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“Thanks, I’ve got it,” I tell him. “Well, I better get started, before someone grabs my computer time.”
“Oh, yes, you can’t dawdle. It’s cutthroat out there,” he cracks. “I’ve seen people come to blows in the periodical section.”
“Really?” I blink.
“Polite blows,” he corrects himself. “More like nudges. With plenty of apologies.”
I laugh again. There’s something about his earnest smile that makes me think of Miles. And then I feel it, that same familiar pang of grief that always comes when I think of him.
I shift the magazines in my arms. “Nice to meet you, James.” I nod again, and head for my study carrell.
Focus, Avery. You can’t waste any time.
Getting to work, I start by browsing through the newspapers. I’ve flagged any article that mentions Sebastian or the company, but I don’t find much scandal there, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve exhausted this resource.
Turning to the computer, I decide to investigate the information I found today. I pull out my slip of scribbled information and start with one of the names on the paperwork I found.
Larkspur Services Incorporated.
I put it in the search bar and check the results.
It’s a psychiatric facility.
What?
I had no idea what to expect, but this is a shock. Did Sebastian have some kind of breakdown? Or someone close to him? The invoices were from a decade ago, so it could have been anyone.
Feeling like I might finally be on the right track, I check the address in Sussex next. Sebastian’s been paying household bills there for years through an anonymous trust, and it looks like it’s just a residential home. I do a little digging, but I find out that it last sold ten years ago. The information I find doesn’t list a buyer at that time, but I have to wonder if it was Sebastian. Why else would he be paying the bills there?
And why would he hide it, not in his own name?
I pull up image searches and find some photos of the house. It’s a pretty little cottage with stables in the middle of nowhere. Not exactly Sebastian’s lavish style.
I sit back and think hard. I knew from my experience with the Barretti crime family that large amounts of money like this are usually used to hide something juicy. Skeletons people want to stay, deep in the closet.
Blackmail? A payoff? A secret child?
That thought is accompanied by an unwelcome twinge of jealousy. I force myself to ignore it. What I need to focus on is whatever—or whoever—is down in Sussex.
If Sebastian is hiding something there, it could be the key to everything.
My alarm on my phone buzzes, reminding me it’s time to get back to Bond Street, especially if I’m going to pick up some random purchases to keep my cover story straight. Reluctantly, I pack up my stuff and turn in the newspapers before heading for the exit.
I’ve just stepped outside, when I hear a voice behind me. “Wait up!”
I turn. It’s James, the guy from before. He catches up to me. “I think you dropped this,” he says, holding out a fancy looking fountain pen.
I shake my head. “Thanks, but that’s not mine.”
“Oh, OK. I thought it might be your lucky pen, or maybe I’m the only geek who has one of those,” he adds, looking bashful.
I laugh.
“I wish I was joking,” James continues. “It’s this red ballpoint, and I swear, I almost failed my history finals because I left it at home.”
“Almost,” I say. “That means you did just fine without it.”
“I mean, I’m a penniless post-doc student, so I don’t know how ‘fine’ things turned out for me.” James grins. “But I do have money for coffee, if you’d like one?” he nods to the coffee cart, set up on the sidewalk.
