Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

“I…yes. I did.”

“Why?”

“Promise not to tell him?”

“I promise.”

“I’m investigating my parents’ accident.”

“You…what?” His brow furrowed with worry.

“All my life I’ve been told the same story, and all my life I’ve wondered about it. Something doesn’t seem right.”

“Mira, it truly was an accident. You aren’t thinking someone is to blame, are you?”

“Yes. I am. I’ve gone to the newspaper and Scotland Yard and they couldn’t help me. I thought maybe—”

“It was an accident Mira. You’ve been told the same story because that is all there is to be had.”

“But—”

“I know it’s hard for you. It’s hard for all of us. I wish there were someone to blame, but there isn’t.”

“I can’t accept that answer, Professor.”

“It’s the only answer.” He closed her sketchbook. “I’m sorry, Mira.”

She took the sketchbook from him and fondled the cover. “And what if I prove that it isn’t?”

“Then I suppose I’ll be a liar.”

“Or just misinformed.” She placed the stereoscope back into its box. “I know there is more to this than meets the eye.”

“And what if there isn’t another explanation?”

“Then I’ll be the liar. Good evening, Professor. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Good evening, Mira.”

She found her uncle in his study, looking over some navigational charts.

“Uncle Cyrus?” She knocked on the doorframe.

“Hmm? Oh yes, come in, Mira.”

“I just wanted to say goodbye before I headed back home.”

“You’re leaving then?”

“It is getting late.”

“Before you go…” He hesitated for a moment. “I want to apologize. You’re right. If that airship you were talking of does get off the ground it could potentially change the shipping industry.”

“You don’t like the thought of it though, do you?”

“No. I don’t. They’re dangerous and—”

“Don’t worry uncle. I really was just curious.”

“I just don’t want to lose you ag…lose you as well.” He corrected himself. Mira knew full well that he was going to say “again.” All he ever saw when he looked at her was her mother. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I know.”

He cleared his throat. “You’re still alright living on your own?”

“More than capable. And the allowance you’re giving me is the perfect amount for my expenses.”

“You don’t feel the need to come back here?”

“No. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Is there anything else?”

“Just stay safe.” He smiled a bit, trying to reassure himself.

“I will. I’ll see you next week.”

“Yes. Next week.”

Landon was waiting for her in the hall with her coat.

“I hope seeing the professor again was a good surprise for you Miss.”

“It was, Landon. Of course, it’s great to see you and Uncle Cyrus too.” She smiled up at him as he helped her into her coat.

“Ah, but you see us much more frequently. Do you need me to call you a cab Miss?”

“No thank you. It isn’t dark just yet. I think I’ll walk.” She adjusted her hat.

“Of course. Have a safe walk home.”

Once again, her questions had come to nothing. No help from the newspaper, Scotland Yard, or her uncle. She stepped over a puddle. There had to be some other way to figure this out. The only other option would be to find some way of working for Scotland Yard. Officer Wensley said as much the day before. But how could she manage that? The setting sun made the houses look golden as she walked up the street to her home. She yawned as she took out her keys. Tomorrow she could make a new plan of action.

The sun rose in the sky over London, and there wasn’t a cloud to be found. The sunbeams weaved their way around the dozens of airships that dotted the blue. The cafe bustled with activity as Mira enjoyed her French toast. She had finished her sketch of Byron and decided that he did in fact have a kind face. Her gaze shifted up to him as he crossed the road towards her.

“Good day, Miss.” He took a seat across from her and reached for the note in the bush.

“Good day, Mr. Constantine.”

“Please, it’s Byron.”

“Isn’t that a bit informal, as we are just acquaintances?”

“I find that sometimes formalities waste valuable time. If you don’t make the most of the time you have, it will be lost to you.”

“What a fascinating philosophy.”

“I think so. Usually.” He smiled and read the note, putting it back into the bush. She stifled a laugh.

“Well then Byron, you may call me Samira.”

“Hmm. You don’t happen to go by something shorter, do you?” Then he took out a journal and wrote something down. She cocked her head.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Samira is quite beautiful, but so is Mira. Or Sam. And they are shorter. Easier to remember.” His gaze deepened as he trailed off, deep in thought.

“My family does call me Mira. And Sam is…” She grimaced. “I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”

“Well then, Mira it is, and Mira it shall be.” He grinned up at her with a wink and picked up his pen to make note of something else. Mira couldn’t help but smile.

“You like to write, then?” She gestured to his journal. He swallowed.

“Yes. You could say that.”

She studied his face. He seemed a bit nervous. She glanced at the church clock. If she was right, he’d be leaving at noon. It was quarter ‘til now. He put his pen down and flipped back a few pages in his journal, beginning to read. She opened to a fresh page in her sketchbook and nibbled on the end of her pencil. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“You are well, then?” He looked up at her. She glanced up at him and continued to draw.

“Indeed I am. Are you?”

“I believe so, Miss Mira, of course one can never be sure.”

She furrowed her brow and brought her full attention away from her sketch. “Why not?”

“All sorts of reasons. I’m glad to hear you are well.”

“Your routine seems rather rigid. You won’t be late again, will you?”

“Late for what?

“Yesterday you said you were late for a crime. Or something.”

“Did I?”

“That is