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“For what reason?” Remi asked. In her mind, someone with the years of investigative experience that Bill Snyder had was generally well qualified to make such an opinion.
“The television was on. Football. I made a comment about the score, and it was clear she had no idea what I was talking about.”
Oliver laughed. “That part would be true. Allegra’s never followed sports.”
“There was also an open bottle of ale on the table.”
Oliver’s smile faded as he stared at the cell phone.
“What is it?” Sam asked him.
“I’m beginning to wonder if any of this has anything to do with my grandfather at all. Her reprehensible ex-husband, Dex, suddenly appeared back in the picture a few months ago, trying to charm her. He’s the sort that only comes around when he needs money. In fact, he’s the reason Trevor came to live with us when they were divorcing.”
“Define reprehensible,” the detective said.
“Allegra never came out and said anything to me, and Trevor certainly never mentioned it, but we always suspected the man was physically abusive to her. If he’s there, I’m not at all surprised that she’d try to hide it from you. She knows quite well what I think of her ex and she’d worry that you’d tell me.”
“That might explain it,” Bill said.
Sam wasn’t ready to write off any possibility that someone else close to the family was involved. “What’s your gut instinct?”
“Given that I’m reporting directly to her brother,” Bill said, “a past abusive relationship would certainly explain her behavior. Especially if she doesn’t want Oliver to know they’re back together. Sad to say, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen this happen.”
When Remi reached over, casually placing her hand on top of Sam’s, he knew immediately what she wanted. The concern etched on Oliver’s face seemed to magnify in the few short minutes they’d been on the phone. As if the man needed more to worry about, on top of his uncle’s arrest. “I know you have your hands full with this investigation,” Sam said, “but is there any chance we could impose on you to keep an eye on Allegra and Trevor?”
“I wouldn’t want to overstep my bounds, Mr. Fargo,” Bill replied. “So long as you’re aware it may not have anything to do with Albert Payton’s case . . .”
“We’re willing to pay the extra cost,” Sam said. “I think we’ll all rest easier, knowing she and Trevor are safe.”
“I’ll see to it, Mr. Fargo. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to work.”
Oliver looked relieved once the call ended. “I don’t know how we’re ever going to pay you back for all you’ve done.”
“No need,” Remi said. “You’re family. You’d do the same, I’m sure of it.”
“Remi’s right,” Sam said, as his cell phone buzzed on the tabletop. “Having your sister and Trevor looked after means we can concentrate on how best to help your uncle.” He looked at the caller ID, surprised and a bit alarmed to see Selma making a video call, since, according to California time, it was just after two in the morning.
Nothing good ever happened at that hour.
38
Is everything okay?” Sam asked calmly, not wanting to alarm Remi. It wasn’t all that long ago that someone had tried attacking them in their home at Gold Fish Point, nearl
y destroying it in the process. Even though they’d recovered and rebuilt, turning their home into a near-impregnable fortress, he still worried, and knew Remi did, too. He could see it in her eyes as she waited for Selma to answer.
“Fine, Mr. Fargo,” Selma said, her face filling the screen, as she peered at him over the tops of her dark-framed glasses. Lazlo was hovering in the background. “Just another all-nighter. We were looking into the possibility that Isaac Bell was given a forty-fifty. If so, there’s no record that he shipped the car to America. If he sold it in England, we haven’t found anything.”
“It’s also possible,” Lazlo added, leaning into view of the screen, “that he gave it away. Apparently, he was extremely wealthy.”
“Of course,” Selma said, “we’re assuming the car he received from Rolls-Royce for his part in the recovery of the Gray Ghost is a forty-fifty. Is there a possibility it was a different model?”
Oliver couldn’t say for sure. “Does it make a difference what car he was given?”
“It could,” Selma said.
“In retrospect,” Oliver said, “I assumed it was a forty-fifty, because that was the car gifted to my family. It’s highly possible that Rolls-Royce gave him a different car. Maybe a thirty hp. Especially when you consider the forty-fifties were still in the prototype stage then.”
“If we’re lucky, it’s in the journal,” Sam said. “You should be getting it tomorrow.”