“You’ve read about her death online since we left the hospital?”
“Yes. At length.” She might have gotten a wee bit obsessed. “Also, if a killer succeeded in taking her out and tried the same with you, why did he fail in your case?”
“Because I’m an athletic specimen.”
She snorted. “And why would someone try to kill you by dumping you in the ocean? That’s an impractical way to kill someone.”
“I hear you. But isn’t it harder to believe that Alexis jumped off a cliff and then, fifteen months later, I’m coincidentally found bobbing on the ocean with amnesia?”
He had a point. “All of it is hard to believe.” Remy frowned. “If Alexis’s death and your injuries are connected by the same villain, that means the villain is still on the loose.”
“Unless I killed him in a fight the day I went overboard. I’m an athletic specimen.”
“You were the kind of athlete who was good at turning a steering wheel.” She swept toward the back of the house. “I’ll get my jacket, then we’ll go to your house, and I’ll help hunt for your research.”
Inside the guest room, she caught her reflection in the mirror that balanced on top of cardboard boxes like a cherry on top a sundae. She scrunched her nose. Her white T-shirt and olive-colored cargo pants looked rumpled and dusty from the day’s work, and why were her glasses hiding in her hair? She plucked them free. After finger-combing the wavy strands, she secured her hair in a side ponytail. Then she applied the lip gloss she found rattling around at the bottom of her purse. This would have to do.
She did not want to look appealing for Jeremiah Camden anyway.
Obviously.
When she returned to the living area, she heard Jeremiah saying, “Perk up, Wendell. You can stop sorting glassware because I’m going to take her off your hands.”
The degree of gratitude in Wendell’s voice as he thanked Jeremiah was not complimentary to her in the least.
Jeremiah led the way to a sleek, royal blue car parked at the curb.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A 2017 BMW M5.” He opened the passenger door for her. Once she was settled, he took the driver’s seat.
“A bit . . . showy, don’t you think?” she asked.
“This is the least showy car I have.” They zoomed off.
She clutched her purse against her torso as the speedometer climbed. “Why would anyone need more than one car?”
“You’re adorable.”
He commanded his phone to pull up directions to Appleton, which reminded her that his amnesia would have stolen his memory of how to get around Groomsport just as surely as everything else.
After several minutes, they flashed by an open gate and followed a private drive uphill. Appleton introduced itself to her in fleeting glimpses. Then, gradually, made its full magnificence known. The mansion was as self-important as a Downton Abbey butler, bristling with the secrets of its past residents.
“A fitting home for a duke,” she remarked. “Is there a pond nearby? If so, all that’s missing is for you to dive into it wearing breeches and a white shirt.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s a Mr. Darcy reference.”
“I’m proud to say I don’t get it.”
They parked and approached the front. “Are the servants going to be standing in a line outside to greet us?” she asked.
“I think I might have a cleaning crew, but as far as I can tell, no servants.”
She stopped to crane her neck up at the façade. “Whywould any sane person choose to live in a building of this size? It’s ludicrously enormous.”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question. The short answer is that Jeremiah 1.0 chose this place because he liked it.” He held the door for her, and she stepped inside a cavernous living area.
