Keep Quiet(46)

He saw his own troubled reflection ghosted in the window, but checked the parking lot again. Cars began to enter, but no sign of Deaner. In time a frigid sun climbed the sky, and cars arrived one by one, first among them his ace office administrator, Amy Carlino, who parked her maroon Acura next to his rental Toyota. She got out, gathered up her big purse, and eyed his car, undoubtedly worried about why Jake had a rental. He felt touched, wondering how disillusioned she would be if she knew about Pike Road.

Jake watched the Gardenia lot fill up, and his employees emerged from their Nissans, Jettas, and SUVs, their phones to their ears, juggling travel mugs, cigarettes, purses, and tote bags. None of the spaces was officially reserved or assigned, but the employees knew where each other parked, like seats at a dinner table. So far, no sign of Deaner.

His attention turned to the farther sections of the lot, scanning it for an unfamiliar car. The lot accommodated five other companies, all of them bigger than Gardenia, so any car could have belonged to Deaner. He checked out the drivers, but none was Deaner. In the meantime, he could hear the noises outside his door as Gardenia filled up with all sixteen employees, which included five portfolio managers that reported to him, as well as specialists in banking, fixed income, research, sales, and marketing.

“Jake?” said a voice behind him, and Jake startled, then swiveled his chair around. Amy stood in the open doorway, puzzled. “I knocked, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Amy, sorry.” Jake tried to get his head in the game. A cold sunlight filled his office, which had a side wall of light wood shelves, and a beige leather couch and matching chairs across his desk. His desk had a glass top that matched the one on a round conference table. Mullioned panels flanked his doorway.

“Mrs. LeMenile is out in reception. A new client, remember? She’s on your calendar for ten o’clock. You ready for her?”

“Sure. Yes.”

“You okay?” Amy searched his face with large, espresso-brown eyes. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d lied to Amy, except for her surprise birthday parties, which he lied to her about routinely. “By the way, I had a fender bender over the weekend, so expect the insurance company to call.”

“I was wondering.” Amy frowned with concern. “Meanwhile, did you hear about that hit-and-run on Friday night? The girl went to Concord Chase? Did Ryan know her?”

“No.” Jake forced himself not to show any reaction. “Also, we may get a visit from a guy I know, named Lewis Deaner.”

“Okay, I’ll go get Mrs. LeMenile. Be right back.” Amy left and returned a few minutes later with a handsome older woman. “Jake, this is Mrs. Guinevere LeMenile,” Amy said, before she slipped out, closing the door.

“Hello, Mrs. LeMenile.” Jake rose to greet her, extending a hand, which Mrs. LeMenile shook, her grip surprisingly strong. She had sleek silvery hair, which was clipped back off of her lined face, and she was tall, weathered, and lean in a camelhair jacket, jeans, with brown boots that lent her a horsey air. Her hooded eyes were a lively gray-green, alert and sharp, set off by a green silk scarf.

“Jake, call me Guinevere. Wonderful to meet you.”

“Please, sit down.” Jake gestured to his conference table and sat down opposite her. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?”

“No, thanks, I haven’t much time.” Guinevere set her leather bag on the floor and plunked down in the chair, crossing her legs. “I’m here because my friend Helen Weissman recommended you. She can’t say enough good things about you and you made her a significant amount of money.”

“Thank you, and I think the world of Helen.”

“I’m a widow, and my husband died two years ago, leaving me with an estate of $5 million.” Guinevere’s manner was authoritative, and she didn’t pull out any bank statements, notes, or scraps of paper like many of his first-time clients. “Two million of that are the proceeds from his life-insurance policy, one is our combined savings, 401(k), and pension fund. I live in our home, which is worth two. My money is currently in short-term Treasury bills and I’m making nothing, but I’ve become very dissatisfied with the fees I’m paying my current financial planner. Even though I negotiated them down from 1 percent to .5 percent, it still seems utterly ridiculous for what is essentially a liquid asset, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Jake answered, because she was absolutely right. Suddenly his attention was drawn away by activity at Amy’s desk, but he could only see part of what was going on through the mullioned windows.

“I think I’m ready to put that money to work for me, so I’ve come to you. Why don’t we begin by your telling me about Gardenia?”

“Sure. Right.” Jake wondered if it was Deaner at Amy’s desk, which would be odd. Guests had to wait in reception before being sent back. “We have almost a hundred … million dollars under our management.” Jake felt himself falter, distracted. “We look for high-quality stocks from established companies, ones that pay dividends, and—”

“I read that on your website.” Guinevere waved him into silence with a wrinkled hand. “I’d rather you explain how you make your investment decisions, exactly.”

“I would be your portfolio manager, but here we make our investment decisions as a group.” Jake tried to look past Guinevere to see what was going on, but couldn’t. “The investment committee, which I head, uh … meets three times a week and we share our expertise. We invest only in quality growth stocks, er, and there are only approximately thirty to forty of those.”