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She pressed the blinking light. “Mr. Northcott? It just occurred to me that my tram stop isn’t too far away from your address. Since I’m working late tonight, I can bring the papers by on my way home.”
“How long? I have to leave in an hour.”
Sam brought his hands together, pulled them apart, indicating she needed to stretch the time. They needed to wait for dark.
Remi gave him a thumbs-up. “Unfortunately, I’ll need to fax a copy to Mr. Cooke to have him sign off on it. He’s in a dinner meeting with a client and can’t be disturbed. But if you’re willing to delay a few hours, I should be able to reach him after. Say, around ten or half past?”
“I’m the paranoid type, so don’t be surprised if I search you for weapons when you come in.”
She disconnected, and Sam outlined the plan. At half past ten, they drove to Allegra’s to drop off Remi for the short walk to her house. She must have sensed Sam’s anticipation as she slipped out. “Don’t worry, Fargo, I’ve got this.”
80
The knock at the door startled Allegra, even though she’d heard Dex talking on the phone and knew someone from the solicitor’s office was dropping by. She’d been pinning her hopes on that email Trevor had sent to the private detective, but he’d never received a response. Realizing that they were truly on their own, she’d urged Trevor to continue typing the journal, but at a slower pace.
He was in there now.
She spent her time in the kitchen, pretending to be busy. Allegra stepped out, saw Dex walking to the front window, resting his hand on the butt of his gun as he parted the curtain to look out. Satisfied, he moved to the door and opened it a few inches.
“Mr. Northcott?” came a woman’s voice. “Chelsea Roberts, from the solicitor’s.”
Dex opened the door wider. “You have the papers?”
“In my satchel. Might I come in?”
He stepped aside, let her in, and, as usual, threw the dead bolt on the door.
“My card,” she said, handing it to him. “I’ve jotted down Mr. Cooke’s mobile, should you need it later. Is Allegra here?” she asked, looking around expectantly. “I’ll need her signature as well.”
“Allegra!” Dex called.
She stepped out, staring at the slender red-haired woman standing in the dim light of the front room. “Just tidying up. Who’s this?”
The woman moved into the light, her smile somewhat familiar, as she held a card toward Allegra. “Chelsea Roberts. From your uncle’s solicitor.”
Allegra took the card, doing a double take when she saw the handwritten message scrawled across the back of the card:
TREVOR TO ATTIC. THEN FOLLOW.
She stood there, frozen, realizing at once who the woman was.
“Something wrong?” Dex asked.
Before she had a chance to respond, Remi stepped in, looked at the card, plucked it from her. “How terribly embarrassing. My grocery list.” Remi handed her a second card, saying, “This one has Mr. Cooke’s mobile. Emergencies always arise in these odd cases. Shall I set up on the table?”
Allegra looked at the new card, saw a mobile number jotted on it, then back at Remi, amazed at how calm she appeared as she opened her briefcase on the table, carefully settin
g her mobile phone next to it. “Yes, of course. Would you like a cuppa?” replied Allegra.
“Thank you, no. We really do need to get moving. Is your son about?”
“Trevor!” Dex called. “Get out here!”
Trevor emerged from the office, his expression guarded.
Remi offered a bland smile. “So sorry. Didn’t mean for you to call him just yet. Perhaps you might want him to wait upstairs while we discuss the particulars?”
“Why?” Dex asked.
