“It was.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you were there. My lucky charm.”
“But you don’t have to rely on just winning tournaments, do you? You have sponsors and all that?”
“Not many. My agent— who is really my lawyer— isn’t great on finding them. He says just keep playing better.”
“What sponsors do you have now?”
“Landsdowne, they’re a freight company. And Freddy’s company gives me a bit.”
“I see.” He didn’t mention any actual golfing or sport companies, she noticed. His agent must be terrible at sponsorships. “What if—”
“What?”
“What if I tried to find you some real sponsors? Would your agent be upset about cutting into his turf?”
“Are you serious?” Conor looked at her again.
“Why not? You ask, negotiate, and write up a contract. It’s not hard, is it? You don’t need credentials to be a sports agent, do you?“
“Ah, no, or there wouldn’t be any. You’re a lawyer. That’s what Trevor is. I should ask him though.”
Elise smiled. This was exciting, a new venture. She should be nervous about it. She obviously knew zip about getting sport sponsors but something seemed just right about it. She would find someone to teach her. She could do it.
She squeezed Conor’s shoulder. “Ask him, please.”
When they returned to the cottage near Monmouth the place was in an uproar. Bree and Sally were shouting at their parents, Richard and Cecily, who were doing a good job returning fire. The four of them stood in the front hall where almost everyone in the household had gathered to listen to the clamor.
“I didn’t lose it, Daddy! I can’t believe you think I could lose it,” Bree was saying, her face red. “You never trust me with anything. I am always at fault.”
“Well, yes, Breezy,” Richard intoned. “Because you often are a major screw-up.”
“Richard!” Cecily shouted. “That’s not helpful.”
“Yes, please, Daddy,” Sally smirked. “Be more helpful.”
Merle, Pascal, Conor, and Elise edged around the argument and into the drawing room where a small crowd watched the action. Conor leaned into his mother. “What’s happening?”
Isabelle sighed, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. Her face looked like it was aging rapidly. “It’s the Jag.”
Elise remembered the pretty turquoise car in the carriage house garage. “What happened to it?”
“Apparently Bree drove it last night,” Isabelle said. “And lost it.”
Bree spun to face her aunt. “I parked it in the garage! Why does everyone blame me? Maybe someone stole it. Have you thought about that?”
Isabelle shrugged. “Maybe.”
Bree squealed, furious. She ran up the stairs. In a moment a door slammed somewhere. Sally and her parents stood silently, watching. Pascal frowned, thinking. He said, “Sally— is that your name?”
She nodded, startled.
“Were you with your sister last night?”
She glanced at her parents and nodded, hanging her head. Cecily cried, “Oh, for godssake. Why didn’t you say?”
“I didn’t think you’d like it— where we went,” she said in small voice.
“And where was that,” Pascal asked.
“A club, in Newport.”
Richard threw up his hands. “All the way to Newport on a snowy night? Are you suicidal?”
“Actually just bored, Daddy. It’s not that far.”
“What club, Sally?” Pascal kept on doggedly. Merle frowned at him. What was he getting at?
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Bree got a text about it. There was no sign or anything. I think it was a pop-up thing.”
“Where did you park the car in Newport?”
Sally stared at him. “What the hell does that matter?”
“Answer him,” Cecily demanded.
“The rail station lot. It was right next to the club. And free after all.” She bit a fingernail.
Conor stepped closer. “We’ve just been to Newport to pick up my hire car that was taken by Gabriel. It was parked at the rail station.”
“Did you see Gabriel in Newport?” Cecily asked her daughter.
“No, of course not.”
“Where did Bree leave the keys when you got back?” Pascal asked.
Sally rolled her eyes. “I left them on the floor, under the steering wheel.” She glared at her father. “Yes, I drove home. Bree had been drinking. I parked it in the garage, just where it had been.”
Pascal turned to Richard. “Does the rear compartment of the Jaguar lock always, or can it latch when it is unlocked?”
The older man blinked a few times. “There’s a b-button to open it then it locks with a key. I leave it unlocked while we’re here.” Richard’s eyes widened. “Are you saying someone came home with them? In the boot? Who would do that?”
“Someone who recognized the car,” Conor said.
Chapter Seven
They stood in the empty carriage house garage, staring at the spot where the Jaguar once was parked. Four black tire marks were all that remained. Pascal turned to Richard, the car owner, who looked sad and annoyed.
“When did you find it missing, sir?”
“About ten this morning. I always check on it mid-morning, except if we’re off shooting or something. I’ll start the engine, let it run a while, to keep everything warm and working.” He sighed. “My baby is gone.”
“He dusts it every day,” Cecily said, having followed them to the scene. “Sometimes he waxes it too.”
Richard squinted at her. “Your point, my love?”
Pascal and Conor stood with arms crossed, thoughtful. Conor said, “If Gabriel squirreled himself in the trunk, found the keys, and drove off in the middle of the night, wouldn’t someone have heard the engine and the door going up?”
“And down,” Merle added. She looked at the ceiling of the garage. “We’re under the sitting room though. Maybe Audette and Gini are heavy sleepers.”
“We should check to see if anything is missing upstairs,” Pascal said.
Richard passed the carriage house keys to Conor and they tramped up the rickety steps again. All but Richard and Cecily who walked silently back to the house.
Unlocking the door the four of them entered as they had the day before. The sitting room was cold and deserted now. Pascal pushed the second bedroom door wider, the staff’s room. The twin beds were cluttered
