Page 12 of Lela's Choice

“A neighbour spotted the light in the attic and movement at the window. I’d just found her when the police stormed in on us.” She rolled her shoulders. “Or at least it felt like a raid to me.” Bright lights had flashed in their faces, guns had been drawn, and she and Sophie had clung to each other. “Papa gave the go-ahead—was afraid she was being held against her will.” His investigator had misused the information Lela had given him, had wanted the kudos of breaking the case.

“How’d you fix it?” Marty sat back in his chair.

“Ultimately it was a combination of hormones and high school colliding. None of her friends had moved to the same high school. She felt isolated from day one. Then she overheard some kids whispering and pointing and thought they were badmouthing her. She withdrew into herself, imagined slights where none existed, but it was a wake-up call. We got some professional support, spoke to the school, and it was resolved.”

“Is she planning to hide until she turns eighteen?” Marty looked from her to Hamish.

“Is she hiding, Lela?” Hamish pinned her with his gaze.

“I can’t answer that. I don’t know why she ran.” Admitting her failure broke her heart.

“Don’t know! What does your gut tell you?” Hamish jack-knifed to an upright position, impatience entering his voice for the first time since she’d met him. His unexpected outburst gave her a clearer picture of the man driven to find missing children.

“That we need facts to solve this,” she countered.

“And her emotional state? What about that? Who would she turn to if she was in trouble?”

Lela briefly closed her eyes to shut out the demand in his. “I’d have hoped she’d call me.”

“This is the first time she’s actually run away, and she led us to Malta,” Hamish concluded, while Lela remained silent, “bought the ticket using her debit card, then made a withdrawal from her account at Valletta airport. The ticket showed up on her statement, as did the cash transaction. Her grandfather accessed both, which she must have expected.”

“Papa has a very loose understanding of a person’s right to privacy.” Lela sighed. “And yes, Sophie knew Papa checked her account. We talked about it. I had a secret stash of cash at her age.”

“It’s legal, and understandable in this instance,” Hamish replied.

“Yet he didn’t do it for my brothers at the same age. Sophie used to rail against the inconsistency. Papa’s rule for daughters and granddaughters that didn’t apply to sons. And”—Lela revealed one of her father’s “coincidental” actions—“how did he know to check that day?”

“More importantly, she might be telling us she wants to be found.” Hamish considered her.

“Any other action on her accounts? Accommodation?” Marty intervened.

“Not that I’ve been told.” Hamish explained to Lela. “Malta is one of those countries where you have to present a passport or identity card for accommodation. That should be an easy trace.”

“Any strangers, new people in her life who might be influencing her?” Marty’s fingers were poised above his tablet.

“She left Australia with a young man, who said he was a Maltese citizen, a student.” Hamish spoke first.

“You think that’s bogus?” Marty raised an eyebrow.

“Her grandfather questions the boy’s bona fides, thinks he might be running a scam, seducing her in an attempt to get her money. She’ll come into quite a sum when she turns eighteen.” Hamish leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.

Lela couldn’t stay silent. “Papa’s wrong.”

“You can’t dismiss the possibility.” Marty seemed to consider the idea. “Giovanni Vella is known here. He still has extensive business interests. The granddaughter could be seen as an easy target. Still, it’s an elaborate scam. Why go to Australia for an heiress when Europe’s closer? Do you know the boy’s name?”

Hamish glanced at her. “According to my contacts, she came in with Peter Debrincat.”

Marty whistled. “It’s a common name here, so he might not be rich. One branch has a lot of old money in boats, tourist enterprises. Then again, he could have just purloined the name. Has there been a ransom call?”

“Peter’s not some sleazy conman.” Lela recalled the charity director’s hesitation at the name. On this she’d share all she knew.

“I’m operating on the facts I’ve been given, Lela. Is there something we should know, because now’s your chance to clear the air?” Hamish pushed himself upright in his chair.

“I met Peter; so did my father. Peter’s doing a semester of his university degree in Sydney. I’ve been imagining a number of outcomes, but a false name and extortion aren’t among them.”

“Why so sure about the name?” Hamish frowned.

“I’ve got a friend in admissions at the University. The character tests for Australian student visas are stringent. Peter jumped through numerous legal hoops before he even left Malta,” she explained. “I saw his passport.”

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