“I can shuffle things around. Bring her up now, Sherlock. Goodness, I can’t wait to meet a real live English aristocrat.”
Sherlock punched off. “Mr. Maitland will see us now, but before we go up, does anyone else know where you are? Anyone in your family, any friends?”
“My father and I made a pact. I contact him on my burner mobile once a week so he knows I’m all right, and yes, he knows I was coming to you. The only other people outside of MI5 who know I’m no longer in England are my younger brother, Tommy, and his drug dealer, Carlos. I hired Carlos to secure the faked passport. But even he didn’t know where I went.” She gave a crooked smile. “Believe me, even if he knew, Carlos is the last person who would rat me out, as you Yanks say. And of course, there’s Hurley. I imagine after three months of trying to kill me, he even knows where my birthmark is.”
“Good. The fewer people who know where you are, the better. Where are you staying?”
“Hurley called a car service and they picked me up in Claxson and brought me here. I haven’t booked a room anywhere.” She smiled—a lovely smile, Sherlock thought—and added, “I’ll rent a car here. Don’t worry about my driving. Hurley taught me to drive on the wrong side of the road in his big F-150, so I’m not a danger, even in your awesome traffic tangles that look to be nearly as bad as London’s.”
Sherlock made a decision on the spot. “Then you’ll bunk with us for a couple of days until we figure out the best way to proceed. I hope you’ll like a five-year-old little boy who’ll want you to play basketball and a terrier named Astro who snores and licks your face. Here comes Dillon. I guess we’ll be late to lunch.” She patted her stomach. “It’s Taco Wednesday. Tacos are all I’ve wanted to eat for the past week, even cold in the mornings, with lots of salsa.”
Savich stopped by Sherlock’s desk, smiled at Elizabeth, and stuck out his hand. “It’s good to see you, Lady Elizabeth. I was on the point of calling John Eiserly but decided to hear from you why you’ve come to see us.”
Elizabeth wasn’t surprised he knew who she was. “Thank you, Agent Savich. Please don’t call John just yet. Please.”
Savich eyed her closely and slowly nodded.
Sherlock laid her hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “Dillon, Mr. Maitland’s expecting us. Let’s all go upstairs now and we can hear all about it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Titusville, Virginia
Wednesday
Rebel was on his feet in an instant. “Autumn, what don’t you want Tash to hear about his father? What’s happened?”
“I was speaking to Dillon last night, and he told me Tash’s father is being investigated for fraud and embezzlement from his own company and it would all come out soon. I told Mom and Dad, and he read in theWall Street Journalon his laptop that money is missing from the Navarro Investment Fund and Mr. Navarro was unavailable for questions.”
Rebel stared at her, his mind racing. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t Archer, simply couldn’t be Archer. There was simply no way he would embezzle from his own company. Rebel remembered clearly how proud he’d been when he’d gotten his investment fund up and running. How could anyone possibly think he’d take his clients’ money and run off to Europe?
Rebel’s cell pinged a text.
Reports about my wrongdoing are untrue. I let my COO Carla Cartwright take over management of the portfolios when Celia died, my fault. Can’t come home until all is resolved. Arch
Rebel texted back:I know you didn’t do this, they’re making a mistake. Where are you?
Better you don’t know. Keep Tash safe.
Rebel took Autumn’s hand in his. “Autumn, you’re right. We won’t tell Tash about this yet, not until I can find out exactly what’s going on and who’s doing the investigating. Please tell your dad I’ll call him. He’ll know who’s in charge.”
“He said it was the FBI in Philadelphia and the SEC—he said that’s the Securities and Exchange Commission and they police businesses.” She gulped, looked frightened. “Dad looked really concerned. This is bad, sir, really bad, isn’t it?”
“It might be.” Rebel had two problems now—Tash and his father. He took Autumn’s shoulders in his hands. “Try not to worry, I’ll do enough for both of us.”
He saw the two kids off to go swimming in the Sweet Onion River. He knew he’d first speak to Joanna Merriweather about Tash, and then Sheriff Ethan Merriweather to get his thoughts about Archer and what he could do. He knew from Autumn her mother would be home until one o’clock today, when she was scheduled to lead a white water rafting adventure. Rebel had met her several times, believed she had both feet firmly planted in reality, prayed it was true. She had to be the best person to talk to about why Tash believed both he and Autumn had some sort of powers. And was this Uncle Blessed even real? Did Joanna know Autumn had told Tash he could look at a person and they’d do whatever he told them to? So many questions about both Tash and Archer.
His brain skipped to his brother. What if he was found guilty of embezzlement and sent to prison? Tash had lost his mother, he simply couldn’t lose his father too. Rebel didn’t lock the front door, never did, and decided to walk downtown. He heard a robin sing out and turned to look back. He’d built his house on a slight rise surrounded by pines, white oaks, and hemlocks a quarter mile from downtown Titusville.
He vaguely registered the weather was glorious, not too hot, with the mountains always there, like your best friendguarding your back, and the peaks spiderwebbed now with the late-morning mist.
He reached downtown, waved at locals, and stopped occasionally to chat though he was desperate to hurry, to get some answers. He remembered his brother’s grief after Celia died, how he’d drawn back from his business. The investigators weren’t stupid, Archer would be cleared sooner or later, he had to be. He wondered what would happen to Tash if Archer was found guilty of embezzlement and sent to prison. He wouldn’t think about it, the thought was unbearable. Tash couldn’t lose both his father and mother. Rebel couldn’t bear to lose his brother as he’d lost his sister-in-law, beloved by all of them.
At least he didn’t have to worry about his manuscript; it was in his editor’s hands now. His eleventh book, hard to imagine, and it had seemed like endless work, endless editing. Now he only had to hope his editor would like the book, as every author did—if the editor was happy with it, all would be good in the kingdom. He wondered if he’d still worry whether his editor would like his fiftieth book, if he wrote that many. He liked the title,Death Day, but would the marketing people think it wasn’t unique enough, or that it had been used too recently?
Focus, focus. The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted to his nose as he walked past Ms. Maude’s bakery, Treat Yourself.He saw there was already a line of tourists inside, but he hadn’t had breakfast yet, and he walked in. He chatted with Kelly, one of Maude’s teenage summer employees, a pretty girl who had a crush on Cork Thomas, owner of the Bountiful Wine Shop.He bought a piping-hot cinnamon roll with thick, hot white frosting oozing down the sides.
The cinnamon bun was history by the time he passed Tuber Willis’s nursery, Garden of Eden. Tuber, a skinny older dude who usually had black dirt under his fingernails, gave him a nod and a smile as he handed off a flat of yellow tulips to Mrs. Gray,a retired schoolteacher. He walked past Gerald’s Loft, a large B and B filled to the rafters in the summer, and nodded to Tollie Tolbert, retired FBI agent, who was sitting on a rocking chair in front of Gilly’s Market reading one of his endless spy novels.
