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

He said no, and then was sad that I even thought that. He told me to leave. So, I did.”

“And that is the last time you saw him alive?”

“Yes.” A few more tears formed. Byron took out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She burst into sobs.

“I love him. I know now that I don’t care about where the money was coming from. I just want him back.” She continued to cry into the handkerchief. Byron shifted in his seat, looking between the two women. Mira closed her sketchbook and moved over to Molly, putting an arm around her.

“I’m so sorry, Molly. This must be terrible for you,” she said. Molly cried into her.

“I just, I can’t believe he is gone.”

“It’s going to be alright.”

“And to think if it was that night,” She sobbed. “If I had stayed that perhaps he wouldn’t have done it.”

“It isn’t your fault Molly,” Mira said.

“No. I suppose you are right.” Molly slowly sat up and composed herself. “I’m terribly sorry for causing a scene.”

“No, it is perfectly alright.” Mira pulled her arm back. “This is a hard time for you.”

“Thank you.”

Mira nodded to her and moved back over to Byron. Byron narrowed his eyes for a second and then leaned forward.

“Miss Bridges, I hate to continue questioning, however, do you know of anyone who would want Clement Pennington dead?”

“You think he was murdered?”

“It is a possibility.”

“No. I can’t think of anyone. He must have committed suicide.”

“And there is nothing else you can tell us?”

“No. I’ve told you everything I know.” She handed back the handkerchief.

“You can keep it.” Byron held a hand up, and Molly placed her hands in her lap. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Of course, let me know if there is anything else that I can do. But before you go, I do have one question.”

“Yes?”

“How did you know about me? Did you find a letter? Something he wrote to me?” Her lip quivered. Byron softened again.

“I’m sorry Miss Bridges, but no.”

Mira spoke up. “It was one of his neighbors, Mr. Graham. We asked him if he knew of anyone that was close to Clement. He mentioned you.”

Molly nodded and sniffled into the handkerchief again. “Mr. Graham has always been such a kind man. I’m grateful that he told you about me.”

“We’ll be in contact as we find out more, but for now we’ll let you get to your appointment.”

Byron’s cogs whirred as he stalked down the wet pavement, the rain gone for the time being. Mira nudged him out of the way of lampposts, puddles, and uneven ground as they walked in a semi-homeward direction. Just as she thought they were going to cross back into their part of the city, he stopped, examined his journal, then turned and went up a different road. Soon enough they arrived in front of Pennington’s residence.

“Let’s take another look around.” He climbed the stairs two at a time. Mira furrowed her brow, but followed. Hadn’t they seen everything?

The living room was untouched aside from a bit of accumulated dust. Byron poured over everything like a bloodhound. After poking around for a moment, Mira resigned to watch Byron at work. He eventually sat down at the piano bench.

“I might have been wrong about him being murdered, Mira.” He rubbed his hands together.

“Because of what Molly said?”

“Yes. Now, this is all conjecture, but perhaps he wasn’t doing well as an airship operator. He quit and became a thief. She disapproved, he felt rejected, perhaps betrayed, and then he killed himself. If he was in a crime circle, it would be all too easy for him to have gotten those opioids. He could very well have been ambidextrous like you.” He played a couple of notes on the piano. Several of the keys didn’t play, and the ones that did were out of tune. His eyes lit up.

“Hold on a moment.” He stood and walked around the piano.

He picked up the drinking glass from the top and set it off to the side, and then lifted the lid of the piano.

“Aha! I thought as much.” He grinned.

“What?”

“There is a place for a stash in here.”

“A stash?”

“Yes, somewhere to keep your valuables. Don’t you have one?”

“No. I use the bank.”

“I guess it would be more of a criminal-type thing to do. And it seems Pennington wasn’t making use of this one. There is nothing in it.”

“Must have spent it all on champagne.”

“No. It was opened after the romantic evening.”

“How can you tell?” Mira moved over to him. Byron closed the lid to the piano and gestured to a round mark on the top.

“You see this ring on top? It is a condensation ring. These are left when a cold glass gathers condensation on the outside and it drips to the bottom, creating a ring.”

“And?”

“There’s only the one ring here, and it seems to be fairly recent. It matches the glass I moved exactly. Since the glass wasn’t directly on the condensation ring, it must have been moved after it had dried. I know from my journal entry that I had made note of that before.”

“So, someone got into the piano either just before the murder or just after!”

“Precisely. Whatever was in here was stolen. Find that, and we might find our killer.”

They left the apartment and headed for Scotland Yard; their silence comfortable as they meandered. The leaves on the trees showed the first signs of Autumn; gold, orange, and red fringe framing each green leaf. Mira pulled her coat tighter around herself as a chill wind passed. As she did, Byron reached out, then pulled away, turning towards a news boy on the corner.

“Burglar caught in North London!” the young lad shouted. Byron turned back to Mira and their eyes met. With a nod, they quickened their pace. By four o’clock, they reached Scotland Yard. They went through the marbled halls and found themselves in front of a familiar desk. Juliet lit up when she saw Byron.

“Mr. Constantine! I’ve been worried.”

“Ah yes, Miss…” He looked at