The juliet code, p.4
The Juliet Code, page 4
“Lord and Lady Astley, I’d like you to meet Mr. Daniel Laraby.”
Chapter 3
A rush of warning shot through Frederick, sending him shifting closer to Grace. And now? To learn the same “thief” from yesterday proved to be Jack Miracle’s newest client? Frederick had already agreed to assist Jack in his investigation, but to help with such a man?
He turned his attention to Grace and stifled a groan. Why did hindsight always have to prove so humbling?
But his lovely bride only scanned the man from head to toe. If he didn’t know her so well, he might have felt a sting of jealousy from her rather obvious perusal, but if he’d learned anything about her at all, she was likely taking inventory as the amateur sleuth she was.
“What a surprise.” The man, Daniel Laraby, blinked as his attention shifted from Frederick to Grace and back. “I had hoped to see you again and give a proper apology, but to learn you are acquainted with my detective? That’s awfully convenient.”
“You’ve met?” This from Detective Miracle, who’d walked around the table to stand nearer Mr. Laraby.
“Not formally.” Laraby’s grin resurfaced too quickly for any true remorse.
“And not in a way I wish to replicate,” came Frederick’s quick response. He turned to Jack. “Do you realize your client is a charlatan?”
“Now, now, Lord Astley, charlatan may be a bit extreme.” Laraby tugged at the lapels of his jacket, his smile hitched wide. “You see here before you a reformed swindler.”
“You’re not helping your case, Laraby.” Jack shook his head and looked over at Frederick. “Daniel Laraby is a former circus man, but since coming into his inheritance a year ago, he’s become not only ridiculously wealthy but quite the philanthropist and art connoisseur.”
“You were in the circus?” Grace stood from her place. “In America?”
“Indeed I was, your ladyship.” He took a dramatic bow. “Nearly my whole life.”
“Oh, were you on the trapeze or a fire breather?”
“Perhaps a clown?” Frederick’s grin tensed as he stared at the man.
“Perhaps a bit of all.” Laraby wiggled his brows in true showman fashion. “But my particular specialty was trapeze, though I had to do a bit of everything.”
“Might I suggest we continue this conversation at the table to prevent further travesty at Laraby’s initiation?” Jack gestured toward the table and sent Frederick a wink. “Our tea is getting cold.”
Grace grinned, her attention on the charlatan. “Since moving to England in December, Mr. Laraby, I’ve learned that there is nothing quite as disastrous to an English constitution as cold tea.” Grace’s eyes widened with a twinkle. “Except, perhaps, leaving the house without an umbrella.”
A burst of laughter shot from Laraby, and Frederick rolled his eyes.
How many times had his darling wife gently teased him about some of the trite “disasters” of English life. His smile almost bent. Of course, he teased right back about her American idiosyncrasies. The shared banter created the most delightful connectedness to her. He’d never imagined it could be so in a marriage, but her teasing the swindler didn’t hold quite the same pleasantness.
“Circus antics or no, I offer yet another apology about yesterday. Paul and I engage in the silliest of adventures when we’re in town to pass the time,” Laraby offered again, once seated. “It really was just a lark.”
“What on earth did you do?” The humor in Jack’s voice was undeniable … and incredibly unhelpful to Frederick’s suspicion.
“I made a bad first impression, I’m afraid, Jack.” Mr. Laraby offered an apologetic grimace. “Paul and I were having a bit of fun yesterday, and your friends came upon us in the middle of it all.”
“A bit of fun?” Frederick barely controlled his volume. “You stole my wife’s purse, then our gondola.”
“And you knocked the poor gondolier into the canal,” Grace added.
“I believe that was a team effort, my lady.” Mr. Laraby grinned at Grace in a way that did nothing to assist Frederick in controlling his volume … or suspicions.
Grace’s cheeks darkened as she raised a hand to her hat, but she lifted her chin and held Mr. Laraby’s gaze. “Which would never have happened if someone hadn’t stolen our gondola, if you recall, Mr. Laraby.”
At this, Frederick couldn’t tame the faintest smile pushing at the edges of his mouth. Likely, his beloved wife feared her current hat was on the heels of being lost to the same fate as the last—which proved a rather consistent pattern—but he loved her ready wit and her willingness to rally to a challenge. Well, most of the time. When it wasn’t at odds with his desire to keep her alive.
“Guilty.” Laraby dipped his chin. “But I assure you, no one has ever gotten harmed in our little games. The people of Venice have great senses of humor, and I made sure to compensate the gondolier handsomely for his trouble.”
Frederick’s shoulders relaxed a little. Perhaps the man was more smoke than fire. But what was he to think of a former circus performer turned rich gentleman who planned faux pursuits through the streets of Venice?
A quote from Jack’s book came to mind. When given opportunity to observe instead of engage, take thorough inventory of even the most minute elements. You never know what may be of future significance.
Not that Frederick had read Jack’s book enough to memorize anything, but perhaps he’d reviewed certain parts of it more times than once.
“Are these the very same Lord and Lady Astley you’ve spoken about before, Detective?” Mr. Laraby’s expression shifted from his faux-sullen state. “The ones who have joined you in your previous investigations?”
Assisted in Jack’s previous investigations? Was he referring to the murders at Havensbrooke?
“You didn’t tell me they’d be here to assist you in my little trouble too. That’s excellent.”
Frederick’s attention moved back to Jack. Had Jack taken the case knowing they’d be honeymooning here? As if in answer, Jack offered a good-natured shrug. “It never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes or two when dealing with a case of such history and mystery, especially when hidden treasure is involved.”
“You mentioned the treasure before.” Grace lowered her tea from her lips, her eyes growing wide. “I’d love for you to elaborate.”
Mr. Laraby had a deep scar above his right eye and appeared to have a rough go on shoes. Or at least the one Frederick noted nearest him. Despite their expense and relative newness, the scuffs etched deep into the sides. From lack of care? Rough terrain?
The cobblestone streets of Venice would not have led to such grooves, so what might have caused them? Scaling walls to infiltrate an art gallery?
“Evidently, there’s a hidden message in the paintings, as I understand it.” Jack gestured toward Laraby, encouraging him to continue the story.
Laraby tossed a grin to his audience, donning the showman’s persona once again.
There was an easiness to his nature, an almost boyishness, but also the real sense of an actor who had learned the art of playing to his crowd. How deep his playacting went, Frederick did not know, but if he and Grace joined the—he frowned—case, then his guard would remain alert to any underhanded possibilities. Unpredictability never boded well. Either this case proved as ridiculous as yesterday’s lark, or something much darker waited beneath the surface of Mr. Laraby’s ready smile … and they were all players on the stage of his next performance.
“I suppose I ought to give you a bit of biography so you’ll understand my connection with The Juliets.” Laraby took a drink of his tea before continuing. “As Jack mentioned, I was in the circus in America. Raised there until I was sixteen, when my parents died in a trapeze accident.” He paused, his lips pinching closed.
“Oh, how horrible,” Grace whispered, her fist pressed to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Laraby nodded. “It was horrible.”
A little of Frederick’s disquiet about the man abated. What a loss for a child to witness.
Laraby drew in a breath before continuing. “There had been an estrangement between my father and my grandfather all my life. I only heard rumors that it was about Father’s financial choices, but I had never worked out any of the details and accepted that I’d never know my grandfather, but a few years after I was left orphaned, he came for me.”
“Was he riddled with regret about his interminable estrangement?” Grace asked, leaning forward in her chair. “Did he long to amend the past?”
Mr. Laraby’s lips twitched. “I would like to think that was part of it, Lady Astley, but I believe the greater worry for him was lack of an heir to his considerable fortune. And he wanted to ensure his successor took appropriate care of his money.”
“And despite the estrangement, you agreed to his terms?” Frederick asked.
“While he lived. Which was a good six years after taking me on.”
The chronology would place Laraby in his midtwenties. A young man inheriting a fortune without the weight of the work and history that goes with it is a curious thing—especially as to how he might handle his instant extravagance.
“After his death, I did exactly as I liked.” The man’s eyes flared a moment before complying with a smile. “There was no love lost in the relationship. But I must admit, the old man did right by my two closest friends. When I told him I would not come to live with him unless they joined me, he agreed without hesitation. Both were orphans like me. Paul, whom you met yesterday, had been a foundling who ran away from his orphanage to join the circus when he was about twelve, and Lydia was fatherless when her mother first joined the circus. We grew up as siblings, and now Paul serves as my”—Mr. Laraby waved a hand in the air as if searching for the word—“companion of sorts. And Lydia, as the cleverest of us all, endeared herself to Grandfather, who enlisted her as his secretary, and so she has continued on as mine. I trust her implicitly, though I likely do not treat her as she deserves.” He chuckled and rendered a helpless shrug. “But what man really does?”
He sent Frederick a knowing look. Laraby’s ready disclosure of elements of his life edged on uncomfortable, but Frederick had learned from marriage to Grace that this may be more of an American trait than a character flaw.
“I’m glad to say my man is the exception then,” Grace offered, sending Frederick a smile. “He treats me better than I deserve, at least if measured in peace of mind.”
A somewhat choked sound erupted from Jack, who then cleared his throat and focused his attention back on Mr. Laraby. “Though you did not gain your business sense from your grandfather, you did inherit a bit of his passion for The Juliets. Is that so? Enough to inspire you to collect two more and purchase the island of their origin.”
“Jack is not only trying to keep me from rambling but baiting you all as well, I see.” Laraby chuckled.
“Lady Astley is a ravenous reader of all sorts of stories, Mr. Laraby, so I am inclined to rally my inner novelist to ensure she feels the full delights of your mystery.”
“I’m already completely enthralled.” Grace placed her hand on Jack’s arm. “So far we have a former circus performer turned wealthy island owner who possesses a mystery involving stolen paintings that somehow lead to a hidden treasure. How can I not feel that every fictional delight has suddenly come into real life?”
This very thought had been thrust upon Frederick repeatedly ever since marrying Grace. Fiction and reality intersected on a regular basis whenever she was involved. Perhaps his tug toward sleuthing was providential. It may prove a life-saving interest.
“You’re going to add some fun to this whole adventure, aren’t you?” Mr. Laraby allowed his attention to linger on Grace for a bit too long.
“I suppose you purchased the island for sentiment?” Frederick did nothing to hide the sarcasm in his tone. “Unless you’re a treasure seeker as well?”
“A little of both,” Laraby responded in kind. “I am sentimentally interested in finding a treasure.”
Frederick held the man’s gaze until he looked away.
“Have you been able to make any headway on locating the treasure?” Grace asked, apparently oblivious to Frederick’s somewhat primal and definitely nonverbal warning signs to Mr. Laraby.
“None at all.” He shook his head. “You see, of the nine paintings, three are supposed to hold some sort of message that leads to the very spot of the treasure, but no one knows which three. I have photographs of most of The Juliets, along with possessing three of them.” His face fell. “Well, two now that one has been stolen. But if there is some sort of message within the paintings, I’ve not been able to work it out.”
“The only way to really get an idea is to see the paintings Laraby currently has and to review the photographs.” Jack waved toward Mr. Laraby. “Your fiancée has a photograph of one of The Juliets that hung in the Romano Art Gallery, doesn’t she?”
Fiancée? Frederick liked Mr. Laraby a bit better.
“Yes. Jasmine, or Miss Benetti, is a curator at the gallery and was deeply distressed by the recent robbery. In fact, most of the photographs I do possess I received from her. She’s a scholar of the era and style, as well as being a native of Venice, so she’s spent years collecting any information she can about the painter and his works.”
“Are your current paintings secure?” Frederick asked.
“I feel as though the ones on the island are. I’ve not even shown Jasmine where my favorite Juliet is, but I do have a photograph of that one as well.” Laraby relaxed back in his chair. “If I display them at all, it is a rare event and only on special occasions.”
“Not even your fiancée has sorted out anything related to the secret messages?” Grace leaned forward, her mind whirling from the look in those eyes. “Since she is a curator and familiar with the paintings.”
“She’s very clever, but she’s at a loss to any hidden message either, if there really is one at all.”
“Oh, I wonder if it’s anything like Sherlock’s Dancing Men cipher,” Grace announced, tapping her long, slender fingers against her lips. “It was rather tricky, so it took a great deal of deliberation to sort it out—even for the grand detective himself—but what a clever invention of a message. Symbols instead of words.”
“Dancing Men Cipher?” Laraby looked to Frederick as if for clarity.
“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work,” Frederick explained, curbing the sudden urge to chuckle. Leave it to Grace to make some literary reference that may very well end in some actual clue. “Sherlock Holmes?”
“Ah, the fictional detective. Yes.” Mr. Laraby’s expression shone with recognition. “I’m not much of a reader, but I’ve heard of him at least.”
Grace blinked a few times at Daniel’s declaration as if she didn’t fully comprehend, and Frederick could almost hear her brain attempting to process the fact that Mr. Laraby wasn’t much of a reader.
“So that leaves us with two original paintings and a few photographs,” Frederick stated, sorting the information in his mind. “An island where a mysterious treasure is purportedly hidden.”
“And a thief who somehow broke into the gallery yet hasn’t attempted to steal anything from your island home,” Grace added, her attention shifting from Frederick to Jack. “How far away is your island?” Then she laughed. “It’s very strange to think of someone owning an island in real life, though I do hope yours will prove to be much less disconcerting than Dr. Moreau’s. Any exotic man-beasts hidden among the stones and shrubbery?”
“Not to my knowledge, Lady Astley, though I am still fairly new to the island. However, I have collected quite the menagerie of exotic plants.” Laraby’s smile resurfaced, and he glanced around the table. “Well, I feel The Juliets will be in very good hands with the three of you.”
And with that, Frederick and Grace joined the “case.” Frederick released a sigh of resignation even as the inexplicable thrill tempted to resurface in his chest.
“It is very exciting.” Grace’s grin reappeared, and she trembled from sheer delight. “Our first official investigation. And”—Grace raised a finger in unison with her brow—“I have a magnifying glass should we need one.”
Laraby chuckled. “Most women of my acquaintance wouldn’t view an art heist as a delight at all.”
“Oh, I can assure, Laraby,” Jack offered, “whatever expectations you have for most women will likely not pertain to Lady Astley.”
“Which the detective means in the best possible way, you understand, Mr. Laraby.” Frederick raised a brow to Jack as if to nudge him to clarify.
“Of course. I’ve not met a woman more inclined toward sleuthing in my whole career.” He tapped the table. “Which is why I trust the pair so implicitly. And I wager that once we set our eyes on the paintings, with Lady Astley’s quick wit and her husband’s keen observation skills, we may very well unearth some answers.”
A man in a serving suit appeared at the table. “Pardon me, Mr. Laraby, but your man is here to see you in the lobby.”
“Ah yes.” Laraby stood and sent a sweeping look to the table. “It’s likely last-minute questions about the house party. If you will excuse me for a moment.”
As soon as Laraby disappeared from view, Jack leaned forward, drawing Frederick and Grace closer. “Now that you’ve been officially inducted into detective work, I’ll share the plan I was making while Laraby told his tale.”
“You’ve made a plan where we’re involved? It’s almost as if you were expecting us to help you all along.” Grace’s ready enthusiasm inspired Jack’s grin … until he looked over at Frederick.
And then Jack donned some faux innocent expression that deceived no one.
From the small hints Jack had given to the two of them as he’d helped solve the case of the murder of Frederick’s brother, Frederick knew the man was looking for friendships. Colleagues and friendships only sweetened the deal for the lonely detective. And the convenience of Jack arriving in Venice for a case just as Frederick and Grace took their honeymoon in the same city? Well, the poor man left no illusion at all. He’d taken this case knowing full well Frederick and Grace would be here … and most likely had meant to include them all along.
