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“Protector of what?”
“King John’s Treasure, of course.”
Thirty-six
Remi was certain she’d misunderstood Mrs. Herbert. “King John, as in King Richard’s brother?”
“The same,” Grace said.
“That’s supposed to be quite the treasure,” Remi said. “Over seventy million pounds, if I recall correctly.”
“But the stories aren’t real, are they? Why on earth would anyone believe them?”
“Hard to say,” Sam said. “What exactly do you recall from the story you heard?”
“Well . . .” She looked at Sam. “They were more like fairytales than anything else. King John asked William the Marshal to hide the crown jewels to save England. The treasure being lost in the fens was all a ruse so that the young crown prince wouldn’t be attacked. Or something along those lines. As I said, I never paid much attention. Just stories I heard my uncle telling my cousins when we were children.”
“What happened to your cousins?” Remi asked.
“My older cousin died about ten years ago in a car accident, and his younger brother this last year of a heart attack.”
“No other relatives?” Sam asked. “Anyone else who might have heard the stories?”
“Unfortunately, neither had children of their own, and my other cousin who inherited the estate up in Nottingham knows what I know.” She furrowed her brows a moment, then brightened. “Actually, there is someone else. Madge Crowley, my cousin’s ex-wife. I’d quite forgotten about her, mostly because I haven’t spoken with her in years. Not since the divorce. She still sends round the occasional Christmas card. Lives in Norfolk somewhere. I could try to find her address if that will help.”
“That would be great,” Sam said.
She’d found the name and address, Madge Crowley in King’s Lynn. The officer arrived and Sam gave a statement and the name of the investigator from Scotland Yard who was handling the case.
The officer looked up from his notebook. “You’re sure this theft is related?” he asked Sam. “After all, you mentioned this Fisk found what he was looking for at the museum. Why come here?”
“To keep us from finding it.”
The officer turned a dubious glance at the wall where the shield once hung. “So what’s the value?” he asked Grace.
Remi piped in with, “Old relics. More museum pieces than anything else.”
“History,” the officer said. “Don’t know why everyone gets so worked up about this stuff.” He finished his notes, then stood. “I’ll be in contact.”
“Thank you,” Grace replied, walking him to the door. She returned a moment later.
Remi said, “I hope you can forgive us for not being more upfront to begin with. We weren’t exactly sure what we were dealing with.”
“If I’d known any of this would happen,” Grace said, “I’d have made sure the shield went to the museum with the rest of the items.” She smiled, placing her hands on her hips. “I trust there’s nothing more you need? I’d quite like to get back to my simple country life.”
Sam and Remi stood at the obvious though polite dismissal, Sam telling Remi, “I can’t think of anything. You?”
“Nothing,” Remi said.
Grace saw them out. “If you do find anything, please send it to the museum. I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime.”
In the car, Sam handed Remi the address of Grace’s cousin. “King’s Lynn. That’s a three-and-a-half-, four-hour drive. Makes for a long day.”
“Don’t know about you, but my schedule’s wide open.”
“Turns out, so is mine.” He looked at his watch, then started the car. “Selma should be up by now. Give her a call. I’m hoping those photos we took of the shield boss can be enhanced.”
Remi set the GPS directions, then called Selma, putting it on speakerphone. “We’ve had a few developments. First off, we’re heading to King’s Lynn, so we’ll need a place to stay.”