Page 94 of Lost Cause
Burke crossed his arms. “And Ugo? He just lets her sneak around?”
“No need for sneaking past him. He’s sometimes there too. They both leave early in the morning and sneak down to the ferry together, acting like they just arrived. It’s all a routine now, just in case Victor’s watching.”
Abby was honestly surprised. “So why does Ugo stay over?”
“He’s a functional alcoholic. He started drinking when his wife and son died in that car crash. On the anniversary of their deaths, he drinks excessively and can’t make it home on his own. Sylvia helps him down to the cellar to sleep it off so he doesn’t lose his job.”
Burke’s jaw flexed. “I had no idea Ugo drank.”
“He clearly hides it well.”
“I’ll say,” Abby said. “You wouldn’t notice unless you knew to look for it.”
Burke sat back, brow furrowed. “So they both spent the night. Did either of them see or hear anything?”
“Nothing. No sounds, no movement. Neither had any clue who might be buried on the property. Sylvia did mention that back in the eighties, they had male visitors—none regular, and no one who ever seemed angry or threatening.”
Abby leaned in, her voice tight with hope. “Do you believe their story?”
“Sylvia’s attitude rubbed me the wrong way, but yeah, I do. Both of them genuinely care about Victor. Doesn’t seem like either would want to hurt him.”
Disappointment pressed into Abby’s chest. She had hoped for a lead—something. But the door wasn’t fully closed yet. “What about the finances? Did Ugo keep any records from the eighties?”
“Surprise, surprise, yes.” Gage’s animated tone cheered her up. “He’s kept everything from the time he started managing the household finances. He has paper copies in a storage room near his office. He offered to walk us through them.”
Burke straightened, the wheels in his brain clearly turning. “We might have to take him up on that.”
“Did they say anything about Juan?” Abby asked.
“Just that he was barely over five feet tall—so he’s definitely not our mystery man.”
“Didn’t seem likely anyway,” Burke said. “A guy like Juan wouldn’t have owned such an expensive belt buckle.”
“Which means we’re still without a victim ID,” Abby said. “That buckle just became our best shot at identifying the man in the clandestine grave.”
Who knew a small town like Seaside Harbor would have top quality and expensive antiques, but the place’s name and fancy sign out front should’ve been Abby’s first clues telling her she was wrong. The next clue appeared the moment she stepped through the door of The Gilded Gallery, and the price tags displayed on elegant pieces made her gasp. The highest she spotted was fifteen grand.
She shared a surprised look with Burke as they made their way through an aisle lined with antique furniture. She didn’t know the era, but the furniture was seriously old.
An agile-looking older man with a receding hairline stood behind the counter, his back to them. He and a woman were in a heated conversation about the price of a painting on the counter. She looked up and met Abby’s gaze, her mouth dropping open. She spun and raced for the back room.
Abby stopped in her tracks. This woman was a forty-year older image of Estelle. Was Abby seeing things?
She nudged Burke. “Did you catch a look at that woman?”
“Not really. Do you know her?”
“She looked like Estelle. At least what I would imagine her at this age.”
“Are you sure, or are you just hoping it’s her?”
Abby shrugged. “I’m not sure why I would imagine it, but you could be right.”
“Or you could be right. It could be Estelle.” He tipped his head toward the man standing at the counter. “We can ask a few questions. See if we can find out.”
They stepped up to him. He gave them a broad smile, his cheeks rising. “Can I help you folks?”
Abby introduced herself and Burke.
