Unforgiving Shadows

by Ray Flynt

  Brad set his Champagne glass on the coffee table and turned toward her. “But the stock was in your name.”

  “All the stock was in my name. Andrew wanted it that way,” she explained. “We still had to file all the disclosure forms on any trade, but he thought it caused less commotion if everything was in my name. Actually that worked to my advantage during the divorce, giving me leverage.”

  Brad leaned back in his seat. “How well did you know Gertrude Lindstrom?”

  “Quite well. I still see Gertie and Em every six months or so.” Diane looked worried. “It’s a shame what’s happened to them.”

  Brad said, optimistically, “Gertie seems to be able to maneuver quite well in her wheelchair.”

  She shook her head. “I think medical bills are the cause of it all.”

  Perplexed, Brad asked, “The cause of what?”

  “The bankruptcy. The Lindstroms are filing for bankruptcy.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about it,” Brad said. “I talked with them last week.”

  “It just happened yesterday. Gertie called me, poor thing, and I told her we would have to get together soon.”

  “What can you tell me about Andy’s relationship with Gertie?” Brad asked.

  “She may have been the only woman in the office that wasn’t his girlfriend at one time or another.” Diane raised her hands in front of her face, looking like a damsel-in-distress from an old silent movie. “I’ll stop with the digs at Andrew. Really I will. I know there was a lot of tension between them. After the Professor—your dad—made Andrew the Chief Operating Officer, he and Gertie butted heads all the time.”

  “When was that? I wasn’t very engaged in the business back then.” Brad added, “I’m still not.”

  “I think Byron was about four… maybe fourteen or fifteen years ago. Gertie was the only person who would stand up to him, but he gradually froze her out of the business. Em once told me that Andrew would frequently call her into his office at seven o’clock at night, just as she was getting ready to leave for the evening and tell her that he needed a report by nine o’clock the next morning. According to Em, she would sometimes stay at the office until midnight to finish the work. Gertie didn’t know how to say no. Gradually, Andrew put more layers of management between the two of them. Finally, when he moved the business to Houston, she retired. It’s funny. She doesn’t seem to be bitter about it. When we get together and I make barbs about Andrew, she makes it clear she doesn’t like me criticizing him. Just like you, Brad.”

  “Honey, the hot tub is ready.” Brad heard the voice before seeing its owner. Ronald Allessi sauntered into the room wearing only a white terry cloth towel around his waist—at least he didn’t clash with the room decor. His body was toned and his chest wore a thick matte of black hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “Ron, come here sugar,” she said, beckoning him to her. “I want you to meet Brad Frame, my ex-brother-in-law.” She grabbed his elbow and played with the dark fur on his arm.

  “I’m not exactly dressed for meeting important people,” he said, showing no embarrassment nor any sign of recognition from their previous meeting.

  Brad stared at him, but Allessi never flinched.

  “Don’t be silly, Ron.” Diane put one arm around his waist and pulled him closer. “Brad isn’t important.” Correcting herself, she said, “Well, I mean he’s almost like family.”

  “Exactly.” Brad quickly agreed.

  Diane gazed adoringly at Ron, while her manicured hands seductively stroked his thigh through the terry cloth. Soon the outline of an erection became visible under the towel.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting,” Allessi said as he broke free of Diane’s grasp, and tightened the towel around his hips. “I’ll see you in a little bit, honey.” Her eyes followed his every move until he had disappeared at the end of the hall.

  “Isn’t he just scrumptious?” Diane gushed.

  Scrumptious wasn’t the word Brad was thinking. He stood up. “I don’t want to keep you from the hot tub, Diane. I appreciate your hospitality.”

  “Anytime, Brad. I’ve got some girlfriends at the country club I’d love to introduce you to sometime. You’ve got so much going for you.”

  Brad winced. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Andy’s voice boomed over the speakerphone in Brad’s office. “In Tokyo, the Nikkei’s got us up two points. On the New York exchange we’re up a half, but we’ll do better later today.”

  “Uh huh,” Brad responded as he positioned the leather desk pad on top of his newly restored oak partner’s desk. The refinishing company had delivered it early that morning, and he could hardly tell the restored panels from the original desk. Excited to have the desk back, it was his father’s legacy that he prized the most.

  The treadmill in the gym above him silenced as Sharon finished her morning workout, and it dawned on him that a health club membership would make a great gift to congratulate her on the new job with the Philadelphia police department. He scribbled a note of reminder.

  “Our communications department leaked word of today’s press release,” Andy continued. “The Houston Chronicle noted it yesterday in its business section, but The Wall Street Journal gave it a front-page blurb this morning. I checked the early edition of The Philadelphia Inquirer on its Web site, but there was no mention of it. The press conference is at 11 a.m. Eastern Time. You can watch a Web broadcast of it on the Joedco site.” Nothing enthused his brother more than announcing deals.

  Brad stared at the phone impatiently.

  “Yeah, Andy that’s great. I hope it goes well. Thanks, by the way, for the list you sent me of stock transactions, but I’ve got a couple of questions I need to ask you, and I’m still waiting for a copy of the legal agreement Dad had with Gertie Lindstrom.”

  “Hold on,” Andy said, barely covering the mouthpiece on his end, as Brad heard him bellow orders for a copy of the agreement. “They’ll fax it to you within twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks.” Brad continued, “Diane said you were the one responsible for the sale of 65,000 shares of Joedco stock. It was in her name, but you ordered it sold in the week before the kidnapping. Why?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

  “I don’t like the tone in your voice,” Andrew said.

  “Let me try again.” Brad repeated his question in a monotone. “Why did you sell 65,000 shares—”

  “Don’t be cute,” Andy said. “I heard you the first time. Look, I had another investment opportunity. A buddy of mine was starting an alternative energy company, and he needed investors. He had promising research on a chemical-based electrical cell. His stock opened at a buck fifty a share and I figured I’d get in on the ground floor. It went bust a couple years later. Nothing more to it. No sinister plot, since I know that’s where your mind was heading.”

  Sharon descended the spiral staircase, pulling a cotton robe on over her shorts and T-shirt. Brad mouthed the word “Andy” and pointed toward the speakerphone. He got up from his desk and paced around the room, raising his voice so he could be heard. Sharon stood listening to their conversation.

  “I’ll tell you what I was thinking, Andy,” Brad said. “The other day you talked about the impact of the kidnapping and murder on the value of Joedco stock, but I’m wondering if the market wouldn’t be just as affected by word that one of its officers was selling a large block of stock.”

  “Don’t get a hard-on brother, it wasn’t that big a trade.”

  Brad folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “Maybe not by today’s standards, but eleven years ago?”

  “Nah, no big deal.” Andrew changed the subject. “What about Ron Allessi? Did you find out anything more when you met with Diane?”

  “Let’s just say that Ron is probably in somebody’s hot tub right now.”

  “What?” Andy said. “I don’t understand.
”

  “Relax. I’ll handle this. One chapter does not a book make.”

  Andy replied, “Huh?” just as Brad lifted and then replaced the handset terminating the speakerphone call.

  Sharon mopped her brow with a towel.

  “You get any more toned,” Brad said, “and they’ll have you doing all the heavy lifting down at the police department.”

  Sharon tossed her hair at him and headed for the door.

  “Make sure you’re ready by noon,” Brad said, “the Lindstroms are coming over. Oh, how’s that job description coming?”

  “There’s a draft on the computer. It’s titled Irreplaceable.”

  Brad glanced back at her and smiled. “I already know that.”

  Sharon turned back to him. “Your brother…” she began, haltingly. “He’s so different from you. I’m surprised you never suspected he was adopted.”

  “I never did,” Brad said. “He looks like cousins on my mother’s side of the family. I remember thinking I was adopted—or wishing I was.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe because I was the kid in the middle. As the oldest, Andy demanded a lot of attention—”

  Sharon interrupted. “I can see that.”

  “By the time Lucy came along—first girl in the family and all—my parents spent all their time doting on her. I used to imagine my real parents showing up and taking me off to a cabin in the woods.”

  “Funny,” Sharon said. “I practically grew up in a cabin in the woods. I never thought about being adopted, but my daydream was always to someday be spirited away to a mansion like this.”

  The deli delivered lunch at 11:45. Sharon helped Brad set silverware, dishes and napkins on the table in the solarium, at the northwest corner of the house. Promptly at noon he heard the Lindstrom’s van in his driveway. He helped Em set up a portable ramp so Gertie’s wheelchair could negotiate the two steps from his driveway to the entrance porch.

  “I appreciate you coming over on such short notice, Gertie,” Brad said as he led the way to their luncheon spot. “Our last meeting over at your place was interrupted with the news of Dad’s death.”

  Gertie abruptly stopped her wheelchair. “A meeting,” she said, “I thought this was just a social occasion.”

  “Of course. Think of it as a social occasion with a few questions,” Brad said in a reassuring tone.

  Gertie resumed forward motion in her wheelchair, with Em hovering protectively behind her. She wore a floral print blouse and black slacks. A knit shawl covered her shoulders and paralyzed right arm.

  The gazebo-shaped solarium was attached to the northeast corner of the mansion. Brad remembered when his father had hired architects to incorporate the solarium into their Georgian-style home. Construction started the same fall that Andy left for a private school in Virginia. Brad had watched the workman building the octagonal shaped structure, with wide windows separated by teak mullions, and cushioned window seats ringing the interior. Brad hoped the sun would warm the room to Gertie’s satisfaction, even as he noticed colorful patterns of light on the white tablecloth, cast by the stained glass windows in the solarium’s cupola. Brad removed one of the four chairs so Gertrude’s wheelchair would fit at the table.

  “You’ve both met Sharon before,” Brad said, gesturing to his assistant.

  “Yes,” Gertie said, as she and Em nodded in Sharon’s direction. “It was nice of you to invite us, Brad.”

  Em lifted the napkin from his wife’s plate and placed it in her lap.

  “This is such a beautiful room,” Gertie continued, “I remember your mother used to sit here to do her needlepoint. It’s such a sunny place in the afternoon.”

  Brad dished up salad and quiche, while Sharon poured glasses of iced tea. Brad agreed the room was warm and cheerful. He watched the sun filtering through the limbs of the beech trees, whose buds had just opened to reveal the delicate green of spring.

  “You should get married, Brad.” She added, “A wife would appreciate you so much.”

  Brad laughed. “You’ve been talking to Aunt Harriet.”

  “Just like you appreciate me, right dear?” Em asked, the pink of his face contrasting with his white hair. Dark capillaries near the surface of his cheeks matched his burgundy-colored tie.

  Gertie looked at Em adoringly, smiling on the left side of her mouth. “This is just like when we used to meet for lunch downtown. Once a week,” she explained, “we’d get together for salad at one of the underground restaurants at Suburban Station.”

  “Penn Station,” Em corrected her.

  “It wasn’t fancy, mind you, but it was nice to visit with each other in the middle of the day. When I could steal some extra time we’d walk underground and come up on the other side of City Hall and visit the old Wanamaker’s store.”

  Brad nodded. Wanamaker’s was a Philadelphia tradition, and he recalled the annual holiday pilgrimage when his parents took him to their toy department.

  Gertrude sighed, and rubbed her leg with her good hand. “I know Em appreciated the chance to get out of the house today. I’m a little hard to manage for long distance trips.”

  “She’s not that difficult,” Em said. “It takes time to load and unload the van. When she’s rolling on her own, I have to work to keep up.” He laughed.

  Brad noticed the grime under his fingernails and around his cuticles, and asked, “Is your car almost ready for the road?”

  Em shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get it ready.”

  “I think Mort slipped one over on you when he sold you that Hudson,” Gertie said.

  “Who’s Mort?” Sharon asked.

  “A co-worker from Third National Bank,” Em replied. “He was an antique auto dealer on the side. I always wanted a Hudson when I was younger, but couldn’t afford it.”

  “Was Third National taken over by Mellon Bank?” Brad asked, preferring to make small talk while they ate.

  “No. A New York bank bought it and cannibalized it,” Em said. “They sold off various parts. Investments—my old department—got sold to Morgan Stanley. I think they’ve already sold it to another company. I’m just as glad to be retired.”

  Brad poured more iced tea. “Last week you told me about a note that Dad received within a week of the kidnapping. Do you recall how the note was addressed?”

  Gertie put her fork down and thought for a minute. “It just said Mr. Frame, as I recall. That was a long time ago.”

  “You told me the note consisted of letters or words cut out of newspapers.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Was the envelope addressed the same way?”

  “I never saw the envelope, just the note on the top of his desk.”

  “Did Dad work late the night before?” Brad asked.

  Em Lindstrom nudged her. “You don’t have to stop eating.”

  “No need to ask such a foolish question,” Gertie said, picking up her fork. “Your dad always worked late.”

  “Do you recall how late you worked on the night before you saw the note?”

  “I didn’t work at all that day,” Gertie said, taking a bite of her food.

  “I see,” Brad said. “Then you don’t know for sure that he worked late?”

  Em’s silverware clanged onto his plate. “She answered your question.”

  Gertie stared at Em, and he finally helped himself to more salad. The quiche remained untouched on his plate.

  Brad relaxed in his chair. “Yes, she did, Em. I’m sorry. I was just trying to get an idea who might have been around to find the note.” Turning back to Gertie, Brad asked, “Was Roslyn Hunter working in the front office at that time?”

  Birds chirped noisily outside the window. Brad noticed that each time he asked Gertie a question she would glance at Em before answering.

  “Roslyn was on maternity leave,” Gertie said. “Gretchen was the only secretary in the front office.”

  Turning to Em, Brad said,
“Last week at your pool, you were the one who first mentioned the note. It’s obvious the two of you have discussed it. Why did you think it was worth mentioning?”

  Em dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “She first told me about it a couple of years ago, when she was in the hospital recovering from her surgery. We had a lot of time to talk back then. The whole thing sounded like a threat to me. When you came over, asking questions, I figured you needed to know about the note. Wasn’t sure she was gonna tell you about it. Actually, I don’t think she would have if I hadn’t spoke up.”

  “Gertie, remember what the note said. What was it that my dad wasn’t going to get away with?” Brad asked.

  Her face was flushed. “I… I don’t know.”

  “But you have an idea, don’t you?”

  Gertie sliced into the quiche with the fork in her left hand and speared a small bite. She brought it to her mouth slowly and chewed for a long time before swallowing.

  Brad tried again. “Was Dad having an affair?”

  Gertie and Em exchanged glances. “No,” she said firmly. “If I’d seen the note on Andrew’s desk then I might have suspected an affair was the reason.”

  “Then what do you think it was?”

  Gertie remained silent.

  “Tell him,” Em ordered. His face flushed.

  “They had a big shouting match,” Gertie said, “two days before I saw the note.”

  “Who?”

  “Hiram Gibbons and your father,” Gertie explained. “Andrew put out the word with a few of the big law firms in the city that he was looking for a new General Counsel. Hiram didn’t know about it until a friend of his from law school called to inquire about the job. Of course, at first, Hiram didn’t know what he was talking about.” Only the left side of Gertie’s mouth moved as she spoke. “When he finally figured out what Andrew was doing, Hiram was embarrassed and furious. He marched into Joe’s office and slammed the door. There was so much shouting. You could practically hear everything they said. The secretaries were scared; I was scared. I left work early that afternoon and walked over to Em’s office. It was only a couple of blocks. I’m afraid I made quite a scene.” Gertie glanced apologetically at Em. “But he managed to calm me down.”