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“I left my gloves when we came by a few days ago, to look over the ledgers. I thought I’d dash in and get them.” He started past me.
Worried that he’d discover Isaac’s presence, then realize we suspected him of embezzlement, I blocked his way.
A look of suspicion crossed Reginald’s face, and I knew I needed to think of something fast.
37
On Sam and Remi’s advice, Chad, still looking a bit shell-shocked after the rescue of his mother, convinced her and his aunt to visit the coast for several days. In the meantime, Chad’s aunt invited them to stay at her home while she was gone. “I know your friend fixed my clogged drainpipe,” she said to Chad, as he carried her suitcase down the stairs for her. “But I really would like a plumber to have a proper look.” She smiled at Sam, who stood at the bottom of the stairs. “No offense, young man.”
“None taken.”
She gave a firm nod, turning her attention back to her nephew. “Please don’t forget to water the garden. I don’t want to lose my vegetables while I’m gone.” She reached over, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “And tuck this in. How do you expect to find a young woman if you look like that? Did my sister not teach you how to dress?”
Chad looked slightly embarrassed, as he guided her out the front door, where his mother sat in the waiting taxi. Once the women were safely off, he returned to the house. “You’re sure they’ll be safer?” he asked, watching out the window as the taxi departed.
“Definitely,” Sam said, as Oliver’s cell phone rang. “The farther away from us, the better. At least until we figure out who’s behind this.”
Oliver, who was seated at the kitchen table, answered, waved Sam over to him. “I’m not quite sure when we’ll be returning to Manchester . . .” He pressed a button, set the phone on the table. “It’s Bill Snyder, the private detective recommended by David Cooke,” he said.
“Who’s David Cooke?” Chad asked.
“His uncle’s solicitor,” Remi replied quietly.
“You’re on speaker, Mr. Snyder,” Oliver said. “The Fargos are here with me.”
“I’ll try to keep this brief,” Bill said. “I had a chat with your sister yesterday. She had the journal after all. A bit reluctant to turn it over, but, in the end, she gave it to me.”
“The missing journal?” Oliver said.
“Quite. I took the liberty of reading a bit to be sure. Young boy who witnessed a murder, American detective Isaac Bell assisting the Viscount . . . ?”
“Good show, then.”
Sam and Remi took the seat next to Oliver, asking, “Was there anything else you saw that would explain the sudden interest in the Gray Ghost?”
“Nothing that stands out in the few pages I read,” Bill said. “Unfortunately, time was an issue if I wanted to make the cutoff for shipping. I was under the impression that you wanted it sent to your researcher. She should get it tomorrow.”
“A shame,” Oliver said. “Thought we might have a go at it, ourselves. See what turns up.”
“You’re in luck,” Bill said. “My secretary scanned it. I’ll have her send a digital copy to you first opportunity.”
“If you could send a copy to Remi as well,” Sam said, “I’d appreciate it.”
“Mr. Payton?” Bill asked. “I’ll need your permission for that.”
“Absolutely. In fact, if you can copy the Fargos on all the correspondence, I’d be most grateful.”
“Very good. Something else you should be aware of, Mr. Payton,” Bill added. “A bit of a feeling that your sister was hiding something.”
“She can be a bit strange. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
“Maybe so, but the reason she gave me for having the journal in her possession seemed . . . odd. It’s possible the timing was mere coincidence. She mentioned taking it so that her son could read it.”
Oliver leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. “Good lad, Trevor. Lived with us for a bit during her divorce. Stands to reason she’d think this. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve told Allegra that the boy should read them. After all, unless I meet someone and start a family, which doesn’t seem likely in my current state, he is the next in line for the viscountcy.”
Sam and Remi exchanged glances, Remi sharing a similar thought: the timing of Allegra taking that journal—in the midst of the investigation of her uncle’s arrest for murder—was highly suspicious. “It could be coincidence,” Sam said, more for Oliver’s sake than any real belief that the detective’s instincts were faulty.
“Perhaps,” Bill said. “That, however, is only part of the picture. I was there midafternoon. One of those bright sunny days, and her curtains were closed tight, and she was reluctant to let me in. Mind you, this last could be because she was by herself, and there was a strange man at her door. But it was precisely because she said she was by herself that I found her behavior unusual.”