Pirate by Clive Cussler Page A

kitchen table, saying, “Maybe we should all sit down. Try to relax.”
    â€œGood idea,” Larayne said, bringing the bottle with her. “Bree, get yourself a glass and join me.”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œNo you’re not. They almost killed you. Have a shot.”
    Bree filled a glass with water instead, then took a seat next to her cousin. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”
    â€œIt grows on you,” Larayne said, taking a long sip.
    Remi, worried that the woman would be in no condition to speak to the police by the time they showed up, decided it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions of her own. “I hope you don’t mind my prying, but what exactly is going on here?”
    Larayne shook her head. “I wish I knew.”
    â€œSomething to do with your father’s map book?”
    Larayne exchanged glances with Bree. “Maybe if my father had sold it to the buyer I found, none of this would have happened.”
    Remi asked, “You found him a buyer?”
    â€œI did,” Larayne said. “Someone who was willing to pay way more than he could have gotten for that book.”
    â€œWho?” Remi asked, trying to ignore Sam’s pacing as he went from window to window, then down the hall to the front of the house.
    â€œI don’t remember his name.”
    â€œI do,” Bree said. “Someone named Charles Avery.”
    â€œWhoever.” Larayne eyed her drink. “All I know is, my father suddenly backed out and he wouldn’t say why.”
    â€œHe was worried,” Bree replied. “He’d received those phone calls asking about his copy. And then that strange visit from someone asking about it. I think it was the timing of it all.”
    Sam had returned to the kitchen and was peering out the window down the long drive. “Timing?” he asked, turning toward them.
    Bree nodded. “My uncle learned about the theft of the endpapers from other first edition copies. I think he started to suspect that someone might be trying to target him for the same reason.”
    â€œReasonable assumption,” Sam said. “How was it we became involved?”
    â€œWhen I started working for your wife, I told him about the Fargo Foundation and the charities that benefited from your treasure hunting. That’s when he suggested that if his book could go to someone like the two of you, it would take a great weight off his shoulders.”
    â€œThat explains it,” Larayne said, sounding none too happy. “He wouldn’t sell to the collector because he was looking to sell it to you.”
    Remi thought about the circumstances leading to her visit at the store, telling Bree, “He didn’t seem to be expecting us when we arrived.”
    â€œSorry about that,” Bree replied. “I called the morning you left for San Francisco, but he was so distracted when I told him you were coming. He’d received another call, this one threatening.” She gave an apologetic smile. “I guess I thought once the book was out of his store that everything would be fine.”
    â€œRight,” Larayne said. “And now he’s dead.”
    Bree laid her hand on top of her cousin’s. “I tried to go see him that night after I found out about the robbery.” Her eyes shimmered. “I’m so sorry. I never made it. They ran me off the road on the way to the airport. Next thing I knew, I ended uphere at Larayne’s.” She brushed the tears from her cheeks, trying to smile at Remi. “They said they were going to kill us if we didn’t get the book. I thought they meant it. I would never have—”
    â€œBree,” Remi said. “I don’t doubt for an instant that you did what you had to do.”
    Sam started pacing past each window again, looking out. And each time he neared them, both Bree and Larayne turned worried glances his way. Remi smiled at the