The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,92
said as Hank returned.
“Seriously?” Hank handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “How often do old friends drop by?” He looked over at Remi, saying, “I’ll personally drop LaBelle off at your hotel tomorrow morning. Sometimes she’s overdedicated to her job.”
“It’s settled,” Remi said, taking her friend’s hand in hers. “You’re coming to stay with me.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, watching Renee LaBelle’s face. Curiously, she seemed less than enthused at Remi’s announcement. Which was odd, considering the two women were fast friends.
Back at their hotel later that night, he pointed this out to Remi.
She dismissed his assessment entirely. “After finding Warren dead, I doubt anyone would act normal. Honestly, Fargo, I think you’re being a bit paranoid.”
“Pragmatic, not paranoid,” he replied. “There’s a discrepancy in the books, Warren’s dead, and, like it or not, you’ve got to talk to her about it. Tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
While the sun is shining, bask in it.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Late the following morning, beneath the shade of a large umbrella, Remi and Renee settled into their lounge chairs, two Bloody Marys on the table between them.
Remi picked up her glass, looking over at her friend. “Tell the truth. Aren’t you glad you came?”
She took a deep breath. “I needed this. Every time the phone rings, I jump. I haven’t been able to sleep since I saw Warren at the bottom of the villa, his blood all over the mosaic, and all I kept thinking about was that this is all my fault.”
“How can it be your fault?”
She again picked up her drink, stirring the stalk of celery in the glass. “As I said, the police think he came to steal another piece of the mosaic when he fell. The deck repair wasn’t quite finished. It is now, but I should have had made sure it was done before I left.”
“That’s hardly your fault.”
“How could he have been so desperate that he couldn’t come to me if he needed money? I know it wasn’t drugs, so what was it that drove him to steal?”
“Maybe he had a gambling problem.”
“Maybe . . .” The two women sipped their drinks in silence, staring out at the pool, where a middle-aged man was swimming a slow lap down the length. “What I really need is to get back to work. I’m worried the university’s going to find out about Warren’s death, the embezzlement, my accident, then cut their funding and send us all home before we finish.”
Hearing the worry in her voice, Remi decided to hold off asking any more questions about the books or about Warren. “Forget everything else. Tell me about the villa.” For the next hour, they let their imaginations run wild about what they might find beneath all the rubble once it was cleared. Hearing her friend so animated over the project reaffirmed Remi’s belief that she’d taken the right course of action. Plenty of time to address the embezzled funds later.
When the waiter appeared, they ordered refills of their drinks. Remi watched him walk across the grounds toward the gate, stopping to talk to two men, one wearing a white shirt and black slacks, the other in khaki pants and a green shirt. She wouldn’t have given them more than a look in passing except that the hotel employee suddenly looked in their direction, giving Remi the distinct feeling that she and Renee were the topic of conversation. “Do you know either of those men?” Remi asked.
Renee shaded her eyes and shook her head. “No clue.”
Curious, Remi watched as the two strangers walked through the gate. They seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place them.
The two men smiled as they neared, yet their implied friendliness failed to reach their eyes. Remi looked around for something she could use as a weapon. The only thing remotely adequate were Renee’s crutches—unfortunately, on the other side of the lounge chair out of reach.
It wouldn’t have mattered. The men quickly closed in, one grabbing an abandoned towel from the back of a poolside chair as he walked past. He used it to cover the gun he pulled from beneath his shirt.
“Come with us,” the man said, the barrel of his gun level with Remi’s head. “And don’t make a sound.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Noise and hunting don’t go together.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Nothing on Makao?” Sam asked, looking down at his phone, which was propped against the lamp on the desk for his video call. Pete shook his head. “Not yet. But they’re following up a few leads on some of his