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“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.”
