They both stopped in their tracks.
Sam looked at Remi. “We need to find that man.”
But when they turned back toward the champagne tent, he and his nephew were gone.
2
It took Sam and Remi a few minutes to find the Viscount and his nephew in the crowd. They’d moved to the other side of the champagne tent, both men looking out toward the ocean.
“I don’t think they’re interested,” the younger man, Oliver, said.
“They just want to think about it. They . . .” His shoulders fell. “All those families. What do I tell them?”
Oliver put his arm around his uncle. “We’ll think of something. I promise.”
Remi elbowed Sam.
He cleared his throat, giving both men time to compose themselves. “Mr. Payton?”
The two men turned, Oliver looking surprised, his uncle looking confused.
“A few more questions.” Sam was about to ask why they’d contacted his mother, of all people, when that feeling of being watched hit him a second time. He scanned the crowd, catching sight of a broad-shouldered man with a military buzz cut. The man’s gaze slid past Sam as though searching for someone else, waving as he walked in that direction. When Sam turned to see who he was waving to and found no one, he looked back, discovering the man had disappeared into the crowd.
While it was highly possible the matter was all very innocent, something told Sam that Oliver and his uncle had been the focus of attention. Clearly, they needed to learn more from them, but not out here in the open. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, where we can talk.”
“Lunch,” Remi said. “I’m starved. Assuming we can get in anywhere.”
“I’ll call the hotel,” Sam said. Getting into any of the restaurants on the Peninsula was almost impossible during the Concours d’Elegance. As always, Sam and Remi were staying at the Inn at Spanish Bay, and that certainly helped when last-minute reservations were needed. He called the concierge desk, glad when Kimberley answered the phone. “Sam Fargo,” he said, having to move aside when a man who was intently reading his program almost bumped into him. “Any chance you can find us a table for lunch? Party of four?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Mr. Fargo. I’ll just confirm with the restaurant. Please hold.”
Sam’s eye caught the man who’d nearly run into him as he walked quickly away, suddenly with purpose. The moment he met up with Mr. Buzz Cut, the same person who’d been watching them earlier, Sam realized it’d been no accident. They or the Paytons were being followed. “Why don’t we start wandering toward the shuttle,” Sam said to Remi, eager to lose their tail, wondering if there were any more out there.
They didn’t have to walk far. Kimberley got back to him, said she’d secured a table at the Taproom, one of the restaurants at the Lodge.
Drinks ordered, Sam eyed their two guests. “My mother was a bit vague about why you needed to meet with us. If you wouldn’t mind filling us in . . . ?”
The old man leaned toward his nephew. “Were we looking for him?”
“Yes,” Oliver said. “The car, remember?”
“Quite right.” Albert nodded, his attention on Sam. “We thought you’d be the perfect benefactor for my car.”
Perfect benefactor, Sam decided, was an odd choice of words. “This Silver Ghost prototype that you mentioned?”
“The same.”
“Exactly how are you and my mother related?”
“Do I know your mother?”
Oliver smiled at his uncle. “Second cousins, isn’t it?”
“Ah, Cousin Eunice.”
Interesting, since Sam’s mother had never mentioned this side of her family to him until this requested meeting suddenly came up. “She told me something about a loan,” Sam said, trying to get them back on track. “What is it you need the money for?”
“The short version is,” Oliver said, “that we’ve lost everything and we’re looking for a loan before they repossess our land and home. We’ve tried to sell off what we can to get by, but so many make their living off the land they rent from us, entire families—generations, even—we’re hesitant to make a deal that might displace them.”