Pirate

Twenty-one

At Sam’s request, Selma called back using Skype. He wanted to see her and the others to judge for himself just how bad this news was. Archer seconded this idea and stood off to one side, out of view of the lens, so that he could observe without being seen. A moment later, Remi’s tablet lit up. But instead of Selma, they saw Bree standing in front of the camera, her gaze moving downward, undoubtedly sighting Sam and Remi on the screen. A look of relief seemed to cross her features and she reached for the desktop, leaning forward slightly as she said, “Thank goodness. I was worried.”

“Worried?” Sam said, his tone cautious. How could he not be after hearing that Selma already knew about their failed operation? He eyed Selma and Lazlo, both standing behind Bree, their expressions neutral. Turning his attention back to Bree, he asked, “About what?”

“That something happened to you.”

“Bree,” Remi said. “What would make you think something happened?”

“Because of what occurred on your first dive. I think it was because of me.”

That wasn’t the response Sam had been expecting. Denial, yes. But this? “Please explain.”

“I–I think my cousin may have been passing on information.”

Remi shifted next to him. “Larayne?”

“Yes. I didn’t realize what was happening, at first. They’d threatened us both. They tied us up. She was a victim just like I was. At least that’s what I thought. So when she asked about you, it never occurred to me that I would be putting you in danger by saying anything. I—” She tried to compose herself, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I never would have said anything had I known.”

Sam studied her face. She seemed genuine, but he wasn’t about to throw out caution and forgive her right away. “What made you think something was going on?” he asked.

“It was after I found out what — what had happened on your first dive. And then Larayne asking me afterward if I’d heard from you. It was…” She reached for something offscreen. A tissue apparently. “I–I started to get suspicious. So when Selma and Lazlo told me you were going to try to find this other piece of the cipher wheel, I lied to Larayne. I told her I didn’t know where you were or what you were doing. I was worried.” Her smile faltered. “If anything had happened to you…”

She broke down completely, and Selma picked up the tablet, then moved across the room. In the background they saw Lazlo taking Bree into his arms as she sobbed against his shoulder.

“There you have it,” Selma said.

Sam turned toward Remi. “Thoughts?”

“I believe her.”

“Selma?” he asked.

“I suppose it’s possible that she’s the best actress in the world. But like Mrs. Fargo, I believe her. It makes sense. And you weren’t there when she came to us. She was near inconsolable. It took this long just to get her calm enough to talk to you.”

“Great,” Sam said. “The one time we need her to pass on the information, she suddenly grows a conscience—”

“Or,” Remi said, giving him a dark look, “as Bree mentioned, she realized the danger she was putting us in.”

“Well, at least we know the source of the leak.”

“Unfortunately,” Selma said, “it doesn’t net you Charles Avery or his men.”

“All in good time.”

Selma lowered her voice. “Assuming she is telling the truth, then we have to assume that Avery and his crew are trying to discover the identity of that ship. And now they have a good couple of days head start.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“Playing catch-up.”

“We better get started, then,” Sam said. “It’d be nice to find out whatever the map leads to. Treasure, we hope.”

“Treasure? Tomb? Who knows? Whatever it is, someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure it was well hidden.” Selma paused, looking behind her at Lazlo and Bree before turning back toward the screen. “That should about cover it. In the meantime, I’ve booked you a hotel in South Beach. Think of it as kick-starting that vacation you’ve been attempting to go on. That should give us time to do some further research and you and Mrs. Fargo some time to unwind after the last few days.”

“Much appreciated, Selma. Keep us informed.”

Sam ended the call and closed the cover on the tablet. “Not what I was expecting to hear.”

“That,” Archer said, “would explain why no one bit on our well-baited lure.” He looked over at Remi. “I don’t suppose you did any sort of background before you hired her?”

“The usual basic sort of thing,” Remi said. “She was only working on fund-raising.”

“What,” Sam asked Archer, “would you recommend at this point?”

“A full background. Not just on her. I’d also look into her cousin, see what we can dig up there as well. If nothing else, it might verify Miss Marshall’s story and you can at least rest easy.”

“Remi?” Sam asked.

“I’d like to clear her name, so yes.”

Archer nodded. “I’ll get started on it, then.” He leaned forward and shook Remi’s hand. “Good to see you again. Sorry the op was a bust.”

“Don’t be.”

Sam stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

At Archer’s car, Sam said, “Remi has a real soft spot for that girl.”

“I gathered. I’ll do a thorough job on both women. Don’t worry.”

The following day as Sam was relaxing by the pool in South Beach, Archer called with a preliminary report on the two background checks.

Remi was still swimming laps. Sam, stretched out on a chaise longue, watching her while he spoke with Archer on the phone, asked, “Anything we should be concerned about?”

“Your wife’s instincts appear to be good. Nothing on Bree Marshall that stands out. Good credit, a solid work history, and, from what we could find on a first pass, she was close to her uncle.”

“Exactly how did you determine that last part?”

“Sent a couple of guys from my San Francisco office out to canvass the area around the bookstore. There’s a neighbor who took in the cat after the owner’s death. Says Bree was a regular visitor up there. Not so with the daughter, Larayne.”

“Perhaps because she lived on the East Coast?”

“Possibly, but my agent gathered that he was closer to his niece.”

“Which doesn’t make the daughter guilty of anything.”

“No. But her financial health tells me she’d be more likely to take chances. Her husband’s death left her in debt and her farm is in foreclosure.”

“Criminal history?” Sam asked as Remi stopped at the far end of the pool, looked over, saw him on the phone, then swam toward him.

“None.”

“What would you recommend?”

“That depends on how far you want to go with this and how much you want to spend.”

“Don’t worry about expenses,” he said as Remi hoisted herself out of the pool, pearls of water raining down off her. An auburn-haired Aphrodite, one that he wanted to keep very safe. “Do whatever it takes to get the answers we need.”

“Very good. I’ll put a couple of agents on her house to start. We’ll see what she’s up to, and if anyone else pops up. In the meantime, you might want to keep it business as usual — at least when it comes to any conversations between Bree and her cousin. I’d like to keep that channel open without giving away that we’re aware of the leak. That way, we’re not telegraphing that we’re on to how Avery’s crew learned where you were.”

“We’ll take care of it. Anything else?”

“Just that I took the liberty of picking up copies of the police reports in San Francisco. No prints on the fake cops you found tossing your hotel room. But there was a match on a print from the man who robbed the bookstore. Jakob ‘Jak’ Stanislav.”

“I take it he’s well known in the system?”

“Definitely a vast criminal history. From a crime family suspected in a number of missing persons cases where the bodies have yet to be found.”

“Duly noted.”

“If I discover anything further, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.” He disconnected.

Remi reached for her towel and wrapped it about her, then sat next to him on the longue. “Who was that?”

“Archer. Bree appears to check out.”

“Hmm,” she said, her tone very smug.

“He’s doing some further digging into Larayne. Seems she’s having financial issues and is literally about to lose the farm.”

“But to set up her father?”

“People have done worse for less. The good news is that until Archer’s done with his investigating and Selma’s done with her research, we have nothing better to do than make headway on that vacation I promised you.”

“A lovely thought, Fargo, but we did promise to visit your mother this afternoon.”

His mother, Eunice, still going strong in her seventies, lived in Key West, where she ran a charter boat for snorkelers and deep-sea fishing. “Surely she’d understand.”

Remi arched a fine brow at him. “And what would you be telling her as the reason we had to cancel?”

Before he could think of something suitable, his phone rang for a second time that morning. It was Selma, and Sam placed it on speaker. “Sorry to interrupt your vacation, Mr. Fargo, but Lazlo thinks he knows how to find that cipher wheel.”