“Mrs. Douglas didn’t mention her when we spoke.”
Samantha stepped up beside them. “Would you like to fly over the house again?”
“Yes, please.”
After Samantha spoke with the pilots, the plane circled above Breydon Court one more time. Then it headed west toward the Atlantic.
“Are you going to sleep this trip?” Quenby asked.
“Only the second half, and you should sleep too.” He pointed at his laptop screen. “Do you know they have special passes so you don’t have to wait in line for Space Mountain?”
“Everyone knows that.”
Her sarcasm didn’t deter him. “Will you ride Space Mountain with me?”
“You’re like a kid.”
“Will you?” he persisted.
“I’m not big on theme park rides.”
He sighed. “I suppose we can stick to Winnie the Pooh.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going into the park.”
“Dream slayer.”
She’d let him think she was only trying to douse his dreams instead of avoiding her own nightmare.
They flew out over the coastline of England, above a lineup of wind turbines twirling like the batons of a majorette troupe—owned by Arrow Wind, Lucas informed her. Then he unbuckled his seat belt. “Mr. Knight wants to conference with us.”
Quenby followed him back toward the leather couch. “Does Mr. Knight travel very often in this jet?”
“Not anymore, though his executives use it often to meet with other companies around the world. I think . . .”
“What?” she pressed.
“I suppose having a plane makes Mr. Knight feel more secure, as if he can escape quickly if necessary.”
At the press of a button, a television screen slid up from a bureau across from the couch. Seconds later, Lucas had connected them with Mr. Knight, and the older man’s greeting boomed through the cabin. It was three in the morning on the Pacific coast, and Quenby wondered when the man slept.
He greeted both of them and then called out, “Hello, Samantha.”
“Good morning, Mr. Knight.”
“Are you treating my passengers right?”
“I’m planning to spoil them, sir.”
“You better warn their waistlines,” he said.
“They could both stand to gain a pound or two.”
When he returned the laugh, Quenby rested back against the cool leather. Not only was his mind clear; Mr. Knight seemed to be in a jovial mood. And it comforted her, knowing that the man had surrounded himself with employees who were like family to him. Samantha, she suspected, had worked for him for a number of years, like Jack and Eileen.
The aroma of strawberries and espresso drifted through the cabin as Quenby recapped what she’d discovered about the Terrells. Mr. Knight didn’t speak until she was done.
“Where did Brigitte go after Olivia died?” he asked.
“I’m trying to find that out,” she said, but it was like the ocean itself had swept over Brigitte’s trail now, erasing it from the sand.
“If Mrs. Douglas was right, who do you think killed Eddie?”
“I suspect either Olivia or Lady Ricker asked one of Hitler’s men to do it.”
“You don’t think Brigitte—”
“Only if she was in danger,” she assured him.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sad again. “Whoever killed Eddie could have taken Brigitte’s life as well.”
The sadness of that thought lingered for a moment before Lucas spoke. “Quenby took some pictures of the cemetery and the Mill House this morning.”
She reached for her iPad and typed in the password for their private website. “I’ll post them right now.”
As she worked, Lucas told Mr. Knight about her odd visit from Evan Graham. Mr. Knight inched toward his computer, his face ballooning on their screen. “You have to be careful, Quenby. There are still Fascists in England today.”
“Mr. Graham isn’t a Fascist,” she said.
“But the Ricker family might go to great lengths to keep Lady Ricker’s secret.”
In her work, she knew that people did indeed try to cover things up, but she didn’t want to be paranoid. “The only way the Ricker family has threatened me is through legal action.”
“Then you’ll need a good lawyer.” Mr. Knight glanced between them. “In fact, I’d like Lucas to accompany you wherever you go this next week.”
When she looked at Lucas, he winked at her. Neither of them told Mr. Knight that he was already accompanying her almost everywhere she went—and that she had accompanied him to a Hough family dinner.
“Anything else before you enjoy Samantha’s cuisine?” Mr. Knight asked.
Lucas’s eyes were on her, and she fidgeted under his gaze. “Do you have anything else, Quenby?”
She swallowed hard, knowing she needed to ask Mr. Knight another question before they landed in Florida. One of the hardest questions she’d ever asked before.
“When we met at your house, you read from a file about me,” she said slowly. “Does that include more information on my mother?”
“It does.”
She took a deep breath. “Could I read it?”