“Charles John Montague,” Jared said. “I noticed you have a similar one on your cuff. You still customize all your shirts, don’t you?”
I did have a similar style anagram on my cuff, except it was my name, AJM II for Alexander James Montague II, and I’d been wearing dress shirts, polo shirts, and even underwear with my name on them all my life.
I was trying to gather my thoughts. “How … Why do you have this?”
“Well, Charlie gave me this shirt the day before I left the estate. I didn’t own anything that nice, as you might imagine. He gave it to me as a goodbye present.”
I shook my head, trying to digest the information. I didn’t remember Charlie giving away any of his stuff.
“He gave it to you the day before you left? When was it again?”
“It was on the day when he disappeared.”
“Could you please step on it?” I asked the taxi driver. “I need to get on the last train.”
The man didn’t dignify me with an answer, but he did make the cab go faster. Shamefacedly, I took another dosage of Ching at the next traffic light in order not to spill the stuff.
This is insane. I’ll make a big fool out of myself.
My phone rang. It was our former butler turned de facto estate manager.
“Mr. Montague, this is Harry Schulenburg,” he said.
“Yes, Harry. I need you to open the house first thing tomorrow morning,” I said wiping my nose.
“It can be arranged, Mr. Montague. May I ask if you’ll be traveling alone?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be requiring any assistance?”
Good old Schulenburg. He’d started to work for my father when they were both young men in their twenties. He’d come from South Africa to see the land of his predecessors and decided to stay. He’d married a local lady, but she’d gotten sick and passed away after only ten years. He never remarried. He volunteered to stay behind and look after the house. He said that he was “tied to this land until the day he was no longer needed,” and we couldn’t imagine the house without him. Nothing could rattle his professional calm, which had helped him run the house without its owners and deal with the tenants for the past twenty-three years.
“I think I’ll be fine. I may need a flashlight and the keys to the basement, though.”
“I’ll have them and a guest room ready for you tomorrow morning.”
“Could you do it tonight, just in case, if it’s possible?”
“Certainly, sir,” he said without a hint of surprise.
“Thank you, Harry,” I said and rang off.
I placed my head on the back of the seat, not worrying too much about the cleanliness of it, and closed my eyes. I needed a few moments to understand what had just happened back in the pub and the possible ramifications of whatever was going to happen tomorrow.
What was Jared saying back there again?
“My mom told me what happened when we were on the way to the States,” he said, nurturing the glass in his hand. “Later, she told me that you guys had left the house. I know it might sound strange to ask this now, but was it properly searched?”
It did sound a bit odd, but I kept my poker face. “Well, we and the police searched everywhere the next day. A hundred people were looking for him in the park and nearby villages night and day for a month.”
“I see. I don’t know why, but I just thought of something Charlie told me about.”
I noticed Jared’s phone–that he had put down on the table–was blinking with incoming messages, but he did not check it. I was sure that he was going to tell me whatever it was, so I just looked at him, waiting for another flashback to surface.
