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

mercenary, then she must have been hired by the smugglers to kill him.”

“Then why didn’t she kill him back in April when they first met? Why kill him in September? Why court him at all?”

“All good questions, Mira. That would have been the way to go. The only problem is the thing he was blackmailing them with. The blueprints. If he died who knows where they would end up. They might end up in the possession of an honest person who would turn it over to the police. According to my notes, she told us herself that she asked him over and over where the money was coming from. She was trying to get him to trust her enough to show her where he hid the blueprints. But that didn’t happen. And when he quit his job, he was more of a threat.”

“So, she waited until she knew where the blueprints were?”

“Not exactly. She created a situation that would make Pennington show her where it was. Burglary. When your home was broken into, what did you think of first?”

“Nero. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“Very admirable of you. When Palace Court was ransacked, I assume I immediately thought of my journal, and then remembering I had it on me, I thought of my files. You think of what is most important to you. Now if you were Clement Pennington, what would be the most valuable thing?”

“His livelihood. The blueprints!”

“Exactly. Selene burglarizes, Molly and Pennington come back, he makes a beeline for the stash in the piano, moving the glass from the piano leaving the ring on top. He sees the blueprints are safe, relaxes, maybe explains it to Molly and puts them back. Molly hits him on the back of his head to knock him out and gives him a syringe full of opioids making it look like an accidental overdose. Pennington is dead, Molly is free to take the blueprints back to the smugglers and get paid. Simple.”

“Except we found out about her.”

“Yes. From Mr. Graham. She sees the advertisement in the paper and finds a house convenient for us to meet her in. We go there, she cries and makes a scene and tries to convince us of suicide. She finds out who told us about her. Now she knows that Mr. Graham had been watching. He might be able to tell us or the police that she had come back after leaving with Pennington. He had to go, and so—”

“Poor Mr. Graham.”

“Arsenic in his tea. Probably under the guise of thanking him for telling us about her and reminiscing about Clement. He let her in because he recognized her. Now we just hope that Molly takes the bait with Selene.”

“And if she does? What then?”

“We will go with Selene to the Pit. From there, you will stay close to me no matter what happens. We probably follow her at a distance, trying to look inconspicuous and blend in. Speaking of which, how is your cockney accent?”

“My what?”

“Irish maybe?”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Mira you are going to have to stop speaking so properly. People will question it. You can’t be a lady of fortune down there. You must look, act, and sound the part. For example.” He stood up and hunched over, stuffing something into his cheeks and furrowing his brow.

“Wha’ might’ ya be doin’ ‘ere lass?” His voice turned rough and scratchy, something like a ridged coin scraping on pavement. He was unrecognizable. He straightened and pulled two handkerchiefs out of his mouth.

“Alright. Your turn.”

“My turn?”

“If you are coming with me into the Pit, you have to play the part. Respond to what I just said.”

“Alright. Um.” She stood up and hunched over slightly. “I’m…um…just looking. Lookin’ round…‘Ere.”

Byron hesitated for a moment and looked her over. “You know what, if we cover you in soot and you clutch the shawl around you and keep close to me. Hmmm.”

“Will it work?”

“You’ll have to pretend to be mute. We can’t risk your accent.”

“What?”

“There is no other way around it. Your voice is too silvery and aristocratic. No amount of soot or practice will hide it.”

“You want me to be mute?”

“Yes. I can pretend to be your husband or your brother or—” He glanced at the mirror in the hall and grimaced. “I suppose I could be your father with this makeup on.”

“I suppose I could be mute.”

“Perfect. With any luck we won’t have to talk to anyone.” He seemed satisfied with himself and set his journal next to his teacup.

“Go change out of those clothes. I can tell you are uncomfortable, and you’ll be wearing them for long enough tomorrow.”

She nodded and went back up the stairs to the guest bedroom. She was speechless, which she surmised was good since she needed to be mute the next day. Her own clothes felt smoother against her skin after wearing what was the equivalent of a giant dead rat.

She came back down the stairs and found Byron adjusting his tie. He looked entirely like himself again, and she preferred that.

“You certain you still want to go through with this?” He looked up at her.

“I…I’m positive. We need to see this through to the end.”

He slumped again, disappointed. “Very well then.” He came back into the living room and sat down in his armchair. She came and sat across from him. He scrutinized her again, and she looked down. He cleared his throat.

“And what about after we get to the end? Are you still willing to be my secretary?” She looked up.

“Of course, I am. I told you that yesterday.”

“After being kidnapped?”

“Yes.”

“After your home was broken into?”

“Yes.”

“After reading my journal?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. He took a breath and then stopped. She looked down. “This is the first time I have felt like I was truly my own person.” She looked up at him. “I have my own life. I’m making something of it. It’s exciting and invigorating and…” She