Story Teller by Margaret Coel

Author:Margaret Coel [Coel, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781585475346
Google: 8E_6AAAACAAJ
Goodreads: 807134
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 1998-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

17.

Pearl Street hummed with early rush-hour traffic, but the sidewalks were vacant. Most of the shops and restaurants wouldn’t open for another couple of hours. The only activity, Vicky saw as she parked the car, were the customers going in and out of a small, white-brick building with BAGELS arched across the plate-glass window. Several people sat at round metal tables on the sidewalk, drinking coffee, peering at folded newspapers.

Vicky recognized the man at the far table—the slight, muscular build, the hawklike nose and thick glasses in pinkish frames, the cropped gray hair. Pat Michaels threw her a smile as she walked up. Pulling himself halfway to his feet, a kind of bow, he said, “You haven’t changed, beautiful.”

“I was thinking the same about you, Pat.” Vicky slid into the chair across from him.

“Yeah, I’m still beautiful,” he said, dropping back onto his seat. He nodded toward the foam cups and plastic bag bulging with bagels. “Hope you brought your appetite.”

Vicky reached for one of the cups, popped the tab, and took a long sip before pulling a bagel out of the bag. There was the clean, light feeling of morning in the air, with columns of sunshine and shadow lying across the sidewalk. The sun felt warm on her arms. Pat took a sip from his cup before reaching into his shirt pocket and bringing out a small notebook. He pushed the glasses down over the hook in his nose and began flipping through the pages, peering over the rims at the cramped writing. Finally he stopped. “Found what you want,” he said. “Rachel Foster. Born Rachel Wentworth, Denver, 1943.” He glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Name ring any bells?”

Vicky swallowed a bite of bagel and shook her head.

“One of Denver’s oldest families. Owned half the town at one time. Cyril Wentworth came to Denver in the Gold Rush. Figured out he’d make a helluva lot more money selling supplies to the other fool gold seekers than he was gonna make panning gold in some freezing mountain stream.” The investigator looked down, checking his notes. “Opened store on Larimer Street in 1859. Died thirty years later. Left only son good chunk of downtown property.” A glance upward. “That would be Rachel’s grandfather.”

Vicky let out a long sigh. “You’re telling me the curator came from a wealthy Denver family. I could have guessed as much.”

“Hold on,” Pat said, still peering over the glasses. “Used to be wealthy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Real-estate crash decade ago pretty well wiped out the Wentworth fortune.” He gave a little shrug. “Rachel’s brother started speculating. Leveraged the family properties to develop skyscrapers and shopping malls. Took a major bath. Lost everything old Cyril had worked his butt off for.”

Vicky was quiet a moment. Then: “How did Rachel take it?” Nudging his glasses back into place with an index finger, the investigator said, “Had a little chat with a friend of hers who let it slip how Rachel was mad enough to kill her brother. Turned out he beat her to it.

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