Pirate (Fargo Adventures 8)

“Which explains Avery’s obsession with trying to get it back.”

“Part of his obsession, you mean. I’m sure the other part has to do with finding the treasure for himself.”

“Good point.” He straightened the stack of papers, then returned them to the envelope. “Let’s hope we locate it before he does.”

Selma skyped them early the next morning. She was seated at her office desk. “Wendy and Pete were able to make some headway on enhancing the photos, and Lazlo’s working on deciphering the map as we speak.” She held up the improved copy of the photo, pointing to the side of it that was still too dark to make out clearly. “Not the best lighting, even with the enhancement. And there are a few symbols worn too smooth to read. We’re not quite sure what they are.”

“Bottom line . . . ?” Remi asked.

“Lazlo has enough to work with, but something could be lost in the translation.”

Lazlo leaned into view. “Quite right. But I’m hopeful it’s nothing too drastic. Like sending you to South America when you need to go to North America.”

Sam and Remi looked at each other, then the tablet screen. Sam said, “We’re headed to South America?”

“No,” Lazlo said. “I was merely giving you an example of what could go wrong with a few letters missing. South versus North. That sort of thing.”

“So where are we going?” Remi asked.

“Good question,” he said. “If Miss Crowley’s information is accurate—much is dependent on her research, and it seems that was done as a result of childhood tales, never a—”

“We get it,” Sam said.

“Right-o. Anyway, it looks as though the person you need to contact next is Nigel Ridgewell.”

“Ridgewell?” Sam said. “You’re sure?”

“Quite. He’s the resident expert in Old English. Former professor. We’ll need his help to translate what I’ve deciphered on the map—unless, of course, you want to wait until we find another expert.”

“This should be interesting,” Sam said. “He happens to be the person who stole Madge Crowley’s research.”

Thirty-eight

Colin Fisk hid his shock when he saw Alexandra Avery standing in the middle of his hotel lobby. He gave her a bland smile as he approached. “Mrs. Avery,” he said. “I had no idea you were in London.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she replied, her expression as neutral as his. “I like surprises, though. Don’t you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I expect the same thing you are. Searching for this mysterious treasure that my husband’s so obsessed with. Any luck so far?”

“We’re making progress.”

“Hmm. And the Fargos? They’re not getting in your way?”

“Not in the least.” The fact she knew about the Fargos bothered him, although he told himself he shouldn’t be surprised. During the time he’d been employed by Charles Avery, he’d come to realize that the man’s wife wasn’t quite the inept socialite that Charles had made her out to be. “Does Mr. Avery know you’re here?”

She laughed. “Hardly. The last thing I need is to have him looking over my shoulder. Actually, I’ve come to head you off. Include me in the hunt or expect that the funds my husband is using

to finance your venture will suddenly disappear.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m sure he mentioned that all his assets are frozen?”

“He did.”

“He may have neglected to inform you that my forensic accountant has a very good lead on this income that Charles seems to be tapping into to pay your salary. Especially since it’s coming from my hidden account. And technically, since I’m funding this venture, I’m willing to overlook it for now. That is, if you’re willing to overlook my being here.” Again, that sweet smile.

Fisk held out his hand. “Welcome to the party.”

She shook hands with him. “So glad you could see it my way. So . . . what’s next on your agenda?”