“The journal we don’t have. I doubt those Fargos are going to drop by and give it to us.”
“I’m quite sure you’re right,” she said, placing the dried plate in the cupboard, picking up another. “But we have the next best thing. Trevor.” She glanced at him, offering a slight smile, pleased to see that he was hanging on her every word. “So instead of having him sit down and tell us what’s in it, we have him write it down.”
“What good’s that going to do?”
“Even if they somehow get the journal from the Fargos, we—you’ll—have a head start. And with Trevor’s insight, if there’s anything to discover—”
“He’ll figure it out.”
“Exactly,” she said, running the dish towel over another plate.
“Except he already told Frank what he’d read.”
She nodded toward the trash, overflowing with empty bottles. “Between all the beer Frank drank and his pain pills, you think he’s going to remember even a tenth of what Trevor told him?”
Dex said nothing for several seconds, probably because he’d also been drinking. “How long do you think it’ll take him?”
“If he uses the computer, maybe a day or so.”
“Trev!” he yelled. “Get down here.”
Trevor took his time coming down the stairs, refusing to look at Dex, his eyes on her the whole time. “I’m tired.”
“I know,” she said. “But we need your help . . . I need your help,” she added, willing him to cooperate, hoping he’d read between the lines. “Do you think you could type up what you remember of the journal so that we could read it?”
His eyes flicked to his father, then back to her. “If I got some sleep. My brain’s too fuzzy. I’m tired.”
“It doesn’t have to be the whole thing,” she said, knowing that she needed something to show Dex or he’d change his mind come morning. She guided Trevor toward the office and into the desk chair, not giving him a chance to refuse. “Just a chapter.”
Turning the computer on, she hovered as only a mother could, moving the bills out of the way, tapping her finger on the business card, tucked in the corner of the blotter, left by the investigator when he’d shown up at her door to take the journal. “You can do this,” she said softly. “I know you can.”
Trevor poised his fingers over the keyboard, opening the word processing program. A blank document appeared, and he started typing.
Dex moved in beside her, and she rested her hand over the card, watching Trevor type. When she realized he was starting with the first chapter, she suggested he start later in the journal.
“I thought we wanted the whole thing,” Dex said.
“We do,” she said. “Eventually. But if we start where you fell asleep that afternoon, you’ll be able to finish it faster. Jonathon Payton was going to find Miss Atwater after she’d been kidnapped, and the detective was going to force Reginald Oren to help them capture the person who was behind the theft.”
“Start there,” Dex said.
Trevor lifted his hands from the keyboard. “I can’t concentrate with the two of you standing over me.”
Allegra glanced at Dex, relieved when he backed away. She followed him from the room, grateful when she heard Trevor typing, yet worried she might’ve been too subtle about what she wanted him to do.
69
JOURNAL OF JONATHON PAYTON, 5TH VISCOUNT WELLSWICK
1906
I raced home on Byron’s horse, not willing to believe that Miss Atwater was there until I saw her with my own eyes. Once I reached Payton Manor, I turned over the horse to our caretaker, ran into the house, through to the back and across the garden to the Dowager Cottage, throwing open the door. Reggie’s wife and child had gone to visit her mother, so I was surprised—and hopeful—to see a light on and Miss Atwater sitting at the pianoforte, plunking at the keys.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, once I’d caught my breath.
She stood, her expression one of confusion and surprise. “No, of course not. Merely worried about you. Your cousin happened by in his carriage, telling me that you sent him to pick me up, as you were worried about my safety. He said you went to fetch a night watchman.”
“My cousin?”