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

Nero meowed at her feet, asking for fish. She ignored him and brought her papers over to her desk. She looked between the letter and the police report trying to decide which to open first. Picking up the folder she took a deep breath and then opened it.

Officer James Davies

October 12, 1870

As I was walking my beat near the shipyards, I heard an explosion coming from the airship docks. I quickly made my way in that direction. Once close to the location of the incident, it was easy to see that the explosion had come from the engine room of one of the larger airships. As I approached, I noticed that people were evacuating from the main portion of the airship. By the time I reached the main dock, the fire had been extinguished. I entered the area where the explosion had occurred. The main window had been shattered. Several crew members were gathered around a half-melted steam engine. It was still smoldering. I moved over to them first and asked if there had been any injuries. They stated that Octavian Blayse and his wife Rose Blayse had been in the engine room at the time of the explosion, but they weren’t anywhere to be found. I left to send a messenger back to Scotland Yard for additional constables to be sent. While I was gone, the bodies were recovered. They were burned beyond recognition—

She put down the report and swallowed. It was hard to read it in such unsympathetic terms, but even worse to read about their condition. And this wasn’t even the medical report! However, she did find it odd that her parents’ bodies weren’t found until after the policeman had left. What if there were more clues? She took a deep breath and looked out the window. Was it just her imagination? Her false hope that somehow her parents’ death was more than an accident? She paused in thought. Why would she want her parents to have been murdered? What sort of motive could there have possibly been? She slumped back in her seat again. There had to be more. She took a deep breath and managed to continue.

They were burned beyond recognition, but their clothing positively identified them as Mr. and Mrs. Blayse. Their bodies were found outside the airship. The explosion sent them through the main window and onto the ground below. I hadn’t seen them as I approached because they had fallen behind some scaffolding. Soon enough the additional officers arrived on the scene, as well as some reporters. We brought the bodies back to Scotland Yard to be examined by the Yard physician. The bodies were further identified by a friend of the family, Edward Burke.

She blinked at the professor’s name. How had she never heard about this? If the professor had been there, then he had to know something! Although, he only identified them. He wasn’t at the shipyard. She just needed to find a way of contacting him.

She glanced over the medical report. It was worse than the police report. She set it off to the side when she couldn’t read any more. Pushing away the folder, she picked up the letter from her brother. Thank goodness she saved it for last! At least she would end on a happy note.

My dearest Mira,

I’m happy to hear that you are getting help with this case. It certainly seemed as if every part of it had come to nothing for you.

I’m afraid my previous letter’s news wasn’t exactly meant to be. Fairly soon after I sent that letter, I found out that Henri Giffard died back in 1882. I would have thought his death would be more well publicized. After all, he did invent the first airship, or as the French say “dirigible.” Of course, our father likely would have still invented it if Giffard hadn’t. As you may well have guessed, I am rather disappointed, but not to worry! I’ll find a different apprenticeship soon enough. We’ll be going on a trip to the Alps this next week, and then I’ll start my search again. Of course, being in the Alps means I won’t be able to write you until the beginning of October. Hopefully, my next letter will carry more favorable news.

Love,

Walker

She placed the letter in the box on the mantle. It wasn’t particularly happy news. But at least it was a letter from Walker. The last one. For over a week. She woke up Nero from his twentieth nap of the day and brought him up the stairs to her room. Tomorrow would be another day, and although the police reports and letter were slightly depressing, nothing could stop her from being excited for it. Another day on the case with Byron was certainly something to look forward to.

The sun peeked through Mira’s curtains, but she was already up, dressed, and breakfasted. Her excitement made it difficult to sleep. The walk to Palace Court through Kensington Gardens was uneventful, and she arrived in front of Byron’s abode before the frost melted from the grass, sketchbook and police report in hand. Piano music drifted out an open window in his sitting room and Mira smiled to herself. Even if he forgot the day to day, muscle memory couldn’t be forgotten. She slipped the key into the lock and entered. The piano stopped playing.

She closed the door and turned to face a pistol. Her smile disappeared. She froze and looked at the owner of said pistol. Byron stared at her, questions playing on his features, scrutinizing her once again. There was something else as well. Anger. Something she had never seen on his face before. She swallowed and took a step back, paling. Her eyes flicked between the barrel of the gun and his face. Muscle memory couldn’t be forgotten. Her heart raced in her chest.

“Who are you and how did you get in?” He cocked