she was found. No wonder John had been hired as her bodyguard to keep reporters away.
He looked at Ann. “I understand where Charlotte—I can’t think of her as Ruth—is coming from. If those guys had asked forgiveness, God would have done it. Doesn’t matter that it’s only theoretical now, that they didn’t repent. God was willing to forgive them, wipe their slates clean, and accept them into heaven. That’s what Charlotte can’t deal with. God meant it.”
“Truly evil men rarely repent, even though they are invited to do so.”
“Charlotte said God is too good,” Bryce said softly. “Implied if God loved her, He wouldn’t have offered them the chance. Today, I almost agree with her.” He taught basic theology at his church, had spent his life willing to put his time, money, and personal honor on the fact God was worth following—and right now it all felt off-kilter. “Ann, what am I going to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Make it go away.”
“The one thing you can’t do for her.” Ann wiped the moisture off the table. “Figure out how much it’s in the past, Bryce, and let her decide what, if anything, she wants from you. It’s been years, and from what you’ve said up to this point, she’s rebuilt a good life. I don’t think Charlotte’s nearly as separated from God as you would think. I think she’s still wrestling with the hurt of what happened, but her charitable gifts are just one clue God still matters to her. She doesn’t understand Him. But you don’t wrestle with a problem when the answer doesn’t matter to you.”
“I wish I didn’t know.”
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