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

if this truly is a mystery to be solved, this case is eighteen years old. No clues, no traces. What could he possibly find or remember?”

Mira’s thoughts sank down around her. Maybe they did have a lead, but where would it even take them? They knew that her parents were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but without more witnesses they couldn’t determine anything. She felt her hopes falling within her when Landon called them into dinner.

The rest of the evening blurred together. She knew she participated in the conversation, but she couldn’t remember any of the topics. She excused herself early from the evening and walked home, the lulling sounds of the city crashing against her ears attempting in vain to stir her from her thoughts. She went over the events again and again. Nothing. Another dead end. Another blockade. And even though she had Byron to help her now, what help would he be without his memory? She trudged up the steps to her rooms.

He had given her plenty of help. Because of him, she was able to read the reports and meet Mr. Graham. But what else could he possibly do? The words of the professor echoed through her head. She tried to shake it off as she got ready for bed, but the thoughts kept coming back. What if there wasn’t an answer? What if he was right? She lay down and stared at the ceiling, willing the anxiety to cease.

The sun crept through the window, the sharp slit of light beaming on Mira’s face. She stirred and pulled the covers tight over around her. The shifting blankets left her feet in the cold, and she wrestled to get them back under again. Why did it have to be morning? She snuggled further into the blankets, feeling her breath on her face. Nero found his way under the covers and nibbled on her toes, asking for fish. She grimaced at his rough, wet tongue and forced herself to get up. Nero mewed at her feet.

“Alright, alright! I’m up. Apparently, you can’t do anything without me!”

She didn’t care to determine whether she was referring to the cat or to Byron and pushed her frustrated exhaustion to the side as she trudged into the kitchen. She paused to look at the time. Nine o’clock. Byron could wait, couldn’t he? She gave Nero his breakfast and sat down to her toast and eggs in silence. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, she’d fallen into a routine with Byron.

After breakfast, she headed out to Palace Court. Clouds congregated and blocked out the sunlight. It was quarter past ten when she arrived, and she felt a few drops of rain as she stepped into the doorway. She pulled out the key and chuckled. What response would she receive today? To her surprise, the door flung open and Byron jerked her inside, closed the door and pinned her against the wall.

“Byron!” Her key clattered to the floor.

“Where in heavens have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

“What?”

“You’re late.”

“You remember?” she whispered.

“Er…no. I read up on my journal before you got here.”

“And you were worried about someone you had never met?” She retrieved her key and pushed past him into the living room. Of course, he didn’t remember! It was foolish to think otherwise. The professor’s words rang in her ears. He would never remember. If she knew that, why did it hurt so much? Her eyes stung, as she focused on the room. Papers were strewn everywhere. A rather large address book lay open on the side table.

“I know enough about you from my journal. I know enough to know you are punctual.” He followed her into the living room.

“Right.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have your address, or else I would have called upon you to ensure that you were alright.”

“Well, let’s clean this up, then.” Mira knelt to pick up the papers. Byron stooped to help her. She turned away from him to better organize the notes and hide her eyes.

“You are alright, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Byron. I am.”

“Why were you late?”

“I must have gotten preoccupied. I’m sorry,” she muttered, brushing a stray tear away when he wasn’t looking.

“No, it’s quite alright.” He picked up the last of the papers and put them in the filing system. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.

She glanced up at him, meeting his sincere blue eyes. She relented. “That would be lovely.”

A few minutes later the kettle whistled, and Mira settled into her armchair as Byron handed her a cup.

“Thank you.” She sipped at it, letting the warmth flow through her. He nodded, sat down, took a sip from his own cup, and opened his journal.

“What we have here are plenty of facts,” he started. “All of his coworkers believe that he was depressed and that his depression is what caused him to leave the Vaporidge company. From what we can tell, he had a love life of some sort. Mr. Graham has told us about Molly Bridges. One burglar that hasn’t been found. Hopefully in the last day or so I have received some sort of answer to that newspaper reply. There is still the question of the cause of death—”

“I see several questions, Byron,” she interrupted.

“Well yes, of course. Which ones are you toying with now?”

“Cause of death, motive, whether the house was searched or burglarized…”

“Yes, that would be two different things in my book as well. Please continue.”

“Where did he go during his breaks, why did he leave the company, and what was the state of his relationship with Molly Bridges?”

“All excellent questions. And surely we shall answer them all!” He set down his teacup and pressed his fingertips together. He looked over at her. “Where should we start Mira?”

“Well, perhaps with the post.” She leaned over and picked up the letters on the table, handing them to him.

“Ah yes. To see if we have received an answer.” He picked up a letter opener from