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“Many times,” Oliver added. “Maybe someone knew about the music. After all, there were several people in and out of the warehouse that night. Byron, the night watchmen. Maybe one of them went back.”
“I don’t buy it,” Sam said. “As good a detective as this Isaac Bell was, I’d have to think searching the Ghost for the missing treasure was the first thing he did.”
Oliver tried for a cheerful smile. “Doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re all safe, and that’s what counts.”
Trevor looked crestfallen, as he turned toward Remi. “You read the journal. Reggie told Jonathon twice. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
Remi locked eyes with the boy. Sam knew how her brain worked. She was mentally ticking off the facts she’d read with a speed that always amazed him. Suddenly she smiled, then looked at Sam. “That music was a message to his wife. After all, Reggie specifically requested that it be given to her. And if you recall, when Payton told him to think about his wife and child before he did something he’d regret, Reggie specifically said that’s exactly whom he was thinking of. He—”
“Knew the risks,” Sam said. “Maybe preparing for the eventuality he might not come back and sending her a message in case something happened to him?”
“Maybe,” Remi said, looking up something on her phone. “Another possibility is that Reggie was trying to make things right at the end.”
“How?” Oliver asked her.
“With his dying declaration. Trevor’s correct,” she said, earning a smile from the boy. “He’d told Payton not once, but twice, that Payton had helped him move the treasure. Admittedly, the first time it was more of a taunt, right after he’d been captured by Bell. But the second time was after he’d been shot, and he specifically told them to give the music to his wife . . .” Remi’s attention was suddenly drawn to something on her phone’s screen.
“It makes sense,” Oliver said. “We know Isaac Bell was desperately trying to get him to say where he’d hidden the treasure before he died. And we know Reggie’s last words to Payton were ‘You helped.’ Still, was the answer in the journal or not?”
“I think it is,” Remi said. Sam recognized that look in her eyes. There was no “think” about it. She knew what the answer was and held up her phone, showing them a photo of the sheet music from the internet. “That song was very popular in 1905 and early ’06.” She glanced at Sam. “Maybe a bit of that British irony, when you think about it.”
“You mean he picked the song for the car reference, but not because he hid the treasure in
the car?”
Her catlike smile was all the answer Sam needed.
Remi knew exactly where that treasure was.
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Sam sat back and watched as Remi and Trevor discussed what was in the journal, the others looking on. As their discussion progressed, he could see the boy’s confidence growing, as she subtly guided him, allowing him to see what she saw, without ever giving away that she even knew the answer. After a few more minutes of back-and-forth between the two, Remi nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder if any of this has something to do with Miss Atwater?”
“Maybe,” Trevor said, his gaze fixed on his water glass, lost in thought. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he shot out of his seat, looking over at his mother, then Remi. “It was all about the music!” He ran toward the door, his demeanor one of pure excitement.
The others hesitated, not quite sure what to think, but, just as quickly, they hurried after him, through the garden, to the Dowager Cottage, Sam and Remi bringing up the rear.
Trevor banged on the door. Finally, Mrs. Beckett opened it. “We need to see Uncle Albert,” he said, darting past her. “It’s important.”
Albert stepped into the parlor a moment later, as they all filed in after Trevor. “What’s all this? Didn’t know we were having guests, Mrs. Beckett.”
“Neither did I.”
Trevor walked over to the pianoforte, pulling out the bench, taking a seat, lifting the cover from the keys. “Miss Atwater sat right here, next to Payton.” He hit one of the bass keys, then another, and another, each making a plunking noise. “She told him it needed tuning.”
Sam and Remi stood back as Oliver and Chad lifted off the top of the piano so that they could see inside. Oliver told Trevor to do the honor of looking in, handing him his cell phone to use as a flashlight.
Trevor hesitated, glancing shyly at Remi. She smiled at him, and he turned on the light, shining it into the depths of the piano. He looked back at her, then his mother, his face filled with wonder. “There’s something down there. Mum . . . You have to see this.” He handed her the phone. When she and Oliver moved in, Trevor looked over at Remi. “You were right, Mrs. Fargo!”
“Me? You’re the one who found it. I was thinking of the piano bench. That’s where you keep music, isn’t it?”
Sam put his arm around Remi’s shoulders. “Sure it is,” he whispered, as Oliver and Chad searched for the clips to remove the front of the piano. The antique bench didn’t have storage for music, and he doubted his wife would’ve forgotten that fact from their visit that first night at Payton Manor.
“Here, now,” Albert said, marching over to the piano as Oliver and Chad removed the front cover. “What are you doing there?”
“Have a look, Uncle Albert,” Oliver said.
He peered in, saw something, harrumphed, shaking his head as he returned to the dining room to finish his lemon ice. “No wonder that thing never sounded right.”