The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

– AFRICAN PROVERB –

While Sam called Selma, Remi consoled her friend, wishing she had a way to reassure her that all would be well. “I think Sam’s right. There’s no way Warren’s murder is about the embezzled money.”

Before Renee could comment, Sam placed the phone on the table so the three of them could hear and see Selma on the video call. “No doubt,” Sam said, “our untimely arrival in Tunisia might’ve put a damper on whatever they were after.”

Selma agreed, saying, “Even Lazlo thinks there’s something more to this dig.”

Remi concurred. “He has a nose for these things.”

“If we’re lucky,” Selma continued, “one of those invoices you found belongs to the missing piece of mosaic. Find that mosaic, you might find out who’s behind this.”

“What invoices?” Renee asked.

“In this case,” Sam said, “the less you know—”

“I’m going to be arrested for murder, so if given the choice between the expedient route and the legal route …”

“Point taken.” He told her about the midnight visit to the antiquities shop.

Renee listened intently. “That sounds like the same place that Hank went to look for the mosaic. It was already sold by the time he got there. What I don’t understand is what led you there?”

“It was actually Remi and—”

Remi, not wanting to add to Renee’s burden by implicating Amal, kicked Sam’s foot and said, “It was supposed to be a surprise. We wanted to find Echo so you could get the mosaic repaired. Right, Sam?”

“Right,” he said, recovering quickly. “The invoices are all antiques and art houses.”

“And what?” Renee asked. “You’re just going to walk in and ask them?”

Remi smiled. “In a roundabout way.”

Renee’s brows rose as she looked from Remi to Sam. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Since last night,” Remi replied. “Selma put together a legend for us, like the spies use. I can’t wait to see what she’s come up with. Auction house? Buyer for a museum?”

“Or,” Selma said, “Mr. and Mrs. Longstreet, a well-to-do husband and wife in search of the perfect antique.”

“Longstreet,” Remi said on hearing her maiden name. “Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think, Renee?”

Sam moaned, then asked Selma, “You couldn’t come up with a better name?”

“Smith was taken.”

Sam gave a mock sigh. “There’ll be no living with her over this. So, Selma, who are the Longstreets this time around?”

“Since we had some good success with your import/export business when you were searching for the Gray Ghost, I tapped into that website and changed it up a bit, moving you from Texas to Boston. This time, you’re searching for antiquities for your winter home in the South of France.”

“Old money,” Remi said. “Always a good sign.”

“In this case, the Longstreet fortune was made during Prohibition, smuggling alcohol, which is why you’re not averse to the bending of the rules—should they decide to search your names on the Web. By the way, I looked up each of the five businesses from the invoices. They all deal in questionable goods.”

“Perfect,” Remi said. “We’re all about the gray area.” Her smile faded at the tension she saw in Renee’s face. Remi gave her a thorough hug. “You’ll be out in no time.”

“Maybe not that soon,” Renee said. “But knowing you and Sam are here, and Mr. Torres will be with me when I turn myself in, I feel a whole lot better.”

With Renee safely in the hands of the embassy, they got to work immediately. Lazlo played chauffeur, parking just out of sight—ready backup in case anything went wrong. They struck out on the first two locations. As Sam and Remi entered the third establishment, which billed itself as an art gallery, a young woman sitting at a mahogany desk looked up at them, her expression vacant. “Vous désirez, s’il vous plaît?”

Remi’s demeanor was equally vacant as she perused the interior. Though French was one of the many languages she spoke fluently, she often found it useful to pretend she knew only English. “You were recommended by my interior designer,” she said and looked at the woman. “I was told that if I wanted authenticity, this was the place to visit.”