“We’ll get to that.”

He checked tirelessly, office after office, asking the same questions, getting the same answers. No one in Rhondda had heard of Triquarter. Brianna let him take control, for the simple pleasure of watching him work. It seemed to her that he could adjust, chameleon-like, to whatever personality he chose.

He could be charming, abrupt, businesslike, sly. It was, she supposed, how he researched a subject he might write about. He asked endless questions, by turns cajoling and bullying people into answering.

After four hours she knew more about coal mining and the Welsh economy than she cared to remember. And nothing about Triquarter.

“You need a sandwich,” Gray decided.

“I wouldn’t say no to one.”

“Okay, we refuel and rethink.”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed we haven’t learned anything.”

“But we have. We know without a shadow of doubt there is no Triquarter Mining, and never has been. The post office box is a sham and in all likelihood still being rented by whoever’s fronting the deal.”

“Why would you think that?”

“They need it until they settle with you, and any other outstanding investors. I imagine they’ve cleaned most of that up. Let’s try here.” He nudged her into a small pub.

The scents were familiar enough to make her homesick, the voices just foreign enough to be exotic. They settled at a table where Gray immediately commandeered the thin plastic menu. “Mmm. Shepherd’s Pie. It won’t be as good as yours, but it’ll do. Want to try it?”

“That’ll be fine. And some tea.”

Gray gave their order, leaned forward. “I’m thinking, Brie, that your father dying so soon after he bought the stock plays a part in it. You said you found the certificate in the attic.”

“I did, yes. We didn’t go through all the boxes after he’d died. My mother—well, Maggie didn’t have the heart to, and I let it go because—”

“Because Maggie was hurting and your mother would have hounded you.”

“I don’t like scenes.” She pressed her lips together and stared at the tabletop. “It’s easier to step back from them, walk away from them.” She glanced up, then away again. “Maggie was the light of my father’s life. He loved me, I know he did, but what they had was very special. It was only between them. She was grieving so hard, and there was already a blowup about the house being left to me, instead of my mother. Mother was bitter and angry, and I let things go. I wanted to start my business, you see. So it was easy to avoid the boxes, dust around them from time to time, and tell myself I’d get to it by and by.”

“And then you did.”

“I don’t know why I picked that day. I suppose because things were settled quite a bit. Mother in her own house, Maggie with Rogan. And I. . .”

“You weren’t hurting so much over him. Enough time had passed for you to do the practical thing.”

“That’s true enough. I thought I could go through the things up there that he’d saved without aching so much for him, or wishing so hard things had been different. And it was part ambition.” She sighed. “I was thinking I could have the attic room converted for guests.”

“That’s my Brie.” He took her hand. “So he’d put the certificate up there for safekeeping, and years passed without anyone finding it, or acting on it. I imagine they wrote it off. Why should they take a chance of making contact? If they did any checking, they’d have learned that Tom Concannon had died, and his heirs hadn’t dealt with the stock. It might have been lost, or destroyed, or tossed out by mistake. Then you wrote a letter.”

“And here we are. It still doesn’t explain why they’ve offered me money.”

“Okay, we’re going to suppose. It’s one of my best things. Suppose when the deal was made, it was a fairly straightforward scam, the way I explained in New York. Then suppose somebody got ambitious, or lucky. Expanded on it. Triquarter was out of the picture, but the resources, the profit, the organization was still there. Maybe you run another scam, maybe you even get into something legit. Maybe you’re just playing with things on the right side of the law, using them as cover. Wouldn’t it be a surprise if the legal stuff started to work? Maybe even made more of a profit than the cons. Now you’ve got to shed that shadowy stuff, or at least cover it up.”

Brianna rubbed her temple as their meal was served. “It’s too confusing for me.”

“Something about those loose stock certificates. Hard to say what.” He helped himself to a healthy bite. “Nope, doesn’t come close to yours.” And swallowed. “But there’s something, and they want them back, even pay to get them back. Oh, not much, not enough to make you suspicious, or interested in further investing. Just enough to make it worth your while to cash in.”

“You do know how all this business works, don’t you?”

“Too much. If it hadn’t been for writing . . .” He trailed off, shrugged. It wasn’t something to dwell on. “Well, we can consider it luck that I happen to have some experience along these lines. We’ll make a few stops after we eat, then run it by the cops.”

She nodded, relieved at the idea of turning the whole mess over to the authorities. The food helped pick up her spirits. By morning they’d be home. Over her tea she began to dream about her garden, greeting Con, working in her own kitchen.

“Finished?”

“Hmm?”

Gray smiled at her. “Taking a trip?”

“I was thinking of home. My roses might be blooming.”

“You’ll be in the garden by this time tomorrow,” he promised and, after counting out bills for the tab, rose.

Outside, he draped his arm over her shoulder. “Want to try local public transportation? If we catch a bus we’ll get across town a lot quicker. I could rent a car if you’d rather.”

“Don’t be silly. A bus is fine.”

“Then let’s just . . . hold it.” He turned her around, nudging her back into the pub doorway. “Isn’t that interesting?” he murmured, staring down the street. “Isn’t that just fascinating?”

“What? You’re crushing me.”

“Sorry. I want you to keep back as much as you can and take a look down there, just across the street.” His eyes began to gleam.