8
Miles
The doors to the observation lounge were shut when Miles climbed up the stairs, odd for the pre-dinner cocktail hour. Ramona waited next to the entrance. “Good evening,“
she said, a bright smile lighting her face when she spotted him. “How was your spa appointment?”
“Excellent, thank you,“
Miles responded. Between the lingering effects of Kane’s healing and an hour spent under the talented hands of a massage therapist, he felt better than he had in months. “Hal left a note in our stateroom that I should meet him here?”
“Yes, they’re waiting for you.“
Ramona tugged open the door and gestured him inside without further explanation.
Hal was up to something. He wasn’t the type to wield his power by taking over a public space without good reason, which only served to pique Miles’s curiosity further. He peered through the late afternoon sunlight that gilded the tables and chairs in the mostly vacant space. At the far front of the room, Hal stood with Kane, Archer, and the captain. As one, they turned to him when he entered.
Like Ramona, each man welcomed him with obvious pleasure. Well, three of them smiled. Hal grinned like an idiot. A bottle of sparkling wine chilled in a bucket of ice on a nearby table, set out with an array of fluted glasses. He spotted no other changes to the lounge, other than the missing guests who usually filled it at this hour.
“Okay, something weird is going on.“
Miles thread his way through the empty furniture, adding, “Not sure I like it.”
Hal met him in the center of the room, away from the others, and captured both of Miles’s hands in his. Speaking low, he said, “I had an idea. And if you truly hate it, we’ll go straight to dinner and never speak of it again.”
“I’d have to hear this idea first.“
Miles squeezed Hal’s fingers in his own. Unless they were about to make someone walk the plank, he doubted Hal could throw much at him that he’d dislike.
“You adapted to my life in New Angouleme so well that sometimes I forget you haven’t been there the entire time. You stay at my side even when it’s hard, whether that means putting yourself in unfamiliar situations or telling off one of my cousins. I’m honored every day you make that choice.”
“I feel the same way,“
Miles replied. Hal fought tooth and claw to give Miles that choice, battling the court of public opinion until no one dared comment that Miles now woke up in a luxury penthouse flat rather than the damp studio apartment he’d lived in when Hal first hired him. He treasured each day he got to wake up next to Hal and barely remembered what it felt like to face each day alone.
“So, I think I figured out what you trying to tell me the other night,“
Hal continued. “And I never want you to fear that I might not choose you in return.”
Miles brought Hal’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I never doubted we were in this together.”
Hal cocked an eyebrow. “You did a little bit.”
“Okay,“
Miles said, laughing. “Maybe. The tiniest amount.”
“I think that’s valid when you’re about to put yourself in the most unfamiliar situation of all, while also facing a horde of Delacour cousins that neither of us can afford to tell off. Which brings me to my idea.“
After a steadying breath, Hal asked, “Miles Cavanaugh, will you marry me?”
Unsure of the question, Miles dragged out his answer. “I already agreed to marry you. Which is why we are literally on our way to our wedding at this very moment.”
“No.“
Hal shook his head. “Will you marry me, right now?”
Still not sure this wasn’t a joke awaiting a punchline, Miles asked, “Right now?”
“Right here, by Captain Shaw, witnessed by our friends.”
Miles truly hadn’t doubted Hal, but he had feared measuring up to the brunt of the Delacour pack. That if they found him lacking, not even Lady Elspeth’s affection for him would prevent the wedding from being called off entirely. But to arrive in Calaitum already bound to Hal? The weight that lifted from Miles’s chest left him breathless. “Let’s do it,“
he said. “Right now.”
Hal spun toward the others in the room who’d waited through their exchange with patience. “We’re doing this!”
Kane and Archer broke into cheers even louder than those Miles heard across a telephone line when he and Hal shared the news the first time. Archer arranged them before Captain Shaw, never once trying to get them to release hands. Kane help open his palm, ready with the stunning rings Hal commissioned.
“Ready?“
Shaw asked.
Their answers came as one.
“Yes.”
About J.L. Gribble
J.L. Gribble writes speculative fiction and romance, but she’s happiest when combining the two and adding a dose of the unexpected or nontraditional. When not writing, Gribble reads an eclectic range of books, adds to her LEGO collection, and plays video games. She lives in Ellicott City, Maryland, with her husband and vocal Siamese cats.
Website: jlgribble.com
Newsletter: jlgribble.com/newsletter
Links: linktr.ee/jlgribble
The Sea Dogs
Chris Holcombe
A Hidden Gotham Story
A bludgeoned captain.
A wrongfully accused sailor.
A romantic shore leave gone terribly wrong.
Gay speakeasy owner Dash Parker and his lover Joe O’Shaughnessy get roped into more trouble by their best friend Finn Francis. Finn’s boyfriend, a sailor, is accused of murdering a universally hated sea captain at the American Seamen’s Friend Society. Together, they must navigate bitter old rivalries and newfound hostilities, and reconcile contradicting clues in order to save Finn’s man.
“The Sea Dogs“
is a 1920s Queer noir nautical mystery set ironically on shore and starring your favorite trio of landlubbers from the Hidden Gotham book series.
Content Warnings:
Off-page death
Some violence
Sexual innuendo
Profanity
Dash Parker stared at the bloodied bowling pin on top of his empty speakeasy’s rough-hewn bar.
The heavy wood featured thin, red-painted lines down the body until the base, which was splattered with blood, hair, and—dear heavens, were those pieces of skin?!
He swallowed the hard knot of nausea lodged in the middle of his throat.
“Finn,“
he said. “What is this?”
His best friend, and the speakeasy’s only waiter, Finn Francis replied in his Irish fiddle of a voice, “A bowling pin.”
”I know that. I mean, what is it doing here?”
“I stole it.”
“You stole it?”
“Yes, dearie,“
Finn said. “It’s evidence.”
“Evidence?”
“I couldn’t possibly leave it behind.”
Dash shook his head. “Wait a moment. Evidence of what?”
“Of the murder.”
“The murder?”
Finn sent him a sharp glance. “What are you, a myna bird? If you’re going to repeat everything I say, we’ll be here all night. And we don’t have time to waste!”
Dash averted his gaze from the (obviously) murderous pin and settled on the wisp of a lad sitting beside him at the bar. Normally, Finn would have accentuated his oval face with blush, mascara, perhaps a bit of lipstick. Not tonight, though. He was as unadorned as the bowling pin—well, save for the bloody parts.
Don’t look at it again, he thought.
“My friend,“
he said. “Please start at the beginning. Where did you find…this pin?”
Finn gestured impatiently. “Under Borden’s bed. I was hiding there during bed check, or what we thought was bed check, when I found it. I was so stunned, I almost cried out, but by the grace of the goddesses, I managed to keep my composure.“
His mouth trembled with fear. “The security men left with Borden to question him.”
From behind the bar, Joe O’Shaughnessy said in his usual gruff brogue: “Bloody hell, Finney. Why are ya always in trouble?”
Dash turned towards the speakeasy’s bartender, who was also his lover. A bear of a man whose formidable frame strained against his white work shirt, brown trousers, and matching suspenders. His eyes were a stunning emerald green, made even more vibrant by his pale, freckled skin and fiery red hair. He often saw himself as Finn’s protector—Dash’s, too.
He pointed a finger at Finn. “We let ya have the night off so you can visit yer fella at that Sailor’s Society place while he’s on shore leave from his latest voyage—“
“Excuse you,“
Finn said. “It’s the American Seamen’s Friend Society.”
Joe sent Finn a baleful look before continuing. “Next thing we know, ya come barging in here—after we’ve closed, thank the Mother Mary—with a bloody murder weapon. And it’s actually fecking bloody!”
“It’s not my fault a sea captain had to go get himself killed, and my Borden got framed for it.”
“Where did this bowling pin even come from?”
“Grant me patience, Athena.“
Finn then slowly enunciated each word, as if speaking to a child. “Because the Society has a bowling alley.”
Joe glanced over at Dash. “What the hell kinda place is this? The Waldorf-Astoria?”
“Gents, please,“
Dash said. The dull throb of a coming headache formed at the base of his skull and his stomach roiled like the choppy Atlantic. Was he going to pull a Boone? He swallowed down another knot in his throat and tried to focus less on the garish bowling pin and more on the situation of Borden being the lead suspect.
Borden Toussaint was a sailor from the West Indies whom Finn seduced one night while making his rounds on the docks. Large and bald, with big muscles and dark skin, Finn thought he’d hit the jackpot with his “basketeering“
efforts. Instead of a one time trick, though, Borden captured Finn’s heart and vice versa. Dash knew within a moment of seeing them together that they were restarting a passionate romance. The two had been inseparable ever since they reunited last October. Well, as inseparable as they can be when the other half is constantly at sea. Dash understood the rash decision Finn made to protect his love, even if Dash preferred not to have a murder weapon in his club.
He asked, “How did the killer even steal the bowling pin? Wasn’t the alley open?”
Finn shook his head. “No, it was closed tonight. Someone must’ve broken in and stolen the pin.”
“Odd choice of a murder weapon. Why do they think it’s Borden?”
“His room is on the same floor as Captain Jonah Collins. (He’s the one who got his head bashed in.) A valet claims he rounded the corner to the hallway and saw Borden walking away from the Captain’s room. The valet knocked and entered the room for turn down service. That’s when he discovered the body.”
“Why was Borden near Captain Collins’s room?”
“Well, after Borden let me into his room, he went out to get us some drinks. We had worked up quite a thirst, you know. When he returned with our libations, he told me he found a note dropped in the hallway addressed to Captain Collins. And because Borden is the sweetest soul on earth, he went to return it. He knocked on the Captain’s door but there was no reply, so Borden left. That must’ve been when the valet came down the hallway. After he discovered the Captain’s body, he assumed Borden did it.“ Finn looked up at Dash with wide eyes. “I’m lucky the valet didn’t see me. Otherwise, I’d be in the soup, too.”
“The goddesses were looking out for you,“
Dash said. “Does Borden work for Captain Collins?”
Finn frowned. “Unfortunately. A horrible man. Truly terrible. All he does is yell, belittle, and humiliate. Truth be told, Borden was trying to jump ship to another helmed by Captain Bannon O’Rourke, Collins’s rival.”
“Would Captain Collins allow such a move?”
“Only over his dead body—oh.”
Joe pinched his brow. “Thus giving yer Borden a motive.“
He dropped his hand. “Finney, me boy, are you certain Borden didn’t do it? It could’ve been an accident or self-defense if this Captain Collins fella is as cruel as you say.”
“How can you say that? Borden would never hurt a fly! Never!”
Dash raised a hand. “I’m with Finn, Joe. Borden is much too gentle a giant. You’ve met him before, so you know it, too.”
Joe feigned agreement.
Dash then gazed around their empty club, a narrow room known as Pinstripes that was hidden behind Hartford the entire front desk was encased in dark, heavy wood and surrounded by two pillars. Atop each pillar was a carved human face. Two sets of empty eye sockets stared at Dash in an accusatory manner. George Talbot mirrored their suspicion.
He zeroed in on Finn. “What are you doing here?“
he demanded in a nasal voice. “Only sailors are allowed in the Society. And I know for a fact that none of you calls the sea your home.”
“Oh, pish posh. You know as well as I do that I’m not the only lover who slips through these keyholes.“
Finn leaned on the front desk and rested a hand on his cocked hip. “And I know for a fact, George Talbot, that you have entertained many a bell bottom in the maid’s closet, so don’t be so high and mighty with me.”
A slight flush reddened George’s cheeks. He cleared his throat. “What do you want? I’m quite busy.”
Dash looked around the quiet, empty lobby and glanced at Joe, who simply shrugged.
Finn leaned towards George. “I want you to tell my friends and me everything you know about Captain Collins’s murder.”
George pressed his lips into a straight line. “I should’ve known. Where there’s trouble, there’s Finn Francis.”
Joe smirked. “Isn’t that the truth?”
Dash stepped up to the counter. “Mr. Talbot, we believe an innocent man is being held for a crime he didn’t commit. Any information you can give us would be invaluable.”
George’s suspicious glare turned towards Dash. “Wait. I know you. You’re the one who pretended to be Finn’s secret lover to sneak in here a few months ago. Something about a crooked cop?”
Dash forced a smile. “Yes, and you were an incredible help then, too. With your information, we were able to put a stop to that horrible, odious policeman. The Village owes you a great debt.“
He internally winced at his use of the word “debt” and with one look at George’s face, he knew instantly what was coming next.
“Uh, huh. Speaking of debt.“ George brought out a coffee mug and set it on the counter. “As I recall, you poured me a little sugar, and right now, my poor little mug is in need of those magical crystals. It helps cut the bitterness of the brew.”
Joe sputtered, “Ya want us to bribe you?”
George put a hand over his heart. “Heavens, no. That would be illegal and immoral. As a model employee of the Society, I would never ask such a thing.“ He gestured to the coffee mug. “I’m merely suggesting that, in exchange for a little sweetness in my brew, I would be happy to impart some vital information. However, if you prefer Borden to end his days incarcerated—“
Dash sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.“
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. He slid it under the coffee mug.
George regarded the bill. “That helps, but I prefer my coffee to be sweet. Very sweet.”
Dash gave him a look and added another dollar bill underneath the mug.
George nodded. “Almost. It’s just about there.”
Behind Dash, Joe cursed under his breath. Dash, for his part, suppressed a smirk. Good grief. Without bribery, the entire economic infrastructure of this city would collapse overnight.
After the third bill, George picked up his mug, pocketed Dash’s dollars, and took a long sip of his coffee. He smacked his lips together. “Ah, that hits the spot.”
“Wonderful,“
Dash said with a big, fake smile. “About Captain Collins.”
“Captain Collins is—was, I suppose I should say—in charge of the Keziah Dane. He runs—excuse me—ran that ship with an iron fist. Very tough, very unforgiving. Not surprised someone clubbed him to death.”
“Not to ask an ignorant question, but why didn’t the killer just shoot the man?”
“Aye,“
Joe said. “Hitting someone with a bo—with whatever the killer used seems a tad dangerous. Ya have to get up close to ’em and there’s no guarantee the tables won’t get turned on ya.”
George considered the thought. “I suppose whoever did it hated Captain Collins enough to risk it. But my money is on the fact that no one is allowed to bring firearms into the Society. No one besides Security and myself has pistols here.“
George opened a drawer and pulled out a two-shot Derringer. “See?” He returned it to the drawer and looked over at Finn. “Did you tell them what happened at dinner tonight?”
Finn replied, “Goddess help me, no. I forgot.”
George rolled his eyes. “It was the talk of the Society before—you know. There was a rivalry between the two old sea dogs and their ships: Captain Collins’ Keziah Dane and Captain O’Rourke’s Lolly-Madonna. The Keziah Dane has been losing customers to the Lolly-Madonna, a fact Captain Collins doesn’t—didn’t—take kindly to. At dinner, he stomped over to Captain O’Rourke and yelled, ‘You’re not going to get away with this!’ And Captain O’Rourke calmly sat there and replied, ‘Jonah, I already have. Now sit down before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.’ Well, Captain Collins said some words that would make a harlot blush and stormed out.”
Dash asked, “Did anyone overhear what they were talking about?”
Finn raised his hand. “I did, but only snatches of words and phrases, most of them obscenities on behalf of Captain Collins. But I did hear him say, ‘I have a list’ and ‘You might want to check your own hull, O’Rourke. You might have a rat in there.’”
Dash and Joe glanced at each other. “I see,“
Dash said. He turned back to George Talbot. “Any idea who that could be?”
George preened, looking like a cat who’d just feasted on a flock of canaries. “I do.”
When he didn’t continue, Joe prompted him with: “And…? What’s his name, lad?”
George lifted his coffee mug, took a sip, and grimaced. “Oh, my. The bitterness. It’s back.“
He set it down on the counter.
This time, Dash couldn’t stop his smirk. “More sugar, I presume?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
Dash slipped two more bills under the mug. “Careful. That much sugar will rot your teeth.”
“Then I’ll get some new ones.“
George slipped the new bills into his pocket. “Captain O’Rourke’s first mate, Dewey Jones. One night, he came down to my lobby, half-seas over, and drunkenly told me that he should be the captain of the Lolly-Madonna, and that O’Rourke didn’t know his bow from his stern.”
“What’s his connection to Captain Collins?”
“You’ll have to ask him, but you can’t go up as yourselves,“
George warned. “Everyone’s really jumpy about the murder, and any strangers will probably get the bum’s rush.”
Finn asked, “What do you suggest, dearie?”
George smiled. “How well can you make a bed?”
Dressed in valet uniforms that George lent them, they strode towards Dewey Jones’s room on the fourth floor with Dash leading the way and Joe and Finn right behind him.
Joe grumbled, “Why do these bloody jackets never fit?”
Dash glanced over his shoulder. Poor Joe. The valet uniforms were cut on the slender side, and Joe looked like he was about to rip the jacket and vest at the seams.
He truly is a big six of a man, isn’t he? Dash thought. Not that he was complaining.
Finn tutted, “I see somebody needs to lay off the sweets. Or needs more exercise.“
He then said into Dash’s ear, “You may need to up your nocturnal activities to three times a night instead of two to take off a few pounds.”
Joe was incensed. “Mary Mother of—Finney, keep yer bloody voice down. We don’t want everyone here knowing what we are.”
“It’s a house of sailors! I’ll bet you a night’s pay that behind half these doors, there are men feasting on their seafood as we speak.”
“Oh, good lord.”
Dash shook his head at the two of them. “Gents,“
he said. “We’re here.” He stopped in front of Dewey Jones’s room door, smoothed the lapels of his valet jacket, and knocked.
“Who’s there?“
came the muffled reply.
“Valet. We’re here to turn down your room.”
A pause. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Please, sir. It won’t take but a minute.“
Dash could’ve sworn he heard some urgent whispering. Dewey Jones cursing to himself, perhaps? The door opened.
Dewey Jones didn’t look like a sailor—at least, not the ones that Dash had seen throughout the Village. Straw-blond hair, cherub face, pudgy body. Like one of those Renaissance paintings of chubby angels. Perhaps that was the source of all the drunken posturing. An overcompensation for an inadequacy Dewey couldn’t name but felt intensely.
“You’re the valet?“
Dewey pointedly inquired.
Dash smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Dewey looked Dash up and down and pointed to Joe and Finn. “And it takes three of you to turn down a room?”
Dash gestured towards the two men behind him. “I’m training some new hires.”
Dewey gave the same visual inspection to Joe and Finn, then sniffed. “Well. I suppose that’s alright. Come in but be quick about it.”
Dewey stepped away from the door, and Dash led the way inside. As he passed by Dewey, Dash caught a whiff of his cologne, a woodsy citrus that threatened to overpower all who inhaled.
A little goes a long way, old boy, he thought.
The room, like all the rooms in the Society, was modeled after a ship’s quarters in size and amenities. The lowest-level sailor slept in narrow rectangles with even narrower bunk beds. The captain’s quarters were exactly that: large and stately. The first mate rooms weren’t quite that large or fancy, but it was a good three, four steps above the others. Dewey’s room featured a wrought iron bed, a writing desk, and a closet, whose door was shut. Dash sensed something strange, but he couldn’t place it.
A throat cleared behind him.
Dash turned and saw Dewey tapping his foot.
“Well?”
“Oh. Right. Sir. Sorry…sir.“
Dash gestured to Joe and Finn, who set about turning down the bed while Dash “supervised.” On the other side of the room, he saw that the writing desk was in shambles. Pages tossed about the surface. Envelopes half-pulled out of the cubbyholes. Either Dewey Jones was a slob, or someone, possibly himself, searched that desk in a panic.
Dash pointed to it. “I can help straighten that up, sir.“
He didn’t wait for a response. He strode over to the desk and started stacking papers.
“I beg your pardon, but those are my private things,“
Dewey objected.
“I’m the very soul of discretion, sir,“
Dash said, as he quickly scanned the pages he stacked. Most of them appeared to be a mixture of personal and professional correspondence.
“That may be, but I would appreciate it if you did not touch my letters.”
Dash ignored him, focusing on the recipients. To Mother. To Father. To the shipping company that Dash assumed Captain O’Rourke piloted for—barley, wheat, and other crop foodstuffs. To the crew who were no longer allowed to bring pets on board, including birds. That reminded Dash of a certain parrot he’d come across the autumn before, a swearing bird adopted from the docks who constantly squawked, “Bitch! Bitch! Goddamn bitch!”
Footsteps sounded behind him, and the pages were snatched from his hands. Dash turned to see Dewey red-faced and scowling.
”I said, I would appreciate it if you did not touch my things.”
Dash nodded. “Very good, sir.“
He glanced over to the bed. Joe and Finn had finished and sent him questioning looks.
What now? they seemed to ask.
Indeed, what now?
“Is there anything else you require for the evening, sir?“
Dash asked.
“No,“
Dewey said, returning the pages he took from Dash to the desk. “No, thank you.”
Dash nodded, started past the closed closet door, and stopped. A different cologne wafted over him. Not the woodsy citrus of Dewey’s, but something else. Muskier. Saltier. Was someone hiding in there?
“Ahem.”
Dash turned to see Dewey scowling at him. “Will there be anything else?”
They only had this one chance to talk with Dewey Jones and thus far, they hadn’t learned much.
Dash put on his warmest smile, the one his upper-class family taught him to charm other members of society. He spoke in what his younger sister called his “Father Voice,“
an overly formal, snobbish tone. “Only that the Society wanted me to extend its sincerest apologies regarding the incident.”
“The incident? Oh, yes. Poor Captain Collins.“
Dewey hesitated. “Do you know if they suspect anyone yet? Of course, I would never ask you to gossip,” he amended. “As a guest, I would like to know if there’s a homicidal maniac on the loose.”
Finn spoke up. “They are questing Borden Toussaint, sir.”
Dewey swung his gaze to the little man. “Borden? Well, that’s a surprise. I didn’t think he’d have it in him.”
“You don’t believe it, then?”
Dewey shrugged. “Why not? Given suitable conditions, any person could commit murder. Although…I do find it difficult to see that with Borden. Man’s a gentle fellow. Still. If they have reason to suspect him…“
He trailed off.
Dash squared his shoulders for his next question. “The Security Department is double-checking its facts, though. They’ll be asking all guests’ whereabouts between nine and nine-twenty this evening.”
“They are?”
“Yes. And, if you’d like, because I know it’s late and you are a busy man, I can tell them your whereabouts.”
Dewey pointed a finger at his chest. “My whereabouts? Well, I, uh, I was in the Observatory Tower. The night sky is clear, and I thought I could catch a few stars. It’s my favorite spot in this entire place, if you must know.”
Joe asked, “And did anyone see ya, lad? I mean, sir?”
Dewey slid his gaze over to Joe. “It’s where my men found me when they came to tell me about the murder. And in any event, why should I kill Captain Collins? I had no reason to.”
“He did threaten yer boss, Captain O’Rourke, at dinner tonight.”
“Captain Collins always threatened Captain O’Rourke,“
Dewey said, his words dripping with condescension. “Every chance he got. You see, he was mighty jealous of our success. And whatever threat he made meant nothing to my captain or to me. Now.” He returned his attention to Dash. “I must bid you good evening. And I trust you’ll tell Security my whereabouts, hmm? Alright, then.”
He ushered them out of his room politely but urgently.
Once the door closed behind them, Dash gestured to Joe and Finn to follow him. They walked quickly down the hall until they reached the corner. As they turned, Dash motioned for them to stop. He whispered, “I believe someone was hiding in his closet.”
Joe furrowed his brow. “What?“
he asked in full voice.
Finn lightly slapped his arm while Dash put a finger to his lips.
“I want to see who it is,“
he said quietly.
He peered around the corner. The hallway lights seemed to flicker, but perhaps that was just his excited heartbeat throbbing against his temples. After an interminable five minutes, Dewey’s room door opened and out stepped a man who most definitely looked the part of a sailor: rough stubble, weathered face, chapped lips. Dark, thatch-y hair poked out from underneath a gray flat cap. He turned and walked in the opposite direction of their vantage point.
Finn poked his head around Dash and gasped.
“Recognize that person?“
Dash inquired.
Finn nodded. “That’s Amos Clark. Captain Collins’s first mate.“
He turned to stare at Dash and Joe. “But what is he doing in Dewey Jones’s room?”
“Aye,“
Joe said. “And why was he hiding?”
Dash straightened up and arched an eyebrow. “Let’s follow him and find out.”
They tailed Amos Clark up to the rooftop garden of the Society, which was, interestingly enough, next to the Observatory Tower. Up here, the wind was fiercer and whipped around them, tossing Dash’s hair in a most unfortunate manner.
They carefully walked along the bricked walkways that snaked around pots and planters where flowers would soon sprout. Skeletons of bushes were slowly but surely sprouting leaves.
Amos Clark leaned against the shoulder-high brick wall, smoking a cigarette.
“Who the hell are you?“
he said, his voice as gruff as his appearance. “And before you lie to me, you’re not a valet. Any of ya. Certainly not any valet I’ve known here.”
Dash smiled and ignored the unnervingly accurate accusation. “You were in Mr. Jones’s room.”
“Ayuh, not that it’s any business of yours. I’m gonna ask again: who the hell are you?”
Dash inspected the sleeves of his valet outfit, wondering what he was going to tell this Amos Clark. “Well. You caught us, sir. We are…we are…“
An idea popped into his head. “We’re Pinkertons, working for Mr. Toussaint.”
“Who?”
“Borden Toussaint. The man whom the Society Security thinks murdered your boss, Captain Collins. We’ve been hired to go undercover and find out what really happened.”
Amos inhaled a deep drag, gazing at the three of them with hostility. “Says you. I never heard such bunk.“
He pointed at Joe with his cigarette. “He looks like a Pinkerton, but you two?” He meant Dash and Finn. “You look like dandies to me.”
Finn’s smile had a hard edge to it. “I wouldn’t underestimate us, Mr. Clark. I once surprised a man by holding a very nasty knife to his throat. In my defense, it was the only way he would comply.”
Dash nodded. “He speaks the truth, Mr. Clark. We can resolve this easily. Or you can make this difficult for yourself. Which would you prefer?”
Amos coughed a laugh. “Tough guys, huh? Alright, I’ll play along. You want my whereabouts, too, like ya asked Mr. Jones?”
“First, we want to know why you were in Mr. Jones’s room. Hiding, of all things.”
Amos flicked ash onto the bricks below. “We were discussing something private.”
“Which was…?”
Amos ran his tongue over his teeth. “Me joining Captain O’Rourke’s ship.”
Like Borden.
“Any particular reason why?”
A bemused expression crossed Amos’s face. “I take it you didn’t meet Captain Jonah Collins. Otherwise, you wouldn’t ask that question.”
Joe crossed his arms. “We heard stories, lad. Not a very nice man.”
“No. No, he wasn’t. I went to have a little talk with Mr. Jones, because I didn’t want him to think I was trying to take his job. I just wanted off that damnable ship. And when you three knocked on the door, I hid in the closet because I didn’t want anyone to see me in there. Tongues wag in a place like this. I didn’t want a bunch of gum beating gossip to ruin my chances. Even with Captain Collins gone, that ship is cursed. We can’t keep a contract to save our lives.”
Finn sniffed. “Seems like that gives you a helluva motive for murder. I doubt Captain Collins would allow you to willingly leave his ship, especially for a rival.”
Amos smirked. “Ayuh. I suppose it does.”
Dash said, “By any chance were you near the bowling alley?”
“That dandy place?“
Amos shook his head in disgust. “A waste of time. It ain’t even a real skill. Why are ya askin’?”
Dash took a chance. “The murder weapon came from there.”
“Oh, it did, did it?“
Amos took another drag on his cigarette. “Well, unfortunately for you, I didn’t step foot into that bowling alley, and I was preoccupied during what I assume is the time of the murder. Between nine and nine-twenty, you said? Well, I was with Captain O’Rourke between nine and nine-forty-five.”
Dash squinted. “Pardon me?”
“Ayuh,“
Amos replied, his grin oily and mean. “In the restaurant. Where a bunch of people saw us. You can ask him yourself. He’ll be glad to tell ya.”
“Yes, that’s right. I was having a conversation with Mr. Clark in this very room.“
Captain O’Rourke said, speaking in slow, measured tones, as if weighing each word very carefully.
He gestured to the grandiose restaurant the four of them sat in. Coffered ceilings painted jade green and outlined in gold. Twinkling chandeliers hung overhead. Polished wood tables surrounded by leather chairs. Leather couches pressed against the walls while elaborate Oriental rugs hugged the floors. The smells of roasted meat, pungent herbs, and brewed coffee mixed with the salty muskiness of Captain O’Rourke’s cologne.
Captain O’Rourke himself was a contrasting figure to the gruff and grizzled Amos Clark and to the preening, cherubic Dewey Jones. Silver hair cut short, brushed to one side with no loose strands or misbehaving thatches. His face was that of a statesman: long and narrow with gaunt cheeks, dark brows, and deep eyes that spoke of depth and courage. His voice when he spoke was erudite and confident. Dash understood why anyone would jump ship from Captain Collins to Captain O’Rourke.
He said, “And he was speaking to you about joining your ship?“
They used the same pretense as Pinkertons as they had with Amos to finagle this meeting.
Captain O’Rourke studied Dash for a moment. “It’s not relevant what he was speaking to me about, only that he was here. For your purposes, I mean.”
“I don’t mean to pry, sir—“
“Captain. And we were having our discussion from nine o’clock until nine-forty-five. I know this because Mr. Clark kept asking for the time every so often and when I obliged him it was a quarter until ten, he stood up and announced he must turn in per his Captain’s orders.”
“Was Captain Collins strict about bedtimes?”
A rueful smile. “Captain Collins was strict about a great many things.”
Joe said, “We understand ya had an argument with him at dinner.”
“A most unfortunate display. One mustn’t lose one’s temper in front of the men. It gives them permission to do the same. We must keep in charge of our emotions. The sea can be treacherous. Cool heads prevail while the alternative fails.”
“If you don’t mind our asking, lad, what was the argument about?”
Those deep eyes studied him once again.
Joe swallowed. “Sorry. Captain.”
“I fail to see how pertinent this is to your investigation. I’ve provided my location when the crime occurred. As you can plainly see, I could not possibly have done it. Therefore, whatever motive, I believe you call it, I might have had in killing Captain Collins is immaterial. Will that be all?”
Finn jumped in. “Captain O’Rourke. We believe Borden Toussaint to be wrongfully accused. Don’t you want to help a fellow seaman?”
“Help him how?”
“What if your dispute with Captain Collins somehow connects to his death? Perhaps even point to the real culprit?”
Now it was Finn’s turn to be studied by O’Rourke. “I don’t see how.”
Joe offered, “Maybe it’s something ya can’t see, but we can.”
O’Rourke tilted his head towards Joe. “It was…a rather stupid argument. A trifle. One of many I’ve had with Jonah over the years. A decade, really.”
Dash leaned forward in his chair. “You’ve known him that long?”
“Oh, yes. In fact, I was his first mate on the Keziah Dane. He ran that ship with fear. I didn’t subscribe to his approach and told him so. He reacted by firing me. Well, as luck would have it, another company with another ship opened up—“
“The Lolly-Madonna.”
O’Rourke nodded. “And I took it. I became captain and ran my ship the way I wished the Keziah Dane was run: with high expectations, yes, but with respect and fairness. As it happens, success comes much easier and faster than with omnipresent negativity.”
“And last night’s argument?”
O’Rourke pursed his lips. “He accused me of stealing accounts from him. Again. I promptly told him he was being ridiculous. It wasn’t my fault his customers left him for me. This latest row was inspired by another account that transferred their shipping over to me and the Keziah Dane.”
Finn asked, “And what about the list?”
“Hmm?”
“Someone overheard him say something about a list.”
“Oh. That.“
O’Rourke drummed the tabletop with his fingers, the first sign of nervousness that Dash could see. “He claimed he kept a list of all the accounts I took from him. Said he would get them back one by one by ruining my reputation.”
Joe leaned forward. “And how would he do that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. He didn’t mention anything specifically. Just a traitor in my midst, ready to disclose all my secrets. I explained to him that I had no secrets of any kind. I live my life the way I run my ship: with integrity and honor. It was no more than a desperate threat made by a desperate man.“
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold watch on a chain, flicking the clasp open and studying its face. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment in thirty minutes and I must prepare for it. I trust this has satisfied your curiosity?” He stood.
Dash replied, “Thank you for your time, Captain O’Rourke. One more question before you go: when did Amos Clark come to you about joining your ship?”
O’Rourke flicked the clasp of his watch shut with a light click. “After Jonah’s emotional display at dinner. He said it was the last straw.”
The three of them returned to the lobby and reconvened at the front desk.
Finn sighed. “I don’t see how any of this is helpful for my poor, sweet Borden. What am I gonna do? What in the name of Athena am I gonna do?”
Dash and Joe leaned against the counter while Finn paced back and forth. George Talbot was still at his post, watching them from his enclave with bemused interest.
Dash looked over at his despondent friend. “Unfortunately, I must agree. We have Amos Clark leaving Captain Collins for Captain O’Rourke. Which should suggest that Captain Collins, a well-recognized brute, would’ve tried to bully Mr. Clark, prompting him to—I don’t know—kill Collins in self-defense? Although, that feels like a weak motive to me.”
George cut in. “I know of a better one. I’ve heard the other boys in this place whispering that Captain Collins had been having an affair with Amos Clark’s wife.”
Joe barked with surprise. “That makes him the perfect suspect!”
“Except,“
Dash said, “he has an airtight alibi during the time of the murder.”
George shrugged. “Maybe Captain O’Rourke is lying.”
Joe shook his head. “He’s not, lad. We asked the waiters. Every one of ’em mentioned both stayed at the table between nine and nine forty-five.”
Dash went on. “Dewey Jones lacks motive for Captain Collins. If anything, he’s more likely to kill his own captain but O’Rourke is still very much alive and well.“
He ran his hands over his face. “None of this is adding up.”
He gazed down at the front desk counter, mentally running through everything they’d learned, all the people they spoke with, the timeline of Borden leaving his room, picking up Finn, coming back, leaving again, finding a dropped note on the hallway floor addressed to Captain Collins—
Dash looked up. “Mr. Talbot. Did someone leave a note addressed to Captain Collins at the front desk?”
George slid his glasses up his nose. “As a matter of fact, yes. A normal occurrence. Captain Collins got one. Captain O’Rourke as well. When I got on my shift at eight o’clock, there were two envelopes, one for each. I delivered it to Captain Collins in the dining hall. He got very smug. I then delivered the other one to Captain O’Rourke.”
“I see. Did you recognize the handwriting?”
George raised his brows. “Do you have any idea how many men come through here?“ He lifted a thick leather book, shaking it for emphasis. “This is just one month alone.“
He dropped it onto his desk with a thunk. “Honestly, I’m the best front deskman this Society has ever seen and even I can’t work miracles. I can only say that the handwriting was different on both envelopes.”
Dash stared at the book. “That’s a log of everyone who’s checked in here?”
“Yes, sir. Every person has to sign in and out.“
George narrowed his eyes. “Are you thinking about scanning every signature to see which handwriting I recognize? Because I must warn you, we are full up and there are one hundred and seventy single rooms, thirty-two larger rooms for captains, first-mates, and the like, and a single dormitory for the cooks and the engineers that holds twenty-four. You’ll be here all night, and the police are already on their way.”
Finn gasped. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Finn. Security has called to report the crime and turn over a suspect.”
Finn moaned with despair.
Dash gestured to the logbook. “Give it to me, please, Mr. Talbot.”
“We don’t have time!“
Finn wailed.
Dash saw Joe reach over and grab Finn’s shoulders. “Finney, pull yerself together. Ya can’t fall apart now. If ya do, ya definitely won’t be able to help him.”
“Mr. Talbot,“
Dash said. “Please find the page when the Keziah Dane checked in.”
George turned back a few pages and passed over the logbook. “Here.”
Dash scanned the pages. When he found Amos Clark’s signature, he pointed it out to George. “Does this match the writing on Captain Collins’s envelope?”
George studied it intently. “Yes,“
he said slowly. “Yes, I believe so.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course, I am.”
A stirring started in Dash’s gut as an idea began to take shape.
Joe sighed behind him. “Another thing that doesn’t make any bloody sense. Why would Amos write a note to Captain Collins, saying to meet him at nine, and then go to meet with Captain O’Rourke instead?”
The stirring turned into a vibration. “Mr. Talbot, what page do the sign-ins start for the Lolly-Madonna?”
George flipped through a few more pages before pointing at a line midway down the left-hand-side page. “Here.”
Dash, using his forefinger to trace his progress, began going down the list of names, a blur of black, smudged ink. When he found Dewey’s signature, he pointed it out to George. “Is that the handwriting on the note to O’Rourke?”
George looked up, adjusting his glasses. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Dash smiled. The final piece just clicked into place. “That’s it.”
Finn frowned. “Dearie, even with the wisdom of the goddesses, I don’t get it. Why would Amos Clark write to Captain Collins and Dewey Jones write to Captain O’Rourke?”
Dewey’s voice called out from behind them. “Why wouldn’t I write my own captain?”
All three of them turned around. Dewey Jones stood in the lobby with his hands in his pockets, a condescending grin on his face.
Dash felt his pulse quicken. “Aren’t you meeting Captain O’Rourke?”
“Not until tomorrow, not that it’s any of your business. I just left the little hall where I listened to a wonderful band. The waitstaff there can account for my whereabouts, since I’m certain that’s the next question this little investigative trio is going to ask. My, my. Valets in my room, Pinkertons everywhere else.”
Dash shook his head. “You’re lying.”
Dewey scoffed a laugh. “I beg your pardon?”
Dash glanced back at George, “Mr. Talbot, I would hold Mr. Jones here.”
George cocked his head to the side. “What for?”
“Murder.”
“Of who?”
“Captain Collins.”
Dewey dismissed Dash with a laugh. “That’s preposterous.”
“Mr. Talbot,“
Dash said, ignoring him. “Please pull out your pistol and aim it at Mr. Jones.”
George flicked one look at Dash before quickly drawing his two-shot Derringer and aiming it right at Dewey’s heart. “I apologize, Mr. Jones, but we must be careful, what with a murderer on the loose.”
Dewey’s jaw tightened. “I will have your job for this.”
Dash looked at his wristwatch. How long had they been here? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? “Mr. Talbot, what room is Captain O’Rourke in? And do you have a spare key?”
George, keeping his gun aimed at Dewey, reached back and grabbed a key from the wall. “Fourth floor, room 12.“
He placed the key into Dash’s outstretched palm.
Dash motioned to Joe and Finn. “We must get going. I hope we’re not too late.”
Joe frowned. “Too late for what?”
“To prevent the murder of Captain O’Rourke.”
With Dash leading the way, they ran to the elevator, clamoring inside, and telling the attendant to get them to the fourth floor as quickly as possible.
“Hold on, then,“
the attendant said.
He slammed the gate shut and threw the lever. The elevator lurched upwards, causing all three men to stumble against each other.
“Lassie,“
Joe said. “What on earth is going on?”
“A crisscross. I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. Both first mates had reason to hate their captains: Dewey Jones because he thought himself better than O’Rourke, and Amos Clark because Collins slept with his wife. If either of them committed the crime, they’d certainly be the first suspect. But if someone, say Dewey Jones, killed Collins, who would suspect him? He had no motive.”
Joe nodded. “Aye, I get it now. And the man who had the greatest reason to do the deed, Amos Clark, would be seen talking with O’Rourke.”
“Exactly. That’s why he kept asking about the time with Captain O’Rouke. He and Mr. Jones must’ve coordinated the time of the murder, and he needed to make sure he stayed long enough to have the alibi.”
Joe frowned. “But what’s the business with the notes?”
“Simple,“
Dash said. “Each first mate would write to their captains, requesting a meeting. Only instead of meeting with their first mate—“
Finn finished the thought. ”—they meet their killer.”
“Holy moly,“
the elevator attendant said. He jerked the elevator to a stop, causing the three of them to almost fall again. “I gotta telephone the police, don’t I?”
Dash yanked the metal gate open. “They’re already on their way. Don’t let anyone into the elevator until they get here.”
Finn leapt out, calling out over his shoulder, “This way!”
Dash and Joe followed Finn. They ran to O’Rourke’s room. Jamming George’s key into the lock, they burst open the door just as Amos Clark socked Captain O’Rourke in the stomach before landing another blow right in O’Rourke’s kisser. The captain went down hard onto the floor.
“Stop!“
Dash called out.
Amos looked up and snarled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, but deadly knife. He advanced towards O’Rourke, who was struggling to get back onto his feet.
Finn shot through the door in a flash. He ran towards Amos. Either Amos didn’t see him or Finn moved too fast, but the next thing Dash knew, Finn slid into Amos’s ankles, effectively tripping him and toppling him to the ground, the knife clattering across the floor.
Dash lunged forward and grabbed O’Rourke, pulling him towards the door and towards safety.
Amos’s hands frantically reached for the fallen knife.
Joe entered the room and landed a mighty kick to Amos’s torso, stopping him from getting to the weapon.
Finn picked up the knife, straddled Amos’s chest, and held it to his throat. “Make one move, dearie, and you’ll be meeting the goddesses.”
Amos, panting heavily, stopped squirming and fighting, his eyes locked onto the blade. “That bastard!“
he coughed. “That goddamn bastard! He had to take the bloody pin with him!”
“I said, one more move—“
“Alright, alright.“
Amos calmed himself, then said through gritted teeth, “You win.”
Finn grinned. “I told you not to underestimate us.”
In the infirmary, Dash explained everything to Captain O’Rourke while the doctor tended to his injuries. Joe stood behind him, nodding along.
Captain O’Rourke listened with the intense gravity of a very serious man. “But how did you suspect Mr. Jones in the first place?”
Dash replied, “His alibi wasn’t that strong to begin with, but he futzed it up by embellishing. He said he went to the Observatory because the night was clear, but it’s not. I noticed walking into the Society that it’s cloudy without a single star in sight.”
“And why put the bowling pin into Borden’s room?”
“I believe Amos Clark gave us the answer to that. Dewey Jones is a bit of a dandy. I get the sense that violence is rather new to him. I think once he did the deed, he was in a daze, walking out of Captain Collins’s room still holding the bloodied bowling pin. Realizing he couldn’t be seen with it, he searched for a way to dispose of it. He must’ve seen Borden leave his room at that moment to get Finn. When he saw Borden didn’t lock the door, he decided to place the murder weapon in there.”
“So he wasn’t trying to frame Mr. Toussaint?”
“No, he just panicked. A state of mind that extended to his mess of a desk in his room. I imagine he was searching for and getting rid of any correspondence he had with Amos Clark. Unfortunately for him and Mr. Clark—and fortunately for you—he didn’t keep a cool head, which brought us into it.”
“As I always say, cool heads prevail. And… Pinkertons, you say?“
A glint in Captain O’Rourke’s eye told Dash he hadn’t believed a word of their cover story.
Down the hall, Dash heard Finn exclaim, “Borden! Praise be to Athena, they released you!”
Dash shot a quick glance at Joe, who he saw was trying unsuccessfully not to grin. He then winked at O’Rourke. “That’s right, Captain. Pinkertons.”