Chapter 59

It was mid-afternoon of the same day, and Matthew Castle was home early from work. He sat in his elegant Beacon Hill living room in his “compromise” chair. It was a recliner that his wife had grudgingly bought to satisfy his demand. In the end, neither of them was satisfied. Matt had wanted a big leather chair, not this narrow, fabric one. Still, it was a recliner. And because Sylvia hated it, it was definitely his chair, a personal oasis in a room full of antiques.

He had his nice, bright reading lamp, the Boston Globe, a fire in the fireplace and a beer. It should have been perfect…but it wasn’t. He angrily dropped the paper on the floor and stared into the fire.

“I wish you wouldn’t throw the paper on the carpet, Matt,” said Sylvia, looking up from her book. “I hate to be a nag, dear, but the newsprint comes right off on things these days.”

“Sorry,” he said, picking up the paper and setting it on the coffee table. “I’m irritated, I guess. I can’t enjoy it.”

“Why not? What’s bothering you?”

“That arrogant peacock, Avram,” he said. “Castle Cay is our island. It’s been in our family since the Civil War…and he’s practically giving it away! He has never even called to ask if we approve of the proposed sale. For all we know, it may already be sold!”

Matt was usually a very calm and rational person, but now he was pacing back and forth. Sylvia couldn’t recall the last time she saw him this agitated.

“It’s not that I oppose the sale, necessarily, Sylvia. I just can’t swallow the highhanded way he’s dealing with it. Or maybe I should say underhanded way.”

“Why don’t you call him?” she suggested. “This has been bothering you ever since Marc’s death. Why not confront him about it?”

Matt stopped pacing and looked at her.

“You’re right. I’m going to call him right now.”

He left the room, went into his study and sat behind the desk. He looked up Avram’s home number. It rang several times, and then he got a generic “Please leave your name and number” message. He hung up angrily. Searching through the business card file, he found Solomon Chrysler, Boston, and called that number.

“Good afternoon, Solomon Chrysler. How may I direct your call?”

“Avram Solomon, please,” said Matt.

“May I say who’s calling, sir?”

“Yes. Matthew Castle.”

“One moment, sir…”

Matt waited impatiently, listening to music interspersed with service department specials. At last, the receptionist came back on the line.

“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Solomon isn’t in,” she said.

Matt was furious, certain that Avram was in, but ducking his call.

“Thank you,” he said tersely, and hung up. That’s the last straw. I’m going down there and confront him right now. He’s going to talk to me, damn it!

“Sylvia? I’m going out; I’ll be back in a while!” he called out as he put on his jacket and grabbed his car keys. He didn’t wait for her response.

It was only a fifteen-minute drive from Beacon Hill to the Boston dealership. In Matt’s frame of mind, it seemed even shorter. As he pulled into the car lot, he saw Avram’s black Jaguar.

I knew that liar was here!

Matt walked into the showroom to the central reception desk in the back of the room. He deliberately calmed himself.

“I’d like to see Avram Solomon,” he said.

“I believe he’s gone out, sir,” said the dark-haired young woman.

“Can you tell me why his car is parked out front, then?” said Matt.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “but…are you Mr. Castle?”

“Yes, I am. I am also Mr. Solomon’s uncle and it’s important that I speak to him,” said Matt.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Castle,” she said. “We’ve looked everywhere for Mr. Solomon since you called. He’s not here. I don’t know why he left his car here. Have you tried him at home?”

“Yes, I have. He’s not there,” said Matt.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where Mr. Solomon is, sir,” she said.

“Well…thank you,” said Matt, with resignation. “Please tell him that I’m looking for him when he comes back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Matt left the showroom and got into his car. He sat there for minute or two, and then he pulled out his wallet, searching through it. He found the card, and punched the number into his cell phone.

“Dixon, here.”

“Mr. Dixon, this is Matthew Castle. I thought perhaps I should give you a ‘head’s up’. My nephew, Avram Solomon, seems to be missing.”

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