The juliet code, p.28
The Juliet Code, page 28
Mr. Finch, or Mr. Russo, as the case may be, proved to be one of the servants at the home of a neighbor of Jack’s father, one of the Juliet victims. Only at Mrs. Chambers’ house, he’d taken the name Mr. Anderson. It would make sense that Mr. Finch-Anderson-Russo knew of Jack’s family ties and possible family members who would pay a solid ransom, should Jack ever need one.
Thankfully, a ransom hadn’t been necessary because those particular family members would hold the magnanimous rescue over his head for the rest of his life and likely accrue interest for repayment.
As for the paintings, the police recovered them from the secret room, returning Signore Capello’s to him, with plans to return others to their inheritors. The gold was placed in police custody to sort out next steps, but with such a treasure, the governing body would likely need to be called in for disbursement.
With Laraby dead, whatever remained from the sale of the villa and his remaining property would go directly to paying off his debts, and according to his most recent will, any proceeds would be split three ways between Paul, Lydia, and Jasmine.
Did that mean Lydia would become an independent woman? For her sake, he hoped so. From the bits and pieces he’d heard of her relationship with Laraby and life in the circus, the woman deserved freedom and—he cleared his throat—a good man to love her.
He adjusted his hat and drew in a breath. Of course, he wasn’t that man.
With his past record, he hadn’t the capacity to delve into another commitment, and despite his laissez-faire persona, he had never learned the skill of superficial romances. He was the sort who charged in whole heart and half a brain.
So it was quite clear he was not ready for romance.
Even a jot.
He had too many wounds still healing from his past to offer a full heart to a woman.
But if he were to think in the romantic direction, Lydia Whitby would be the sort to turn his head.
Intelligent. A keen sense of humor. Brave. Clearheaded under pressure.
The fact she wielded a knife well should bode poorly, but he couldn’t help admiring her even more.
He groaned back into the chair, breathing in the scent of salt and some baked goods wafting in on the breeze through the open windows. After three more days in Venice, working with the local police and confirming how the suspects fit into which robbery and which murder, it was time to go home.
The mastermind behind the plan had been the former governess, Mrs. Reynolds-Russo, but she’d pulled her husband into the scheme and, it seemed, had even nurtured the bitterness and desire for revenge in the two children. Evidently, Accardi had left a letter for her when he went off in search of his murderous son-in-law, detailing the way to note the clues to the treasure and hinting to the whereabouts of certain specifics that only a person closely connected to the family would have known.
Thus, the reason the treasure remained elusive and nearly fictional.
Mr. Reynolds, whose name actually was Mr. Parker, had been a friend of Mr. Finch-Russo’s and was brought on for a slice of the treasure. Since Mr. Finch-Russo thought he and his wife would be easier to recognize if they traveled as husband and wife, having Reynolds play the part of the husband was meant to deter possible detection of the pair.
Smart. And somewhat confusing in hindsight.
Lucia Bartoli seemed the least involved of them all, so perhaps some good could come from the devastation of the Accardi family. In fact, none of the murders or thefts were placed at her feet, though she’d assisted in them.
The sudden scent of lavender brushed over the air, pulling Jack’s attention from the open window to scan the room. Hadn’t Lydia stayed at the villa to finalize everything with Paul?
Yet she materialized before him, stepping into the room dressed in a simple brown walking suit, her hair pinned back just like the first time he’d seen her. Even her spectacles presented themselves, perched on her perfectly small nose.
Her gaze found his from across the room, the faintest of smiles softening her entire expression. His heart responded quite naturally to her presence, but he ignored giving any translation to such a response.
He stifled a groan as he stood and met her halfway across the sunlit room.
“Detective?”
His grin crooked, and he tipped his head. “Miss Whitby?”
They stared at each other, neither speaking, but the air took on a thicker, sweeter quality.
Lydia looked away.
“I thought you would need to be at the villa for a while yet.”
She looked back at him, her smile sad. “As Laraby’s secretary, I already know his finances and what paltry funds will be available to us. I’ll stay to assist in the rest of the investigation and settling his affairs, but then I mean to leave Italy.”
He rubbed the back of his neck to keep from touching her arm in comfort. “You have nothing, then?”
Her brow pinched, and she offered a humorless chuckle. “I have what I’ve saved, which is a mercy. And at the end of it all, I’ll have enough to get myself started somewhere new, so there’s that, at least.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets just to have something to do. Why on earth he felt so unnerved, he had no idea. It was a simple conversation. He engaged in them daily. Sometimes, to his dismay, hourly. “Where … where do you wish to go?”
Her gaze flashed back to his. “I don’t know. Start over somewhere. I have excellent references from John’s … um … Laraby’s grandfather, so I suppose I could take up as a secretary for someone.”
He stepped closer, watching how the light from the window shone off her golden hair. His chest constricted. Truly, if he was going to fall in love, she’d tempt him beyond reason. He needed to step back. Distance himself from her.
In all honesty, he barely knew the woman. A handful of conversations and a near-death experience did not mean entangled hearts.
And shouldn’t.
And then, in complete rebellion to his thoughts, his mouth took control. “I have a proposal for you, Miss Whitby.”
What was he doing?
Her eyes widened, the green depths glimmering in the sunlight as if she were asking the same question. “A … a proposal?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. Stepping fully into his lunacy, the idea emerged with more solidity with each second. “A solid, thoughtful proposal for a woman with your … skills.”
“With my skills?” She gave her head a solid shake. “Detective, I am not so desperate as to be in search of a husband—”
Husband? His face burst into flames. “Wait, please.” He raised his palm. “Not that sort of proposal.”
“What?” Her breathless response both tempted him and left him wary.
She’d have turned down marriage swiftly if his proposal had been in that vein. But why? He was a stable, somewhat intelligent, wealthy man with enough good humor to keep himself alive for a while yet. Quite marriageable, even if his romantic past didn’t bode well, though at present he wasn’t seeking matrimony. At all. Ridiculous notion, actually.
Her shocked expression drew him back to the point. Proposal. Yes. But what sort of proposal had he meant? The answer rose to the forefront of his mind as if it had been waiting in the far recesses of his head to be noticed.
“I’m in need of a secretary.”
“A secretary?” Her eyes narrowed, her shoulders relaxing. “Are you?”
“But more than that”—the words tumbled forward before he caught them—“I’m looking for a partner.”
“A partner?” she repeated, her voice a bit higher pitched than usual.
Well, he might as well commit at this point. After all, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Females could get into places men couldn’t. They looked at information from a different and complementary angle. And he needed someone who could not only help keep him organized but join him in crime solving pursuits.
He steadied his attention on Lydia’s rather lovely face.
Yes, a rather brillant idea, if he did say so himself.
Lydia Whitby was more partner material than secretary material to his mind.
“Well, to be honest, I’ve had the need for a partner for quite some time now but hesitated in truly considering the prospect because it would take a very particular sort of person to fit the bill, you see?”
Her eyes narrowed even more.
He swallowed through his dry throat. “I believe you would fit the bill.”
“As your partner?” Her brow rose in challenge.
He nodded, working up the words. “Yes. You have the makings of an excellent detective, should you wish it.”
She blinked, the suspicion in her eyes fading to a fairly fetching look of wonder. “Do I?”
“Indeed.” He rallied to the challenge, to maintain her wonder. “You are intelligent, shrewd, quick-thinking, creative.” He waved a hand toward her. “Disguises do come in handy now and again.”
Her lips tipped ever so slightly, encouraging him.
“Your unique history as an illusionist should bring a great many benefits given the ability to disappear is an excellent skill for a detective.”
Her smile brimmed a little more, somehow causing his chest to warm.
“And though I wouldn’t wish you to be tried on a regular basis, you’re rather handy with knives.”
“And I’m a decent shot,” she added, folding her arms across her chest. “Though I could use more practice.”
He dipped his chin. “More hidden talents to prove my point.”
“There aren’t a great many female detectives in the world.” She studied him with those enchanting eyes. “Aren’t you concerned it might look bad for you?”
Her encouragement bolstered his confidence, and he relaxed. “I think you could only improve the looks of any place, Miss Whitby.”
A slight flush deepened her cheeks and only made her more beautiful, and a wild tug-of-war between wanting her to accept and not wanting her to accept his proposal commenced within his chest.
Oh yes, Lydia Whitby could be the most dangerous sort of partner … to his heart. His smile edged crooked. But he did enjoy a little danger, didn’t he?
“But in regards to there being very few female detectives, don’t you think it’s time for that to change?”
She didn’t reply, only stared at him with those enchanting eyes of hers, made all the more enchanting by the gold rim of her spectacles—like a well-placed frame to draw attention to the masterpiece.
He released a breath and dipped his head. “Here is my card.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the card, offering it to her. “When you are ready to decide, just know you have opportunities.” He held her gaze. “And friends, Miss Whitby.”
She looked down at the card and then back to him. “Thank you, Jack.” She raised the card in gesture. “Thank you for the proposal.” Her smile flared and then softened, holding his gaze. “And for the friendship.”
Grace sat on the veranda of their hotel room, book in her lap but her attention focused on the fading horizon. They’d only been in Venice a little over a week, and it seemed an entire lifetime had passed. So many amazing adventures, a new friend or two, but also an entire history of aching losses.
A father losing his wife and daughter.
Two children losing their family and inheritance.
Several people losing their lives.
A former governess losing her way.
Grace sighed back in the chair, a prayer forming in her mind for so many lost people. The bigness of the wounds settling deep, almost overwhelming her.
What could be done with such brokenness? She didn’t have the ability to fully comprehend it, let alone make a difference.
In fiction the hurts may linger in memory for a few days or months but mostly end with the turn of a page; but here in real life, they twisted and stung for much longer, like her nightmares. And even though her nightmares still lingered in the shadows of her life, God had been so kind to lessen them in the light of His care and love.
And thus came the dichotomy of living in a broken world. Hurts and grace. Loss and hope.
The pain would still happen. People would still become lost. They would still wound others out of anger or hatred or selfishness. Revenge would still prove to uproot people’s lives, but God had placed her and her darling husband in this very world at this very moment in this part of His story to bring hope.
Something in her spirit caught on the thought.
God only called her to touch those in her little part of the world in the everyday ways of bringing hope. And she and Frederick had made a difference. In saving Paul, Jack, Jasmine, Lydia, and maybe, in some way, Lucia Bartoli, the most sympathetic character of all the villains.
Perhaps with Grace and Frederick’s testimony to what they’d witnessed, the two lost grandchildren would find some hope.
Something the world needed in a little more quantity.
Her smile tipped. She felt certain a great many people still needed her and Frederick’s certain brand of hope, whether in a neighborly way or in helping solve their mysteries.
After all, she and Frederick were detectives now. Jack had said so.
As if summoned by her thoughts, her dashing husband stood on the threshold of the veranda, his grin so broad, she stood from her seat to greet him.
“You look rather pleased about something.”
He attempted to temper his smile but failed, which made her grin grow even more. Oh how she loved all of him, but the few glimpses into his boyish joy delighted her beyond words.
“I hope you don’t mind staying a few extra days in Venice.”
“Why would I mind? Despite our recent harrowing adventures, it’s a lovely city that we’ve barely seen.”
“Quite right. And we should certainly take advantage of that.” He nodded, moving close enough to settle his palm against her waist. “However, I just received word from Inspector Randolph that he is en route from Cairo to Venice with Zahra in tow, so we should see her day after tomorrow.”
Their beautiful adopted daughter would be with them in two days?
“That’s wonderful!” She brought her hands together in a laugh and rocked on tiptoe to kiss him. “Oh, won’t she love seeing all this water and the buildings? I’m so happy she’ll finally be with us.”
“As am I.”
Another way to bring hope to the world in a small way. Loving a child in need of a family.
Frederick led Grace inside their room to the couch. “And I have another letter that you will enjoy.” He tugged an envelope from his jacket and offered it to her.
Her sister’s familiar handwriting greeted her. “Oh, I am so glad! From her last letter, she spoke of how her little baby was growing and moving inside her.” Grace looked up at him. “It must be such a remarkable experience. And to think, I will be an aunt within the next month.”
“Perhaps we could plan a trip to see her in August or September.” Frederick joined her on the couch. “That will give us time to adjust to Zahra being a part of the family and then solidify some more improvements to Havensbrooke and sort out whatever is going to happen with Elliott.” He brushed a hand to her hair, subduing a rebel curl. “I know you’d love to see your father.”
“Oh yes.” Grace stared down at the envelope, a sudden rush of longing bringing fresh tears to her eyes. “He always seems well in his letters, but one can never trust him to be completely honest.” Grace looked over at Frederick. “He’s notorious for faking peace even to the detriment of his health or finances. Lillias says it’s his southern American upbringing, but I do believe it’s just part of who he is.”
“Well, perhaps we can attempt a trip much sooner.” He covered her hand with his. “For your peace of mind.”
She smiled up at him, and he rewarded her with a tender kiss. Oh, how she loved him. The feeling pressed in her breast with such abundance, she wondered how her heart kept it all contained.
“You saw Jack off?”
Frederick nodded. “He plans to visit us at Havensbrooke when we return home.” Frederick sighed and looked away. “I think he has some ideas of how to ensconce us in another one of his simple”—Frederick raised a brow—“investigations.”
“And what do you think of that proposal?” She searched his face.
He squeezed her fingers. “I think if we have some sort of interest and talent to help people in this way, then, God help me, we ought to use it.”
She chuckled. “I feel as though God has been growing your fortitude since marrying me, so you’re likely more fit than most for such an occupation.”
“Jack wanted me to give you this.” He reached into his other jacket pocket, obviously ignoring her comment, and placed something in her hand.
She looked down to find a single gold coin.
“Jack knew you already had the necklace as a token of your Egyptian adventure, so he wished to contribute something to your Italian one. It’s from the treasure.”
She smoothed her fingers over the coin, the carving of some sort of building marking the front. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m grateful to give it to you all alive and well.” He brushed his fingers against her cheek. “And beautiful.”
She pressed her cheek into his touch and closed her eyes, reveling in his affection, in their mutual safety. “What did you learn from the police?”
He relaxed back into the couch and rested one ankle against the opposite knee, the very picture of gentlemanly repose in his light brown suit slacks and white button-down. “Mr. and Mrs. Russo—or Reynolds and Finch, as we knew them—appear to be the main instigators of the entire affair, so they are likely to receive the brunt of the justice. Zappa, I mean Nico Bartoli, is being charged with Laraby’s death but has complied with all requests, which will be to his benefit.”
“And Lucia?” The young woman’s face settled in Grace’s mind. So innocent in appearance.
“She’s not been connected to any of the murders, so at the moment, she is seen as an accomplice only. There’s a good chance the legal ramifications will be more lenient in her case, assuming she continues to comply with authorities. Jack’s testimony regarding her sympathetic response to Laraby’s death certainly helped her reputation among the police.”
