She took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh, and then continued at a slower, more measured, pace. “I was born in Philadelphia’s Chestnut Hill area. My parents were both practicing psychiatrists, and I grew up amid their wealthy neighbors and patients, all of whom knew intuitively how to pronounce the name ‘klo-ee’ my parents hung on me.
“While my mother was a tall, leggy blonde; my father passed on his genetic tendencies towards short and dark. When I was only fourteen I had reached my maximum height at five-foot, and I had already discovered that my life was not part of the real world. I set out to find as much reality as I could while being cloistered every school day in a homogenized private high school.
“My penchant for exploring the ‘real’ Philly ran head-on into my parent’s goal of protecting me despite myself. High school wasn’t all that it could be for me whether you spoke my name in one syllable, two, or three. The summer after graduating, and with a National Honor Society scholarship in my pocket, I declared my independence: I signed up as a volunteer to work four hours a day in a soup kitchen in North Philadelphia.
“My folks had a fit until I made it clear that if they forced me to, I’d move out of their beautiful town home, and live with a classmate on the near north side. While they were surprised by my gritty obstinacy, they seemed to back off, and then quietly hired Marcus Holland, a friend of my father’s from college, to also volunteer at the eatery and work parallel hours with me.
“Holland was good at his job as a private investigator, but I was a fulltime skeptic where my parents were concerned; I had my new ‘co-worker’s’ confession in three days.
“Despite my initial anger at my parents’ subterfuge, I had to admit that Marcus was a good man to have around as I learned the ‘ropes’ and ‘language’ of the meaner streets in my hometown.
“By the end of summer he wasn’t my only African-American friend, and while I still attracted a cat call or whistle from strangers or a passing motorist, the North end neighbors whom I had come to know treated me with respect and valued me. I had practiced my listening skills, and I brought the youthful energy and enthusiasm it can take to find solutions in their challenging world.
“When I departed for my freshman year of college, I promised to return, and I did each year until I moved to Boston for graduate school, but of course by then I was head over heels in love with Charley Delp.”
“But you never married?” Jan asked as she rose to go make herself a refill.
I remembered what Chloe was like when I first met her. She had a demeanor in repose that invited friendly approach. Strangers and friends alike were always greeted with dark eyes, flashing good humor, and warmth. Her raven black hair framed a skin so clear and white that it threatened to bruise at a stern or threatening look.
But I also remembered that look, as alluring as it might be, was a false front. There was nothing fragile about the woman with the delicate features. I had been surprised to learn she had a real appetite for physical action, and had been attracted to boxing while still in high school.
I remembered that when we first met I was just reacquainting myself with the discipline of tai chi that had kept me alive in the service.
She had applied her inquisitive mind when I mentioned my practice, and within a week she had found a teacher in Syracuse and became another advocate of living a life prepared.
“Do you still practice your forms?” I asked her as Jan brought me a refill along with the bottle to refill Chloe’s glass.
“Oh, yes. I do, and from the look of it, so do you.”
“Pretty much every day.”
She looked at Jan. “You’re in pretty good shape; do you practice the forms?”
“No, I really just walk. I’m active, but mostly blessed with a skinny, angular body that in old age filled out pretty nicely. I’ve never worked at it.”
I spoke gently, “Where are we going with this?”
She pursed her lips and nodded. Turning to Jan, she said, “You’ve no doubt heard the story of how Charley and I met?”
Jan nodded and took a sip.
“And you’ve heard that he tired of things that came too easily?”
Jan nodded again, “So it’s true; you never said yes?”
“It’s true, but I’m as married to Charley Delp as anyone could be. Children weren’t possible for us or for me, actually, but I wouldn’t have brought a child into our life in any event.”
She let her voice trail off, and looked at me, “You told her about insurance and Wall Street?”
I nodded.
“That takes us up to 1999.” She was studying her wine. I sensed Jan about to say something and snapped my eyes toward her in warning, but she was just barely smiling, never taking her eyes off Chloe’s glass. We waited it out as interviewers must sometimes do if they’re ever going to hear the real answers.
We waited and I saw a tear forming in the corner of Chloe’s eye. I looked around and spotted a box of tissues on the counter behind her. I retrieved it, and set it next to her elbow without a word.
The tear started down her cheek as she grimaced and nodded. She took a deep breath, “Jesus, this is difficult.”
Neither of us spoke. She took a tissue and wiped the tear I could see and then switched hands to attend to the one Jan could see. “Jesus.”
Still we waited.
“That hedge fund had been the toughest thing Charley had ever attempted, and it only took nine years before he was ‘mailing it in’ every day and humming ‘Is That All There Is.”’
She looked up at us, and tears were forming again.
“He was looking for something that would challenge him forever, really that’s all it was about. Oh, crap. We started robbing homes.”
“What?!” Both of us gasped at once.
Her eyes were closed and tears were actually squirting out of them, but she nodded and didn’t sob. “That’s right,” she finally gasped. “We’ve spent the last 15 years roaming around the country, looking for the right places, the right setups, and then we robbed a home – three times a year nets us about $200,000 cash. Charley left Wall Street with more than $3 million in savings; we only rarely touch the interest. It just compounds like a maniac. I don’t think he’s looked at a statement in the past five years.
“This place? $3.5 million. It took five years to find it. It’s mortgaged, but we could pay it off tomorrow and not change our lifestyle a bit.”
I could hear the disbelief in my own voice. “I don’t know what to say, Chloe. Is Charley’s disappearance anything to do with your ... What do I call it? ... Work?”
“We call it our ‘criminal activity.’”
“No matter what you call it, you rob homes?” Jan couldn’t hide her repulsion at the idea.
Chloe kept her head down, but she nodded. “Despicable, right? But we’ve never hurt anyone. We just take things. We take things that people have lost the need for – like old women don’t need a bunch of diamonds hanging off them, especially if the man who gave them to her is no longer part of her life.”
“You steal memories?” Jan asked incredulously.
“If you put it that way,” her voice trailed off weakly.
“So, where’s Charley?” I asked.
She finally looked up at me, “I really don’t know. We did a house in Las Vegas last winter, in a suburb, actually. It was like so many others, but it was a townhouse on a nondescript street with only a so-so view when Charley first toured it.”
“Wait a minute,” Jan interrupted. I scowled at her. “You go on tours of houses and then rob them? How?”
“It’s usually an open house for prospective buyers,” Chloe said. “We pick a not-too-big of a city, but big enough that strangers don’t raise eyebrows because they’re too rare, and then we watch the real estate ads for open houses. We were always looking for houses related to recent obituaries.
“It can take weeks, often more than a month, so we like to pick cities where it’s fun to visit, you know?”
Jan pushed the conversation, “And when you see a house coming on the market where one or other of the spouses has died in the past year, you just go in and look around until you find one with enough good stuff to steal?”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” she said, and then continued in a rapid fire response to the looks of scorn that must have been on our faces. “Charley has exquisite taste, and, from his experience in the insurance business, he developed a true ability to evaluate the worth of a variety of things; the sort of items that are lost in fires, or covered under special insurance clauses because regular home insurance won’t...” She ran out of gas.
I spoke up, “And, in the course of his insurance days, he came to know a fence or two; became close with one.”
She was nodding, a rueful smile twitching at her tear-stained cheeks, “And he collected them; that’s Charley to a tee.”
I was shaking my head. “So this house in Vegas?”
“When he took the goods to Morris, the fence, he came home in shock; I’d never seen him so shaken.
“He wouldn’t talk about it other than to say that we’d stepped over a line, and that he’d given Morris the okay to make sure all the stuff was sent back to the owner. He said we’d lay low for at least a year before we’d even think about another job.”
“When was that?”
“Early spring.”
“And Charley was normal all summer?”
“Yes. We had a nice summer. Sailed the San Juan Islands, entertained friends from here. It was normal, and I thought Charley was happy.”
“Then what happened?” Jan asked.
“Last week he received a message from Morris, and everything changed. He didn’t explain anything, just said he had to go away for a time. He packed a bag, and left in our Suburban the next morning before I woke up.”
“Had anything like that ever happened before?” Jan asked.
“No; never. We’ve always discussed everything.”
“Where’s Morris located?” I asked.
“Phoenix.”
“Do you have his address or phone number?”
“I don’t, but I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”
“Is Morris a first name or last?”
“Last. Charley always dealt with him; said Morris didn’t trust women. Jim, what am I to do?”
“I don’t know, Chloe; I really don’t. I need to sleep on this and we need to talk some more.”
“I have dinner ready, it just needs some oven time. I made sure our guest room downstairs is ready for you.”
“That’s fine,” Jan said. “May I help with dinner once we’re organized?”
Chloe nodded, “Thank you, Jan; for understanding.”
“Oh, don’t misread me, Chloe. I don’t understand you at all.”