Read Online Pirate by Clive Cussler - Free Book Online

mean so much for her to have it. If you turn it in, it’ll only be tied up in probate. She’s too ill to travel, and—” Bree broke down crying. After several seconds, she said, “I’m sorry. This has all been so hard.”
    â€œWhat can we do to help?” Remi asked.
    â€œI was hoping you wouldn’t mind mailing the book to her. To remember her father by.”
    â€œOf course we wouldn’t mind. But Sam and I will deliver it in person.”
    â€œNo. I couldn’t ask that of you. It’s too much.”
    â€œWe insist,” she said, eyeing Sam, who nodded in encouragement. “This book is too valuable to trust to the post office. Just text me the address and we’ll deliver it tomorrow.”
    â€œI will. Thank you . . .”
    They heard a quiet sob as Remi said, “We’ll see you tomorrow. And pass on our condolences to your cousin.”
    Sam pulled out of the parking garage and on into traffic. “She sounded pretty upset.”
    â€œUnderstandably,” Remi said. “First the robbery, then the heart attack. I can’t imagine what Pickering’s daughter must be going through. Not being able to travel. At least Bree’s there for her.”
    â€œAbout the book . . . ?”
    â€œI thought about that. And I think at the very least we should show it to Pickering’s daughter and let her make that decision. She is the next of kin, after all. At least this way we can explain in person why we feel it best to turn it in to the authorities.”
    He stopped at a red light, looked over at his wife, then back at the road. “I guess we’ll be filing a change in flight plans to North Carolina.”

    The advantage of having a private jet meant they could change plans at a moment’s notice. Selma made the arrangements for a hotel and rental car on their arrival, and after a decent night’s sleep and a hot breakfast, they drove to the location Bree had texted. Remi, of course, asked Selma to look into the address on the off chance something was wrong. Much to her relief, it came back to a Larayne Pickering-Smith, who Selma had determined was, in fact, Gerald Pickering’s daughter.
    She lived in rural Harlowe, and as they drove east through miles of tobacco farms, the sky darkened with a gathering storm. Sam parked in front, eyeing the property, a white clapboard farmhouse, with a black SUV in the gravel drive. Someone pulled the drape slightly from an upstairs window, then dropped it.
    Remi, the book in her lap, patted the front cover, saying, “Let’s get this thing delivered.”
    â€œYou sure you want to give it to her?”
    â€œYes. It has to be better than tying it up in evidence or even probate for who knows how long. Maybe his daughter can tell us what’s so important about the book.”
    Together, they walked up the path, and Sam knocked on the front door. It opened a moment later a few inches, and Bree looked out at them. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen, no doubt from crying. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo . . .” She gave a faltering smile. “You have the book?”
    Remi handed her the brown-wrapped parcel. “How is your cousin?”
    â€œShe’s . . . not well.” Bree hugged the book to her chest. “I’d invite you in, but . . .”
    â€œNo worries,” Remi said. “We were wondering, though, if you know what was so important about this volume. Why someone might be looking for it?”
    â€œNo.” She gave a slight shrug. “But thank you. For bringing it all this way.”
    â€œYou’re sure you’re okay?”
    Bree nodded.
    When the silence became awkward, Remi took a step back and smiled. “Let us know if you need anything.”
    â€œThere is one thing I was wondering. How is Mr. Wickham? He wasn’t hurt in the robbery, was he?”
    â€œNo.”
    Bree looked down