Andrew nodded and said reassuringly, “I’ll do what I can, I promise.”
“Thanks, Andy, and yes, the trail around Monte is cold right now, even so the case will remain open until we get some answers. I’ve got to do some thinking on this for awhile. You know there’s been a lot happening over the last two weeks. That Monte was in any way connected to a contract ‘hit’ is unreal to me, but there it is, and I believe that’s what got him killed,” he said flatly as he rose to leave.
“I’ll let you fill in the blanks for Ms. Thayer and Father Lee. See ya’ later, I’ve got to get going. Call me and we’ll get together.”
“Wait, I’ll walk out with you,” Andrew offered.
“No, that’s all right. I can find my own way. Besides I saw a guy I think I know, and I’d like to say hello to him on the way out.”
“Okay, thanks for the info,” Andrew said ponderously. “And Jim, take care of yourself.”
Andrew sat back running his fingers through his hair as he thought of Neil Klein and Charlene. He reached for the phone and dialed Neil’s number. He was gratified to hear the deep voice answer.
“Klein.”
“Neil, I took a chance that you might be in your office late. This is Andrew, and I have some news.”
“Andrew, good to hear you, I was working late; what news?” Neil asked in a surprised tone.
“They fished Monte Maxwell out of the river today. Savalza said it looked like an execution. I just thought that you should know we’ve hit another dead-end.”
Neil was silent for a moment then, “Maybe not; remember, Andrew, they’re still watching—take care of yourself. I will call you on Thursday or Friday about the visit to Mrs. Thayer.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember. Talk with you later.”
As he dialed Charlene he realized it seemed natural. The phone rang three or four times before she picked up.
“Hello,” her voice was distinctive and warm. Andrew remembered his first call, there was definitely a change.
“Hi, it’s Andy, how about dinner? I have some news that Savalza dropped on me today that I thought you might like to hear.”
“Yes, very much. About dinner, why don’t you come here and I’ll cook tonight. You get to take potluck, okay?”
“I’d like that, and I’ll risk it. See you between 6:30 and 7:00.”
“That’s perfect. See you then.”
✽✽✽
He arrived at 6:45 and barely rang the bell when she opened the door and ushered him into the living room. Smiling she handed him a newspaper; he noted it was the Everett Daily Herald not the Seattle Times, and offered him a drink. A small fire was burning in the fireplace and she had set some snacks on a table by the sofa. “Very nice,” he commented. “Thanks. I need to read what the competition has to say now and then, and I will take that drink, but make it small.”
“Help yourself then, if you don’t mind. That opens into a bar and there’s ice, soda and whatever else you may want,” she said pointing to a handsome cherry cabinet. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable while I finish the salad. I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”
After preparing his drink he followed her into the kitchen. Leaning in the doorway he watched her as she put the finishing touches on a green salad. “Looks good, what else are we eating?”
“I’m about to broil a couple of steaks; I hope that’s all right?” she nervously brushed a wisp of hair away from her face with the back of her hand.
“Great! I like mine medium rare.” He could see her relax slightly as he moved to a chair at the kitchen table where two places had been set. Clearly, she didn’t want dinner to appear to be a very special occasion.
“Do you mind eating in the kitchen?” she asked. “Somehow the dining room seemed too formal.”
“Not at all,” he answered. “The kitchen is fine. Cozy, in fact,” he added tongue in cheek. “I get the feeling that you don’t entertain men alone too often, hmnn?”
He saw her stiffen. “I thought you had information for me from Jim Savalza; why do I sense that I’m being ‘interviewed’? In answer to your question, no, I don’t, at least not unless there are other people here as well, in which case, we use the dining room,” She said pointedly, “Anything further?”
“No, that answers it, and, yes, you are being interviewed, but,” he paused. “Okay, I will give you Savalza’s news first.” Andrew recounted Jim’s visit to the Times and the news about the discovery of Monte’s body and his believed connection to the murder of George Kelshaw.
Charlene listened intently shaking her head at the conclusions arrived at by Jim and Andrew. “There has to be more to it, there has to be someone else involved; but who? Have you thought to tell your friend “Evan Scott”?” she queried.
“I did, just before I called you; I told him we’d hit another dead-end.”
“What did he say?”
“He cautioned us to be careful; I’m sure he was very interested,” he stated flatly. “Yes, there certainly has to be someone else involved but the trail seems to end with Maxwell and I would suppose that’s by design. Jim is going to wrestle with the problem tonight. Now on a lighter note let’s get to the interview.”
“Be serious, Andrew, what is this ‘interview’ business?” She placed the steaks under the broiler and set a small timer.
“You know at dinner the other night I learned a couple of things about you and Paul and Coleman and his wife. And I got to thinking that since I was on my way to falling in love with you I should know more about you,” he said playfully.
“Stop it, Andrew, please; you shouldn’t say such things even if you are joking;” she quickly looked away avoiding his eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I think you know I’m not joking. Tell me about your life here and now...I know that you’re really involved with the Episcopal Diocese and St. Mark’s Cathedral. Has it always been like that or is it something that occurred after you lost Paul? And hey, don’t burn the steaks!”
She drew a deep breath and pulled the steaks from under the broiler turned them and returned them to the flame. “After I lost Paul I was lost for awhile too. I loved him so much; I didn’t want to believe he wasn’t coming back. It didn’t seem real.
It took some time for me to settle into a different life. I tried going back to work at the University, but there were too many memory connections—so I did a lot of things. Political campaigns, music programs, you name it, I tried it. I even made several trips to San Francisco where we met, going back to special places...trying to find something more of him, some kind of solace I suppose. Nothing helped very much for very long.
“Finally, I went back to church; St. Mark’s became my refuge. We were made for each other; it was a home where I could feel and cry and eventually be lifted spiritually.
“John Leffler was the Dean then and he was such a wonderful friend and and an inspiration. He helped me so much; he had so much wisdom.” She spoke with a quiet passion, “I guess God filled the hole in my life through St. Mark’s.
“As you know I took an interest in some of the outreach ministries of the church and then became active in diocesan affairs; I met Father Ben and the Maritime ministry and the rest is history,” she said simply. “Oh I still have other interests as well, but now I do them because I really want to rather than because they fill a void.”
She removed the steaks, added a béarnaise sauce and served them.
Andrew was silent waiting for her to be seated. She placed the salad and a small covered dish of dijonaise potatoes on a hot pad, poured two glasses of red wine and took her seat across the table from Andrew. She bowed her head and offered a blessing.
After thanking her profusely for her ‘potluck’ dinner Andrew proceeded to devour his meal eagerly. Between bites he continued to question Charlene about hobbies and interests. “I know you’re active in the Diocese but surely you have other interests –such as ah ...” he fumbled.
; “Do I like fishing?” She laughed, “Is that what you want to know? Or perhaps riding motorcycles? I don’t do either.” Then she qualified, “I used to fish with my dad, but that was when I was a kid.”
Almost choking, eyebrows raised he echoed, “Fishing? Motorcycles? That really isn’t what I had in mind as interests although there is something to be said for both, it depends...”
She continued, ignoring his protests, “But I like to hike and yes, I have a number of interests in the music field. I do love music and I enjoy the symphony, the opera and the ballet. I like jazz and Gershwin; I just like music, all kinds, from the Beatles to Bach,” she said firmly.
“What about politics? How do you feel about politics and politicians?” Andrew probed.
Putting her finger to her cheek and frowning she said somberly, “I think I agree with H. L. Mencken who once said that ‘any man who calls himself a politician is, thereby, a self-confessed liar, rogue, thief and scoundrel.”
“Ouch! Do you really think that? Did he really say that?”
“So I’ve read,” she said in mock seriousness.
“Seems like you do a lot of interesting reading; maybe we should end this ‘interview’ now.”
“Yes, that’s a very good idea. Oh, did I mention that I also like to read? And, you know, Andrew, Mencken could be wrong.” She laughed as she rose to clear the dishes.
The fire was nearly out by the time they returned to the living room. Andy put another small log on the coals and a flame soon sprang to life and was flickering brightly. They watched quietly seated side by side on the sofa. At last Charlene roused and said, “Tomorrow Brad will be here, I wonder what it will be like seeing him again after all this time. I wonder what he’ll think of the letter,” she mused.
“Yeah, I wonder, too,” he added to her thoughts.
“I almost dread it. I don’t know why exactly; perhaps it’s because of all that has happened with George Kelshaw, the letter and the break-in at the Center, that detective,” alluding to Maxwell, “And everything.” The words were tumbling out, “Is it worth it, Andrew? I can’t tell anymore. Ultimately it won’t change anything.”
“Charlie, you need the answer about Paul. If Coleman can shed some light it will be worth it. Being apprehensive is natural. You know that I want to help in any way that I can; I want that more than anything right now. This whole thing with Kelshaw isn’t over yet, for any of us. Remember what Evan Scott told us and I’m going to be here, trust me.”
They were standing now facing each other, ready to say goodnight when she stepped toward him. His arms went around her and he whispered, “Charlene, let me stay, I don’t want to leave you,” he said shakily.
She nodded pressing her head into his shoulder, “I want you to stay.”
Her bedroom was not the shrine for Paul Thayer that Andrew had imagined it would be. There was a small picture of him with Charlene on her dresser. He was in uniform and she was smiling, obviously at a happier time. Charlie read his thoughts as she watched him study the photo. “That was taken at Carlisle Barracks shortly after we were married.”
“You looked happy.”
“I was, we were.”
“He was a good looking guy.”
“Yes, he was; Andrew, if this is awkward for you I..I,” she stammered, turning away.
“Hey, hey,” half whispering solicitously, he gently took her arm and turned her toward him. “Not awkward; it could never be awkward with you. I‘ll leave right now if you want me to, but I hope you don’t.”
“No, oh no.” Her arms were around him. He kissed her again and again, murmuring her name, catching the fragrance of her hair against his cheek.
In bed he found tenderness within himself toward her that he wouldn’t have believed possible. Her passion surprised him and pleased him and when sleep came she rested quietly against him.
Andrew knew he was no longer falling in love with this woman he was already there, how it would play out only God knew, but for now he had found a space of absolute contentment.
Chapter 10
Wednesday, September 24, 1980
It was shortly before 10:00 AM when the non-stop commercial jet landed at SeaTac International and first class passenger Bradley Coleman deplaned. He quickly made his way to the rental car reserved for him and was soon on the way to Seattle.
His reservations had been made at the Olympic Hotel. Brad was given a VIP suite and after briefly freshening up, he telephoned Charlene. They would have lunch at the hotel at 11:30.
Brad placed a call to the law firm of Ramsey and Carr next. “Lyle, I would like to meet with you tomorrow morning, early, say 8:00, I believe we have a great deal to discuss.”
“Of course, General Coleman, 8:00 will be fine. I’ll make certain we have as much time as you need.”
“That’s fine, I’ll be there.” Brad hung up abruptly.
Brad was waiting as Charlene entered the lobby of the gracious old Olympic Hotel. Its quiet elegance was on the verge of a major facelift scheduled for the following year. Still, it radiated the same warm burnished class seen in a hand-rubbed object, made richer by use. Among its past clients it boasted ex-Presidents, Senators and business moguls.
He watched her for a moment or two before greeting her. She looked much the same as the last time he had seen her. Today, however, she was not worn in grief as she had been when he and Olivia had stood beside her as Paul’s coffin was lowered into the grave.
“Charlene,” he exclaimed. “It is so good to see you. You look absolutely wonderful!”
“You look wonderful, too, General,” she said in admiration. “Brad, I think all this work and rank has agreed with you.” she said smiling. “I am very glad to see you; did you have a good flight?”
“Yes, let’s have lunch and then we’ll try to get to the bottom of this sad business,” he announced confidently taking her arm and guiding her toward the dining room.
Charlene looked at Brad. Other than a few more lines around his eyes he really hadn’t changed very much. Brad was a survivor. It was funny that she would think in terms of ‘survivors’; Paul used to joke about being a survivor. He always said that he had Thayer luck. One of his ancestors had survived the sinking of the Titanic so the myth was born. Like so many myths it ended when Paul died.
Over lunch they enjoyed exchanging information on what had been happening in their lives. He told her that their daughter, Maureen was in Virginia Beach, doing an internship with the State of Virginia’s Department of Natural Resources.
“How interesting. You and Olivia must be terribly proud of her as I’m sure she is of you. The air is quite rarified around you these days, Brad. You have come a long way since...” her voice dropped.
“Yes, Olivia and I are very pleased with Maureen and the course she has chosen. Now I’d like to see her marry well and settle down. But I’m afraid she seems to be attracted to the honest, but poor dedicated young men whose ideals outweigh their bank accounts. I have agreed to let her finish this internship as long as there are no romantic entanglements, so she’s keeping her nose to the grindstone. Olivia is in Virginia Beach visiting her now.
“As for me, yes, Charlene, good fortune has certainly smiled on this not so ‘old soldier’. Fortunately, I did make right choices along the way,” he continued, verbally preening himself. “I enjoy what I do very much. It’s important work. It’s too bad that we lost Paul when we did. He would have gone far as well, I’m sure. I don’t suppose you have the letter you believe to be from him, with you, do you?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I thought it would be better to let you read it in privacy at my house, I hope you don’t mind,” she stated. She was thinking how pompous Brad had become! Paul would never have been filled with so much self importance if he had lived a hundred more years.
The idea of going to her house pleased Brad. “I think that is an excellent idea.” The more privacy the better, he thought.
Brad followed her; as they entered the hou
se she heard the phone ringing. Running to grab it she had just said “Hello” as Andrew started to hang up.
“Hi, you’re not alone, right?” he asked hearing her voice. “Is everything okay?”
“That’s right and everything is fine, Andrew. My friend General Coleman has just arrived. We just finished lunch and have some things to discuss. Call me later and we can talk then.”
“Maybe I should come over; what do you think?”
“I think not, just call me later.”
“All right, but watch yourself and ...”
She cut him off, “I will, Andrew. Thank you again, and we’ll talk later, goodbye.”
Coleman was watching her with curiosity. “Do I detect a person of interest Charlene?”
“Just a good friend, Brad,” she said softly, thinking of last night and feeling a slight twinge of guilt for the lie.
“Well, let’s get to this letter, shall we?”
“Of course.” Charlene went to her desk and brought out the letter, opened it and handed it to Brad. She watched his face as he read and reread the letter.
“Who did you say gave you this letter?” Brad asked seriously.
“His name was George Kelshaw,–but he didn’t actually give it to me.”
“Tell me about this Kelshaw, who is he?” Brad interjected.
“I don’t know I never met him; he was attacked and stabbed outside the Seattle Seamen’s Center. He died a few hours later.”
“Then how did the letter come to you?” he pressed.
“Father Lee from the Seamen’s Center and Andrew Kincaid were at the hospital with him when he died. It was Andrew who gave the letter to me.”
“Was there anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he give you anything else?”
“That’s an odd question, Brad, such as what? What are you asking?”
“Never mind, nothing. Did he say anything more about the letter to the men who were with him?” Trying to appear casual Brad continued to quiz her, but it was obvious he was deadly serious.
While Rome Was Sleeping Page 24