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

writing down a case in my journal involving you. Could you explain?” He handed her a cup of tea and she paused in thought. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a sip of tea.

“Do you have your pen ready?”

He looked at her with curiosity for a moment, then smiled and pulled out his journal, ready to write.

“Are you familiar with the airship accident of 1870?”

“To a point, yes. I was a bit young to be investigating it when it happened.”

“My parents died in that accident.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“And what exactly needs to be investigated?”

“I don’t think it was entirely an accident. Something about this doesn’t add up. The fact that the airship had been tested once before without a problem, that only two people died in a massive explosion,” She trailed off before finishing. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t happen to have any proof or other clues?”

“I’ve tried looking on my own. I truly have. The last month I’ve been searching through my parents’ journals, newspapers, I even went to Scotland Yard. Everything came to naught.”

“Scotland Yard wasn’t able to help?”

“Only those who work with or for the Yard have access to recent case files.”

“Hmm.”

Byron finished writing in his journal and went silent for a few moments. Then he looked up at her.

“I’ll take it.”

“You will?” Relief filled her voice.

“It’s a fascinating problem. Attempting to solve a ‘cold case,’ so to speak. I am in the middle of a case for Scotland Yard currently, but seeing as it involves airships, we might be able to work on it concurrently.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes. Well, I’ll see what I can do. I must warn you the original case takes precedence. I have a policy that unless there is a threat of someone dying, the case I am currently working on comes first. Understood?”

“Yes, of course.”

He nodded as he picked up his own teacup and took a sip, turning pensive.

“That still doesn’t answer the question of why you agreed to be my secretary.” He looked up at her again.

“I suppose it doesn’t. I’m not quite certain of it myself. I do need something to occupy my time, and all of this is just so fascinating. And aside from that I’d like to help solve my parents’ mystery myself rather than stand on the side lines.”

“Mira, this is dangerous work. You’ll want to consider that. Why don’t we do this on a trial basis?”

“I could agree to that.”

“Cheers to our agreement then.” He smiled and teasingly gestured with his teacup. She tipped her cup in his direction, and they both took a sip.

“Am I to start tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow. Yes.” He gave her another scrutinizing stare and set his teacup down. He looked around at the room.

“Thank you for helping me organize. When I can’t find something, it does become a mess.”

“I was happy to.” She finished her tea. An awkward stillness settled between them as she set her cup down. She stood.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She started for the door, fingering the keys.

“Indeed, you shall.” He beat her to the door and opened it for her.

“Good day, Byron.” She stepped out onto the street.

“Good day, Mira.” He smiled and closed the door.

She moved down the street, mulling everything over. This was exactly what she had been waiting for. Not only did she know definitively who Byron was, and what he had been doing, but she had an ally. And a job, for that matter. She smiled and began the walk back to Campden Grove. It was much quieter than her journey to Palace Court, but she liked that. Her thoughts were noisy enough.

The sun filtered through Mira’s window the next morning. She stirred, then jolted out of bed, dressing as fast as she could and grabbing a bite of breakfast before running out the door. “Don’t want to be late!” she called back to Nero, who curled up in a patch of sunshine.

Now knowing how close Palace Court was to where she lived, she set out on foot. Her walk through Kensington Gardens was beautiful, the air a little misty, but she didn’t mind. The time was about half past nine when she arrived at Byron’s. She fingered the key in her pocket for a moment and then knocked on the door instead.

The door opened to reveal Byron holding his journal, a finger marking his place on the page. He was dressed, but not wearing his suit coat. His messy hair looked like he hadn’t had time to tame it yet.

“If I know you, I’m sorry, I can’t remember.” He looked her over.

“You hired me yesterday to help you keep track of things. I’m sure if you keep reading, you’ll find me,” she said.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked back at the page he was on, then to her again.

“I hope you aren’t lying.” He stepped aside so she could come in. As soon as she stepped across the threshold, he closed the door and leaned against the wall, continuing to read. She hung her coat on a hook in the hall and went into the sitting room. Everything was as she had left it, other than a few notes pinned to the wall next to the fireplace. She moved across the room to examine them.

“Still low on food. Get some before end of week.”

“The secretarial position has been taken. Mira Blayse. She might just come in.”

“Meeting with witness in the airship case. 12:30. Scotland Yard.”

She turned and leaned against the wall, glancing back at Byron who had moved to the doorway. He turned away as soon as her glance passed him, and he started to pace with his journal, tapping the end of a fountain pen against his cheek. Eventually he sat down in the heavy armchair near the fire, set the journal on his lap, and looked up at her.

“Alright, Mira. Just give me a second to write something down.”

He uncapped his pen and opened the