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

The next landing had a small seating area and a door that lead out to an iron staircase. If you took it down, you would come to a lovely little veranda, enclosed and invisible to the outside world.

Following the stairs up would bring you to a guest bedroom, then her uncle’s room, then her brother’s room. Her room was at the top and she had to climb seventy-nine steps just to get there from the main landing. She had counted them when she was fourteen and it always bothered her that it wasn’t an even eighty.

After exploring restlessly, she returned to the library pretending to read, but really looked through the window for Byron. There was a knock on the door and she quickly looked back at her copy of A Tale of Two Cities sitting open on the table in front of her. Landon peeked his head in.

“Will you and Mr. Constantine be requiring tea Miss?”

“No, I don’t believe we will. Not at this rate anyway.” She looked out the window and stood as she saw Byron coming up the steps. She glanced at the clock. It was five minutes past noon. Landon followed her gaze and moved to the front hall to greet him. Mira sat down and picked up her book again. The door to the library opened.

“A Mr. Constantine to see you, Miss.”

“Yes, I was expecting him.”

Byron came in, removing his hat, completely out of breath.

“Sorry, forgot to write down the address.”

She furrowed her brow. “Then how did you find me?”

He regained his breath. “I’m a detective, Mira. It’s what I do.”

Landon left the room hiding his smile.

“May I sit down?” Byron asked.

“Are we staying here for long?”

“Not at all, but long enough I’d like to sit.”

“Then please.” He took a seat across from her and cocked his head looking at her book.

“A Tale of Two Cities?”

“I had to occupy myself somehow.”

“It’s upside down.”

“I’m practicing reading upside down.”

“You didn’t think I would come?”

“Well, you were late.”

“By five minutes. But I came.”

“And I’m glad.”

He paused and smiled softly, then his smile turned to a frown.

“We do need to go to Scotland Yard. I’m sure they’ve looked over the samples we gave them. Hopefully they found some sort of poison.”

“And then on to Caxton Street and Molly?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “We’re getting to the end of things. The light at the end of the mystery keeps getting brighter.”

They took a carriage back to Scotland Yard. Things bustled, but it wasn’t as hectic as the day before. Perhaps they had found something to help with their Whitechapel case, whatever that was. She overheard two constables talking about the witnesses they had called into the station for the day. Things seemed promising on all fronts. Juliet was away from her desk when they reached it, and so Byron simply knocked on the door to the inspector’s office.

“Come in.”

Thatcher’s office was cleaner than it normally was. He finished stacking a group of files before looking up.

“Ah. I wondered when you’d come in. We tested the teacup. You were right.”

“I had thought I was.” Byron tried not to look smug.

“It was poison then?” Mira faltered.

“Most definitely. Arsenic. We’ll be doing the autopsy later today and we’ll check for certain that it was in his system. Of course, that only matters if these truly were his teacups.”

“They were.” Byron straightened his tie. The inspector cleared his throat.

“If these were his teacups, then there is no question. It is murder.”

“Perfect. That was exactly what we needed to know.” Byron stood.

“What, do you have a suspect now?” Thatcher asked.

“Molly Bridges. I have reason to believe that her lip rouge was on one of those teacups.”

The chief inspector stood, his chair nearly toppling from his energy. “Then we can put an end to this case!”

“Indeed, we can. Shall we go on to Caxton street then?”

Raymond Thatcher’s spirits resembled a puppy on the ride over to Caxton Street. He bounced his leg up and down and couldn’t keep his eyes from the window. His mustache hid the start of a smile.

The carriage pulled up to the residence, they all stepped out, and Raymond Thatcher himself knocked on the door. There was a silence for a moment or so before footsteps approached the door. It opened, and a woman with two small children appeared. She had blond hair and blue eyes. Mira’s heart sunk.

“Yes?” the woman stepped onto the front step.

“Are you Molly Bridges?” the inspector asked.

“Molly who?”

“Bridges,” Byron said.

Mira cleared her throat. “It isn’t her.”

Byron and Thatcher turned on her.

“It isn’t?” they said in unison.

“Might I ask what’s going on?” All of them looked back at the young woman.

“I’m terribly sorry madam. It’s just we are looking for a Molly Bridges who used to have residence here,” Thatcher said.

“Well she hasn’t had residence here in five years at least. That’s how long me and my husband have been living here.” Byron closed his eyes and turned away from the door. Thatcher turned to Mira. “You are certain this is where she lived?”

“Positive. She was here, at this address, at twelve-thirty on Monday.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have been here then. The house was empty, so you must be mistaken.” The woman readjusted the child on her hip.

“Where were you?” Byron asked.

“Every Monday and Wednesday from Noon ‘til two o’clock I take a long walk and make visits with my littles. I’d do it on Fridays as well, except that’s my husband’s day off.”

The young woman allowed them to look in the sitting room for confirmation. The only difference from when they visited before were the odds and ends scattered throughout the living room. A child’s teddy bear lay abandoned near a couch. A blanket was strewn over an armchair. There was no sign that Molly even existed.

Thatcher’s mood resembled a drowning duck on the drive back to Scotland Yard. His complexion dulled considerably, and he slouched back in the seat. Byron was contemplative. For once, all Mira wanted to do was talk, but she stayed silent as well. The carriage