The Gray Ghost (Fargo Adventures 10)

“Well, then,” Lazlo said, “I’ll give the banker a call and see if he has made any further progress.”

Selma picked up the slim volume. “Guess I better get back to the journal to see if Jonathon Payton ever rescued Miss Atwater.”

58

JOURNAL OF JONATHON PAYTON, 5TH VISCOUNT WELLSWICK

1906

’Twas the longest fifteen minutes of my life, hoping that Miss Atwater had not been injured, certain she must be frightened beyond all belief. As I rounded the corner and saw the darkened building of my father’s warehouse, I wondered if I’d misunderstood everything. Surely if anyone had been there, there’d be lights coming from within?

r /> Wary, I crouched down behind a short brick wall and worked my way in that direction. Something moved in the shadows ahead. Two men were standing at the garage door, one acting as lookout while the other worked at the lock.

I heard the scrape of wood as they slid open the large door, wherein I saw the moonlight gleaming off the grey bodywork of the missing Rolls-Royce.

Gripping the brass handle of my cane, I watched for a few more seconds. Only two thieves. Thank heavens.

I started forward.

* * *

—

“I WOULDN’T DO THAT.”

I turned, surprised to see my cousin. “Reggie. Why—” Only then did I notice the gun pointed at me. Until that moment, even with the incriminating evidence of seeing that car in our warehouse, I realized I’d been holding on to the belief that Reginald was innocent.

I could think of no reason as to why he’d stolen the car. Surely he knew that with the theft of the Ghost, and the imminent harm to the company as a result, we’d lose everything we’d invested. It wasn’t so much the loss of my own fortune. It was the families on our estate who’d lose their homes. And the children at the orphanage . . . So many who’d be displaced . . .

“I— I don’t understand,” I said.

“You never did.” Reggie stepped forward, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he smelled the scent of garbage clinging to my clothes. He nodded toward the warehouse. “Inside. I know how much you hate for anyone to cause a scene.”

The confirmation that my cousin was behind this theft hit me hard. “I trusted you . . .”

Reggie gave an unsympathetic smile. “Your misfortune, it seems. Had you been smart, you’d have stayed in the garbage heap and slept it off. You would’ve awakened merely a poor man, not a dead man. No matter.” He motioned with the pistol, pointing toward the garage. “Move. I’d rather not be the one to shoot you, but I will if need be.”

“Where’s Miss Atwater?”

“Safe enough. For now. I promise you, though, if you fail to cooperate, she’ll be the first to go.”

He raised the gun, and I started walking toward the building.

As I neared the warehouse, Reggie’s two men, both armed with knives, stood just inside the door.

I gripped my father’s cane, fearing not only what they’d do to me but also what might befall Miss Atwater. “Why?” I asked again, as Reggie pointed for me to enter.

“Why do you think? You’ve always had everything. I? Nothing. I thought you should know what it felt like.”

“But we’ve always provided for you.”

“Your father hated me. Hated my father to his dying day.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Eddie!” Reggie called out, pushing me into the doorway.

My head still muddled from the coshing, I stumbled forward. A heavyset man with a jagged scar on his cheek grabbed me and threw me to the ground. My father’s cane flew from my hand. Before I could reach for it, the scar-faced man dropped down, digging his knee into my back. “Mac,” he called out.