“Frustrating, is more like it,” Remi said. “That car was practically stolen from right beneath our noses.”
“Selma mentioned that. And no idea who took it?”
“Not yet. I don’t suppose you’ve heard back from this mysterious friend about the secret auction?”
“Another auction actually came up, this one in Milan, though I’m not sure it’s at all the one you’re looking for. Someone had the bright idea of combining cars with fashion and selling high-priced tickets. What makes this a possibility is that a late entry is creating a lot of buzz. A Rolls not previously seen on the market. But it’s specified as an ‘early model,’ not an ’06 or ’07. I have two press passes that will get you in the door for an up close look at the cars.”
“When is it?”
“This weekend,” Georgia said. “I still haven’t heard back on the other one. It’s by invitation only. Very private, no tickets, no press. Also a Rolls—near Rome, though.”
“No year?”
“Early forty-fifty, is what I heard.” She leaned back against the flowered cushions, the wicker squeaking beneath her weight. “As I mentioned to Selma, the person I’m waiting to hear from is a friend of a friend of a friend. Maybe not even that close. I’m talking to someone who is intermediating, I suppose you could say. All very hush-hush, which means they won’t even know that I’m the one making inquiries. It took some convincing to assure him you want the car for a very private collection. The undeclared sort.” She looked at Remi and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I painted you and Sam as less than savory investors?”
“If it gets us in the door, I’m sure we’ll weather the stain on our reputations.”
“That’s what I thought. So, what else is new? I see you and Sam are still out traveling the world. You’re not feeling the urge to stay home and start a family?”
Remi laughed as she tried to picture her and Sam settling down with a baby. “Let’s just say nothing in the immediate future. Plenty of time to think about that later.”
“I’m serious. I worry about you, Remi. Part of me hopes this person doesn’t call back. What if something happens to you out there? That old saying, life turns on a dime? There’s a reason for it.”
Remi reached over and touched her friend’s arm. “We’re careful. And you know Sam. He’s not going to let anything happen to me.”
Georgia looked up as John climbed the steps from the garden, followed by Oliver, Chad, and Sam, who was carrying two bottles of Chianti. “Speaking of, here’s your fearless husband now.”
Sam placed the bottles on the table, then brushed his hand on Remi’s shoulder as he took the chair next to hers. “What are you two talking about? Or do I want to know?”
Georgia’s phone rang. She leaned forward, nearly spilling her drink as she scooped it up to check the caller ID. “It’s him.”
“Who?” Sam asked, as Oliver and Chad took a seat in the remaining chairs, while John opened a bottle of wine.
“Her contact,” Remi whispered. “About the cars.”
Georgia signaled for them to stay quiet while she answered, her Italian so rapid-fire, Remi had a hard time keeping up, until she switched to English, saying, “They’re here with me now. I’ll check.” Georgia pressed the mute button on her phone. “If you can make it to Rome, he says his friend is willing to meet somewhere public, but no large crowds.”
“Remi?” Sam asked.
She knew the perfect restaurant. “Ask him if he’s familiar with Hostaria Antica Roma on the Appian Way.”
Georgia repeated the location. “. . . Very good. Ciao.” She hung up, telling them, “He’ll meet you there tomorrow at noon.”
“Tomorrow?” Remi said. “That makes it difficult to get to the other auction.”
“What auction?” Sam asked.
“Milan,” Georgia said, telling him about the event.
“Sorry to say,” Sam said, “we can’t be in two places at one time.”
“Oliver and I can go to the Milan event,” Chad said. “If it turns out to be nothing, no time wasted.”
Remi checked Oliver, noting his hands clasped tightly on the arms of the chair. The poor man looked ready to bolt, and she could hardly blame him. “Are you okay with that?” she asked.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and said, “If it helps with my uncle’s case, then yes.”
“Looks like we have our itinerary for tomorrow,” Sam said.
40
The early-morning sun poured through the window as Arthur Oren watched his son, not quite two, crawling beneath the table to retrieve a plastic block that had landed there. Arthur Junior would inherit everything one day, including all that Oren had added to the family fortune—and all that he’d soon acquire from the Payton side of the family.
The boy picked up the bright red block, looked over at his father wide-eyed, placed the corner of the block in his mouth, babbling something unintelligible. His ever-present nanny bent down and pulled the toy out. “No, AJ.”
“A little dirt won’t hurt,” Oren said, reciting what his mother had always told him.
“Yes, sir,” she said, then distracted AJ with a stuffed bear.
The boy crawled over, reaching for it, saying, “Ba-ba.”
“Bear,” she corrected.
“Ba-ba,” the child demanded, as the phone rang.
Bruno’s number showed on the screen.
Oren waved at nanny to take the child from the room. The moment the door closed, he picked up the receiver. “Did you get it?”
“It wasn’t the Ghost.”
“What do you mean, it wasn’t the Ghost? Did no one look?”
“They used smoke and mirrors. Had us fooled.”
He sat there, seconds ticking on a wall clock behind him, hoping he’d misunderstood. But the long stretch of silence on the other end told him otherwise. “What happened?” He listened as Bruno went over the details. The moment Oren heard the Fargos mentioned, he bristled with anger. “How is it those two keep finding their way into the middle of my business?”
“You don’t think they stole the Ghost, do you?”
He considered the possibility. “I doubt they’d go to the trouble of concocting a fake car, if that were the case.”
“Why not? They’re all about money. Fool us, keep the car, and who’s the wiser?”
Except that Oren had read enough about the Fargos to know otherwise. “They’re too altruistic. They wouldn’t risk someone’s life over material possessions. At least we can cross them off the list.”
“You don’t think Colton has it?”
“Of course not.” He swiveled around in his desk chair, glancing at the clock on the wall. Colton was due any moment now. “Take another look around Payton Manor. There’s a lot of barns that aren’t being used anymore. After all, they found the car in one of them. Maybe he has it there.”
“Won’t be able to get out there until tomorrow,” Bruno said. “Had to take Frank to get his arm stitched. Someplace where they wouldn’t ask questions about gunshots.”
“Just do it,” he said, hearing footsteps outside the door, then a soft knock. “I have to go.”
He dropped the phone in its cradle just as Colton walked in, making a wide berth around the red and blue plastic blocks on the floor.
“No smoking,” Oren said, as the man started to pull out a cigarette. “Not with my son in the house.”
“Doesn’t your ex normally keep the boy?” he asked, returning the cigarette to the pack.
“She’s on a trip.”
Colton pulled out a chair in front of the desk, using his foot to clear the blocks from the floor in front of him before sitting. “I take it your attempt to recover the car wasn’t successful?”
“Unfortunately, no,” he said, thinking about Bruno’s suggestion that Colton wa
s behind the theft of the Ghost. The very idea that the person he’d paid to steal it in the first place was perhaps responsible for stealing it a second time on the sly . . . It seemed absurd. “Turns out the car was a fake.”
“You think this mechanic took it?”
“I’d say it’s highly unlikely. The Fargos were involved, and I don’t see them risking anyone’s life for a car, no matter how valuable.”
Colton, who’d been eyeing the toys scattered about the room with an expression bordering on distaste, suddenly looked up at him. “What do you mean, the Fargos were involved?”
“My men planted themselves in the mechanic’s house with his mother. Leverage.”
“Are you insane?”
“It worked.”
“How? You still don’t have the car. You’re lucky the police weren’t called.” Colton reached out, kicking one of the blocks at his feet. The red plastic square rattled across the floor, landing in front of Oren’s chair. “Another fool move like that, your kid’ll be visiting you in prison. Assuming your ex lets him near you.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Far from it. Since you’re the one paying my salary, it’s in my best interest to make sure you stay out of jail.”
“My men were acting on credible evidence that the mechanic had the car.”
“Credible? Who was your source?”
“Allegra.”
Colton’s brows went up slightly. “Oliver’s sister? Interesting. By any chance did she volunteer this information out of the blue?”
“Of course not. I called her and asked. Clearly she was wrong. But her guess seemed logical at the time. After all, this Chad fellow was the man who helped Albert and Oliver ready the car for the London show.”
Colton absently reached for his cigarette pack, suddenly remembered, lowered his hand. “Did it ever occur to you that she was being a little too helpful?”
“I asked her who she thought was good for it.”
“What about that ex of hers?”
“If not for him, we wouldn’t have had the Ghost at all. Besides, he’s nothing but a petty crook. I doubt he has the means to pull off such a thing.”
“You’re sure?”
At the moment, Oren wasn’t sure of anything except the nagging thought that Colton had all the advantages in this venture. Despite Bruno’s suggestion otherwise, it occurred to Oren that there was really no one he could trust but himself. “For one, Allegra doesn’t drive. Two, unless she’s suddenly flush with cash, she’d never be able to have the funds to hire someone to steal the Ghost. Three, do you really think she could somehow have gotten past your security? Strike that last question. Apparently, someone did.”
“There was nothing wrong with my security.”
“Except for that one glaring flaw. The Ghost was in your warehouse and it’s now missing.”
“We’ll find whoever was behind the theft. That you can count on. In fact, I have a very good lead in Italy.”
“What lead?”
“A Silver Ghost that suddenly just came on the market. An auction for very select clientele.”
“You think it might be the Gray Ghost?”
“We can’t be sure. But the timing is highly suspect. If there’s any possibility that it is the Ghost, you’ll need to get on it before Oliver or the Fargos hear about it. The last thing you want is to cross swords with them.”
On this, they agreed. That Oliver had taken up with the Fargos to help save his uncle’s home was beyond infuriating. For someone who’d never shown any interest in getting married and producing an heir, the man was a sentimental fool, protecting his uncle’s estate even though he had no one to pass it on to except Allegra’s son. “I wish we could put an end to his relationship with the Fargos. Their interference is costing me time and money.”
“Do you think they know why you’re after the Ghost?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might. Maybe if we found the Ghost and it was returned to Payton, they’d back off.”
“Quite right,” Oren said. “Let’s give a car worth millions upon millions to the very man I’ve spent the last year trying to financially ruin. Brilliant idea. Do you have any more scintillating plans you haven’t revealed?”
“No one said you had to give it to him in one piece.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Oren replied, wondering if he should rethink his dismissal of Colton as the mastermind behind the theft of the stolen Ghost. “Only an idiot would purposefully ruin a car worth tens of millions of dollars.”
“It’s not like you can sell it on the open market.”
“Maybe not, but there are plenty of buyers who’d make a private sale for their own collection just to say they have it. Isn’t that how you found the auction for this Ghost in Italy?”
Colton merely regarded him with those dead brown eyes of his.
The man was infuriating. “Returning the Gray Ghost is not an option. I intend to recover it. Period.” Oren leaned back in his chair, taking the moment to calm himself. “Back to the Fargos. I’d prefer they were dead. How do you plan on taking care of it?”
“As I said before, killing them outright will only bring unwanted attention. There’s a far better way to keep them out of your affairs, and later—when they end up dead—anyone who hears what happened will nod in understanding at how two, young, once-wealthy socialites took their own lives. In fact, I’ve already started implementing it.”
“I’m listening . . .”
41
JOURNAL OF JONATHON PAYTON, 5TH VISCOUNT WELLSWICK
1906
I still held out hope that my cousin was innocent. Even so, I dared not let him get past. How would I explain Isaac Bell’s presence in the headmaster’s office? And what of the boy, Toby? I couldn’t let Reginald see him.
I knew I must have seemed as though I’d suddenly lost my wits, standing there, my tongue cleaved to the top of my mouth. As a look of annoyance crossed Reggie’s face, I was vaguely aware of Miss Atwater’s melodic voice drifting out of the classroom as she taught the alphabet.
It was clear. I was smitten.
A year ago, my father had arranged for a proper introduction to an heiress of his approval, hoping our betrothal would soon follow. Suffice it to say that Reginald was now married to the young woman, my father pointing out that he’d only courted her because of my interest. The truth was that I was happy for him. She and I would not have made a good match.
Miss Atwater, however . . . she was different, and part of me was reluctant to use her as my excuse for being here. I wouldn’t have, except that Reggie’s mild annoyance started turning to suspicion.
* * *
—
“’TIS RASH,” I said to Reginald, “I know. But I came back hoping to catch a glimpse of Miss Atwater, and now I feel the fool. She never even noticed me on our first visit.” Perhaps because she’d never seen me. I tried drawing Reggie away. “Please don’t look in there, lest she notices us. Accompany me outside.”
“To what purpose?” Reginald asked, looking past me into the classroom.
I grasped his arm, guiding him down the hall, then out the door. “To work up the nerve to ask if she would consider allowing me to call on her.”
I paced in front of the carriage, pretending—nay, there was no pretense whatsoever—I was so besotted that I needed help with what I should say to Miss Atwater.
Reginald was at once amused and annoyed. “She’s a schoolteacher. And a bit long in the tooth. Do you sincerely think she wouldn’t be flattered by your attention?”
I ignored his assessment of the woman, whom I found perfect. “And what if she says no?”
“Either declare your intentions and risk your father’s wrath or go back to being the coward you are—and never knowing what may happen.”
R
eginald had always been braver, stronger, faster, smarter. As children, I had often been the one to hang back, let my cousin take charge. It was easy to fall into that role now because I needed to keep Reginald out here, away from the headmaster’s office. But the truth of his words stung. I had always allowed my father to run roughshod over my interests. Reginald’s, too. And so, when I asked for pointers on how to approach Miss Atwater, I was very serious. “How do I do it?”
Before Reginald had a chance to answer, Isaac Bell came striding around the corner. He didn’t look at me or my cousin until he was nearly on us, and all he did was tip his hat and continue past as though he knew me not at all.
I was fortunate that, at that very moment, Miss Atwater appeared at the top of the stairs, drawing our attention away from Bell.
“Sir?” she said.
I was lost in her blue eyes, and it was a moment before I realized she was addressing me. “Pardon?”
“I wanted to thank you. For insisting the young ladies being brought into the classroom.”
Reginald gave me a sly look.
“Happy to oblige,” I said, thrilled that she’d seen fit to seek me out.
She gave the slightest of curtsies, about to leave.
“Miss Atwater?”
She turned back, looking at me with an expectation I wasn’t prepared for. After a moment of awkward silence, she said, “I should get back to the children.”
“Would you do me the honor of allowing me to call on you?” My words came out in a rush.
Even so, she smiled shyly, saying, “I would find that most agreeable.”
* * *
—
MY DELIGHT over the prospect of calling on Miss Atwater was tempered by my reluctance to entertain the notion that my cousin was responsible for the theft of the Grey Ghost.