“Sorry I took so long. I cain’t hear the door bell in the backyard. I needed to rake. The gardener left grass all over the lawn. What a mess.” Her soft voice betrayed a Southern lilt.
“Mrs. Anderson?” Cole asked.
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“I would like to speak with your husband if I may. Don’t worry, I’m not a salesman.” Cole turned on his best smile.
“He’s not here.” She said unfazed by the smile. Her tone turned cautious and unfriendly.
“Oh, okay.” Cole scrambled for an approach.”Will he be back soon? A friend said he might be interested in buying my wife’s car. Original ‘65 Mustang; it’s a cutie, belonged to her mom. The original little ol’ lady who only drove it to church and the grocery store. My wife wants one of those big ol’ SUV things.” Cole pointed to his own vehicle.” That’s a rental, mine’s in the shop.”
“Richard is uh, he uh...” Her eyes filled with tears.
“He’s gone, isn’t he,” Cole said softly. “Look, I’m not here about a car. Can we chat a minute?”
“Are you a policeman?”
“No, just trying to get some information before somebody gets in trouble.”
Eloise Anderson lifted her chin and looked deeply into Cole’s eyes. “You’re not a con are you.” She offered this as a statement more than a question.
“No, I work for the The Sentinel in Chicago.” Cole knew the truth would be his best bet.
“Guess you better come in out of the sun.” She opened the door wide and stepped back. “I’ll get us some lemonade. We can talk in here.” She pointed to a large, high-beamed room.
The room, as well as its furnishings, was very large. Heavy, overstuffed leather sofas lined the walls and a floor-to-ceiling fireplace dominated the far corner. The wall closest to Cole contained a gallery of several dozen photographs of a much younger, much thinner Eloise and a tall, handsome man he took for Richard Anderson. In the pictures, they stood with presidents, politicians, musicians, movie stars and televangelists—the rich and powerful smiling, arm-in-arm with the handsome young couple. On a small shelf at the center of the gallery were two Grammy awards and three Dove awards for gospel music. To the left of the shelf were three gold record awards, all presented to Eloise Anderson.
A Steinway grand piano stood majestically to the left of the fireplace. Next to a bench stood a small mahogany table covered with what looked to Cole to be sheet music, blank sheet music.
In the center of the ceiling, suspended from a dark walnut stained beam, hung a projection TV. The room was everything Cole always dreamed of; dark, masculine, and comfortable. He traced the beams with his eyes, trying to figure out where they hid the screen for the TV, when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Here we go, Mister...” Eloise looked at Cole quizzically.
“I’m sorry, forgot to properly introduce myself. Sage, Cole Sage. What a great room! I have always wanted a room like this.”
“Make me an offer,” she said softly, almost to herself.
“Your piano is magnificent. Are you doing some writing?” Cole grasped for something to put Eloise at ease. “I saw your awards. Wow, you’re famous!” He felt like a babbling idiot.
“A long time ago.” She took a deep breath and seemed to straighten herself. “Mr. Sage, my husband is gone. Three days ago I came home to find his clothes missing and a letter on the kitchen table. He won’t be coming back.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you, does it?”
“No,” Eloise said softly.
“Is he in trouble?”
“He will be if they find him. Do you know about him? His history?”
“Until last night I never heard of him. Look, I’m not after him or looking to turn him in. Quite frankly, I don’t care what he’s done. I mainly want to find out his connection to a man named Allen Christopher. Does your husband’s disappearing act have anything to do with him?” Cole could see her need to talk.
“In the letter, Richard said he made the score of a lifetime and he loved me but he could never see me again. I’m not sure exactly what he did, but he said he paid off the house and left a key to a safety deposit box. He said I would be set for the rest of my life.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “He is my life. I would rather visit him in prison than never see him again.”
Cole took a long drink of his lemonade. “Did you see the diamonds Mrs. Anderson?”
The large woman shifted her weight on the couch. She stared at the fireplace and didn’t speak for nearly a minute. “Richard always thought I knew nothing of his business. He said if I didn’t know anything I would never get in trouble. Then he would tell me little bits and pieces here and there. He just can’t keep a secret. Did you know he used to be a preacher? The devil got a hold of his heart, though. He’s not like other men; lust of the flesh isn’t his problem. He has always been faithful to me. Richard fell for another love, the root of all evil. He promised me he would give me the world. When he found he couldn’t do it the right way, he did it any way he could. I never wanted to be rich.” She began to sob softly.
Cole felt deeply saddened as he watched her thick shoulders move up and down. Her pudgy fingers covered her face. She wiped her eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. “He told me the diamonds were legitimate. ‘Bought and paid for’, were his exact words. Were they stolen?”
“I don’t think they were stolen. At least,” Cole paused, “until he took off with them.”
“Who do they belong to?”
“I have a feeling that Allen Christopher may have financed this scheme somehow.”
“Why are you involved in this?” For the first time Cole sensed her suspicion. “Who is this Christopher guy to you anyway?”
“He has hurt someone I love almost as much as Richard has hurt you. Look, I need to connect Christopher to these diamonds somehow. Not any of this is my business. I am very sorry your husband is gone. I know how it must hurt, really I do. A long time ago I loved someone very much, but I let her get away.” Cole took a deep breath. “She has a horrible disease killing her inch by inch. Christopher is her husband. He got her to sign a power of attorney order playing on her weakness. She really didn’t know what she signed. He put her in the filthiest rest home you could imagine, to die. She asked me to protect her daughter’s inheritance. Christopher is trying to get it.
“With the power of attorney, when Ellie dies, he gets everything. He can rewrite their will, change documents, bank accounts, whatever he wants. All she wants is to go knowing her daughter will get her inheritance handed down from her parents. I have got to do this for her. I have failed her in so many ways. Do you understand?” Cole felt this thread to the diamonds slipping away.
“I don’t see how Richard fits in.”
“Did he say how the diamonds were paid for? Please think, is there anything you remember? Whether you understand it or not. Anything?”
“One night Richard told me that a real estate agent helped him buy these diamonds. He would front the money; Richard planned to buy cars, boats, motorcycles, anything of value with the diamonds. He said the beauty of it is that the diamonds were bought and paid for. He said there is a huge mark up in their value, so when they bought the stuff with them they made even bigger profits when they resold it.”
“So why did he leave, do you think?”
“Because he is Richard. He put one over on somebody.”
“Like what? What’s his game? How could he con Christopher?”
“Leverage.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Using other people’s money. Richard has never learned that if you borrow you must pay back. He must have built up the purchases then used the track record to get a line of credit. He makes several purchases, pays on time, then lowers the boom.”
“He has done this before?”
“Oh, Mr. Sage, my Richard has spent many years behind bars trying to find the perfect ways to leverage other people’s money to be
able to get someone else’s money.”
“So, you think he bought the last bunch of stones on credit, then took off?”
“Probably with your Mr. Christopher’s credit.”
“Did you ever see any diamonds?”
Eloise smiled.”Richard has a good heart, really. But down deep he is a show off, like a little kid. One night, he spread diamonds out on a black velvet skirt of mine. ‘Know how much these are worth?’” she said in a deep throaty imitation of her husband, “‘A million dollars!’”
“So how much of a mark-up is there? Three, four-hundred percent?”
“Six,” Eloise said flatly.
“So, if Richard takes off with a million in stones, Christopher is left holding the tab for, what? A hundred and...?”
“One hundred and sixty something thousand. Math’s always been my strong suit.” She smiled in a girlish way.
“How long did he do all this diamond swapping?”
“About six months, maybe a year. Like I said, I only get bits and pieces of Richard’s business.”
“So he paid for your house out of the profits from the ones that were paid for. Slick.”
“He said we could take this business anywhere. But I like it here, it’s home. Our boys are here. I didn’t want to leave.”
“Will you play me something?”
“What?”
“On the piano, something you wrote. It isn’t every day I meet a famous songwriter.”
She stared at Cole for a long moment. He looked away as she struggled to lift her weight from the low-slung couch. As she crossed the room, she turned and gave Cole a puzzled look, then smiled. The heavily padded leather bench creaked softly as she seated herself. Flipping through the notes and sheet music on the table next to the piano, she chose a doublewide sheet and placed it on the piano. The music that rose from the Steinway, as she began to play, was so light and airy it seemed to float around the room. Such a sentimental melody, and yet somehow familiar, like something from a 1940’s musical. As she played, Eloise Anderson’s spirit rose with the notes and, as she closed her eyes, Cole quietly slipped out the front door.
* * *
Finding Tree Top Jefferson wouldn’t be nearly as easy as finding Richard Anderson’s house. Cole knew people like Jefferson only came out at night, so he drove to Eastwood Convalescent to see Ellie. She dozed softly, the effect of a strong pain pill to help her lower back pain. Hours of sitting in her wheelchair took a toll on her spine and hips. Cole sat for almost three hours watching her sleep.
With her head softly raised by the pillows, Ellie looked peaceful and completely at rest. For the first time since he arrived, Cole saw in this still face the girl and woman he loved. Her face was now smooth, free of the grimace of pain, and the labored twist of muscles as she fought for breath was relaxed. Cole thought of times she napped under a tree in the park when they were supposed to be studying. He drifted back to when she slept after making love and the sound of her feathery breathing on his shoulder.
THIRTEEN
The air outside Eastwood Manor was cool and sweet with the smell of fresh mowed lawn and sprinklers as Cole made his way to his car. The sun was starting to set, and the breeze of evening had started blowing in from the east. A blast of captured afternoon heat greeted him as he opened the car door. He started the car and hit the switch to roll down all the windows.
“Hey, Mister, hey!”
Cole turned to see a heavyset woman in a white uniform running up the walk towards him.
“Are you Mrs. Christopher’s husband?” she panted.
Cole shut off the engine and got out of the car. “No, is something wrong?” He hadn’t been out of Ellie’s room for more than a minute or two and couldn’t imagine she was having a problem. She had been resting so peacefully.
“Well,” the woman hesitated, “it’s the—”
“What is it, is she all right? What’s the problem?”
“It’s the billing, sir. We haven’t received payment in three months. Are you family? We would really like to get this cleared up.” The woman spoke in rapid bursts almost as if she were reading from note cards.
“No, I am not family, just an old friend. Have you called her husband? Of course you have, I’m sorry, silly question. How can I help?” Cole tried not to show his fury.
“Perhaps you could review what we have in her file. I’m sorry to bother you about this, but Miss Ellie is so sweet and I would hate for us to have to....” The woman looked down at her feet and handed Cole a thick file folder with a blue tab. “This place ain’t the greatest, but the County Hospital is a whole lot worse. Maybe you could see if there’s a mistake somewhere.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Cole gave the woman a thin smile. That rat bastard Christopher had already stopped paying when I saw him, Cole said to himself as the woman turned to go back inside.
The file on Ellen J. Christopher wasn’t very thick. The address and date of birth were correct, and her diagnosis in black and white looked harsh and unsympathetic. Next to “Contact Information,” someone had made a note in the margin: “number changed.” Toward the bottom of the sheet in a bold hand were the words INSURANCE CANCELED in red pen.
The reception Cole got from the woman behind the “Billing and Insurance” counter was a clear signal that money matters were taken very seriously at Eastwood Manor. After several questions, that received sharp, short, unfriendly answers, Cole decided to change his approach.
“When was the last time you heard from her husband?” he said without looking up from the file.
“The day he checked her in,” the woman said curtly from behind the computer monitor. “Everything was fine until about three months ago, then we got notice of her insurance bein’ canceled. Called the husband’s number and it had been disconnected. We have sent a couple of letters, too, but no response. He dumped her. Happens all the time. Usually parents or an old aunt or something, not a wife.”
“So, what happens?” Cole moved to face the woman.
She was thin, about 50 and had eyes with dark circles that were magnified by her thick glasses. Her nametag identified her as “M. Skillings, Office Manager.” She wasn’t mean or particularly nasty, just matter of fact. Her detachment obviously came from too many bills unpaid and too many relatives who didn’t care about those left to their care. Cole knew charm, wit, or heaven above wouldn’t move this woman from her assigned duty.
“We will file papers on the first. That will give her about three, maybe four weeks, and then it’s off to County.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Unless someone steps forward, pays the back billing, and provides confirmation that payment will be secured for at least 12 months. Her condition is terminal, so the company watches billing pretty closely.”
“Eastwood Manor, First in Care.” Cole read aloud from the brochure on the counter.
“Care isn’t free, sir.”
“Respect for your patients is,” Cole growled from clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry if I have been too frank, sir. I’m only following company procedures.”
“I’m sure you are.” Cole took a deep breath. “Look, this isn’t a pleasant situation for either of us. Give me the forms or whatever it takes and I’ll take care of this. I do not want Ellie bothered about this, do you understand?”
“Of course, sir.” Skillings gave Cole an icy glare as she spun around to a rack of papers behind her. “Fill these out and return them with a cashier’s check for the amount attached.” She shuffled some papers together, slammed the stapler down and handed the papers to Cole. “Since you are not immediate family, we will require a six-month advance on payment.”
Cole turned and left the building.
As he drove downtown, Cole tried to figure out if he had enough money to cover nine months of Ellie’s care. He lived a very simple life and sometimes put his entire check into a savings account. He couldn’t remember the last time he checked the balance and had n
o idea what he might’ve put away. It didn’t matter; whatever it took, he would pay. So would Christopher.
* * *
Filbert Avenue in the 1950s and ‘60s was the heart of the city. Sears, Penney’s, Woolworths and half-a-dozen jewelry stores anchored the heart of downtown. The city’s only two elevators were both on opposite corners of Filbert and Sixth Street. That was a long time ago.
Now there were nightclubs advertising “Oil Wrestling” and “Amateur Iron Man Fights” on Budweiser banners. The jewelry stores had become Thai restaurants, and the Penney’s building was home to a Mexican nightclub and a Subway sandwich shop. Police cruisers patrolled from dusk until 3 a.m. In the summer, the sidewalks were crowded with club hoppers, hustlers out to sell drugs and thugs out to give anybody they decided to a hard time. The street glowed and sparkled with flashy signs and taillights.
Cole felt completely out of place as he stepped from the public parking garage and onto the street. He saw no one even remotely close to his own age. He unconsciously pulled in his stomach and tried to walk taller. Scanning both sides of the street, he made his way along through the Friday night throng. Doormen and bouncers gave Cole a nod as he passed, and he was approaching the fourth club before he realized they thought he was a cop.
As he crossed Seventh Street, he spotted the green and orange Acura at the curb. At each end of the car stood two very big, very bald, very white guys in sunglasses. The one at the tail end of the car wore a shiny black tank top. His arms were massive and completely covered with colorful tattoos. The man posted at the front of the car wore a white long sleeve T-shirt and had the jacket of a warm-up suit tied around his waist. They both wore nylon jogging suit pants and high-top tennis shoes. No one passed within four feet of them on the sidewalk.
The light at Filbert and Seventh changed to green three times before Cole crossed to the Acura’s side of the street.
“Nice car. Take a lot of diamonds to buy something like that,” Cole said to the guy with the huge parrots tattooed on his biceps.
Diamonds and Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery Page 13