Once back at Drayco’s townhome and with Sarg’s new glass bowl buckled and tie-wrapped into the agent’s car, Drayco waved him off and headed toward an unfamiliar address on his own. Sarg had offered to go with him on this trek, too, but Drayco knew it would take an hour on I-95 for Sarg to arrive at his Fredericksburg home. Even longer if the usual tie-ups and accidents were part of the equation.
Besides, this was a more delicate and personal errand, and Drayco wasn’t sure he wanted Sarg as a witness. He surveyed his target and the grounds, noting the ordinary white clapboard house. But it was the building in the rear that interested him more, an oversized garage large enough to hangar a plane—make that a Learjet.
He headed straight for the larger building, where he heard voices and faint banging. The door was open, and he didn’t bother to knock.
An ostrich-sized copper and silver bird with silverware fanning out as wing feathers greeted him as he stepped inside. In a far corner of the cavernous space, he also spied a metal horse crafted out of hundreds—thousands?—of metal scrap parts. From a distance, it looked real enough to gallop out of the building.
The voices hadn’t stopped when he entered. He looked around for the source, spying two blonde heads. As he got closer, one of the two women saw him and said, “You’re a few minutes early.” But when he turned to her companion half-hidden behind an easel, there was just stunned silence.
Nelia Tyler sat perched on a tall stool, with Joyelle Babineaux seated in front of the easel, sketching Nelia’s likeness onto a canvas. Drayco and Nelia looked at each other with equal parts shock and discomfort.
Drayco asked, “What are you doing here?”
Nelia started to reply when Joyelle beat her to it. “I’m having her pose for a new sculpture because I think she makes the perfect model. I’m paying her, of course.”
As Drayco knew all too well, Nelia needed the money, even with her two part-time jobs. Law school wasn’t free. He blurted out, “What are you going to call it? ‘Tyler Tin’?”
Joyelle grinned at the pun, but Nelia had no reaction and just stared at the floor. Maybe she suspected, as Drayco did, that Joyelle was playing matchmaker? Drayco wasn’t amused, and from Nelia’s flushed face, he guessed she wasn’t either.
Nelia checked her watch. “I’ve really got to get back to the books. I’ve got an important exam in a couple of days.” She hopped off her chair and turned to Joyelle. “Do you have all the material you need?”
Joyelle put down her charcoal pencil and studied her drawing. “I think this will do. And I also have the photographs I took of you.”
Nelia hesitated, then said, “I could stay a little longer if you think it’s necessary.” She gave Drayco a brief glance as she chewed on her lip.
“That’s okay, dear. If I need you to drop by again, I’ll call. We can arrange something later. Tu es un si belle modèle.”
Nelia grabbed her jacket. Drayco walked her to the door and into the little courtyard outside, even though he wasn’t sure she’d welcome the company. When they were out of Joyelle’s earshot, he said, “I hope she’s paying you well.”
“Oh, she is. Every little bit helps.” Nelia rubbed her arm. “Tim is making new demands through his attorney. The expenses are adding up fast. I was hoping the divorce would be easy.”
“It should be. He was at fault.”
She grimaced. “Now he’s claiming my neglect drove him to the affair. Too busy with work. And he’s trying to blame you, too. He claims we had our own affair before he and I separated.”
Drayco felt his fists clenching into tight balls. Calm down, Drayco. Having a stroke would be precisely what Tim would want. “You could have some of the money Harry Dickerman gave me for the opera house restoration.”
Her face flushed even redder. “I don’t need anybody’s charity. Least of all yours.”
“Then think of it as a loan. Without the enormous interest from a bank.”
“Not financial interest, you mean.”
Drayco stared at her. “You don’t actually think I’d take advantage of you over a little loan?”
She sighed. “I didn’t mean it that way. More emotionally. Psychically. Spiritually. Whatever.”
Drayco uttered a sigh of his own. They’d never argued like this before that one intimate night they’d shared. Maybe he half-regretted that night now, but at the same time . . . no. He really didn’t.
Nelia said, “I have to go,” and with a wave, she added, “Guess I’ll see you at Benny’s office some time?”
He nodded, a little relieved by the olive branch she’d thrown him. He watched her drive away before returning to the art studio, where he sought out Joyelle.
She looked up from her sketching. “I hope Nelia got off okay.”
“She did.” Drayco studied the drawing Joyelle had made. “That’s pretty good. And you can create a sculpture from that?”
“Of course. I mostly make things from my imagination. But this time, I felt I needed an actual human for inspiration.”
“Perhaps you can help me with a little inspiration. I’d like to know more about your husband’s death. And the hit-and-run.”
She leaned against the stool where Nelia had been sitting. “Dieu accorde la paix à son âme.”
“I don’t want to disturb his peace unnecessarily, but sometimes I have to ask unpleasant questions.”
“It was long ago. Happened at night, but you probably know about the dingy European headlights on those cars they drive. Well, back then, anyway. They didn’t illuminate much. Not roads, animals, or people.”
“You were estranged from him at the time?”
She stared at Drayco. “You must mean the affair,” and then she grimaced. “I haven’t been back to France, or even Europe, since. Too painful.”
“You left the intelligence service over it.”
“It’s true. I did.”
“Were you involved with that same resistance group as your husband, the Liberty Legion?”
Joyelle was serene as she studied Drayco. “Your investigative skills are impressive. Not too many people know about that.”
She hopped onto the stool.”My husband went deep inside the resistance. And was gone a lot. He was far more interested in the job than me, and I guess that’s why I had an affair.” She paused and then added with a sigh, “I think we married too young. A familiar story.”
“Was the hit-and-run related to that undercover work of his?”
“No, and they later arrested a local drunk, un ivrogne.”
“Do you have his name?”
She shook her head. “Wouldn’t matter. He died not too long afterward, himself.”
“You didn’t share your husband’s work with the Liberty Legion?”
“My work was . . . different. I’m afraid I can’t say more. NDAs and all. Look, I don’t mean to belittle Gerard’s work and what he accomplished. But ultimately, it was too much of a strain on a marriage.”
She stared at the sketch Nelia had posed for. “We both went down the rabbit hole, as you say. But I still have the utmost respect for what my husband did, for what the resistance did, and how they stood up to forces far greater than they. It was a David and Goliath moment.”
“Are you still in contact with any members?”
“I lost touch with them after the fall of the Soviet Union decades ago.” She studied Drayco again with the same inscrutable expression, which made him believe she must have been very good at her intelligence job.
She added, “You’re wondering if I’m up to no good and somehow involved with your current case?”
“Are you?”
“I am not. But if you’d like me to give you all the names of the surviving members, or the latitude and longitude of the hit-and-run or whatever else you seek, I’ll do it. If it will set your mind at ease.”
“It might be a start.”
“Ah, Scott.”A little peek of both amusement and sadness parted her veiled expression for a moment. “I was truly wishing we could be friends. I adore your father, and we’re going to be spending more time together. All three of us. Couldn’t you try?”
“I just have my father’s best interests at heart.”
“I really hope you do.”
He left her, seething a bit as he drove away, but the more he drove, the more he calmed down. That is until something Joyelle said hit him like a bulldozer and made him angry at himself for not seeing it sooner.
The coded message, the numbers, their values—it all made sense. Latitude and longitude. Had to be! He put his foot on the gas even as the traffic cop in his brain reminded him it wouldn’t do to get a speeding ticket. Or worse. But now that he thought he finally had the key to that damned puzzle, he only wished his car really was an airplane.