The juliet code, p.8
The Juliet Code, page 8
“Only one was an out-and-out murder investigation.” He sent another glare to Laraby before turning his attention back to Frederick and Grace. “The rest were all listed as ‘sudden’ deaths. One elderly woman fell down a flight of stairs. Another collector died of a heart attack at a surprisingly young age. A businessman who was transporting his Juliet to a new home was attacked en route and left for dead with no culprit or painting ever found. And then there’s Mr. Laraby.”
If possible, Mr. Laraby looked as if he wanted to become one with his chair, so far had he pushed himself into it. He finally released a long sigh and rolled his eyes, pulling himself straighter in his seat.
“Mr. Laraby?” Jack did nothing to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “Do share with us.”
Laraby groaned. “I was tried for the murder of my grandfather, if you must know.” His harsh whisper sliced into the silence. He cast a look over his shoulder as if any of the people nearby might be listening. “I didn’t murder him—and the truth came out in the end—but I was brought on trial all the same. The old man was poisoned and, with my indifference toward him and my standing as the heir, of course I was thought of as the prime suspect.”
“Yet the real murderer was never found, I’d wager,” Frederick stated.
“I told the police it was the new cook Grandfather had hired. She’d only been in the house for three days. I’d seen her once, but she’s the only one who had access to his food when he dined alone. Besides his valet. But his valet had been with me on an errand when the incident occurred.”
“And the cook? What happened to her?” This from Grace, and the expression on Jack’s face told all. “She disappeared.”
Jack nodded. “And a description of her wouldn’t help the police because evidently she’d been in disguise.”
“In disguise?” Frederick echoed, his brows high as if the idea of a disguise seemed quite out of the ordinary.
Luckily for him, Grace had imagined many disguises and even attempted a few in her younger days, much to the dismay of her father, sister, servants, and the poor gardener, who nearly had a stroke at the vision of her pulling off a fake mustache.
“A blond wig was found in her room along with some of those ridiculous wedges that go in the shoes to change a person’s height. And who’s to know what other ways she altered her appearance,” Laraby grumbled. “A little trick played back at me, is what I say, after all the tricks I’d caused on others.”
“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that later.” Jack folded his arms across his chest and raised both brows in expectation. “But now, why not really introduce yourself, Mr. Laraby, because I believe it will provide a bit more clarity.”
Chapter 6
Introduce himself?
Frederick’s thoughts were already spinning with this new information. Possible murders. False accusations. Disguises.
He looked over at Grace, only to find his dear wife in rapt attention, those bright eyes taking it all in as if Jack and Laraby were recounting the most fascinating tale for her fiction-loving heart. He frowned. It wasn’t fiction. It took on the same hue as the dangers they’d recently escaped in Egypt. People were not who they seemed to be.
And neither was Laraby?
Were they all living up to one of Venice’s other names—the City of Masks?
“Come now, Mr. Laraby.” Jack’s voice twisted into mock comfort. “Or did you fail to count the cost of hiring a detective who actually does his research?”
Laraby’s frown deepened, and he looked away. “John Walker.” He bit out the name. “My name is John Walker.”
“And?” Jack urged, his smile tight.
“My grandfather was Ebenezer Walker.”
“The train tycoon?” Grace gasped, her pink lips opened in surprise. “I read about the murder trial in the paper.” She glanced up at Frederick. “Of course, I usually prefer fiction, but the headline was much too gripping to ignore.”
“When I made it through the trial and finally received my inheritance, I had to get away from all the blasted suspicion and talk,” Laraby … er … Mr. Walker continued. “I left America with Paul and Lydia and started over. New name, new home, new life. The Juliets were my inspiration.”
“And they led you to Italy a little over six months ago,” Jack added.
“Do you think those who were after Mr. Walker’s Juliets have tracked Laraby”—Frederick frowned—“Pardon me, tracked Mr. Walker here?”
Jack’s expression harbored no doubt.
“And Mr. Walker isn’t a name that is used here, Lord Astley,” Laraby corrected. “He’s dead for all I care.”
“Well, we hope to keep you, whoever you wish to be, alive.” Jack stared at Laraby. “But that is up to how much you’re willing to listen to me and quit your games.”
“Should the house party continue as planned, then—with possible murderers in pursuit of Laraby’s Juliets?” Grace tried very hard not to reveal her disappointment, Frederick noted.
“You can’t be serious.” Laraby nearly shot up from his chair. “I have been planning this party for renowned mystery writer Mrs. Dolores Reynolds since I arrived in Italy. She is going to use my home in her next novel, and her brother may very well use it in one of those moving pictures of his. We are not going to—”
“There’s no need to lose your head, Laraby.” Jack raised a palm. “You Americans and your emotions can be regularly demonstrative, can’t you?” Jack’s subtle grin was aimed at Grace, who raised a playful brow at the detective.
Though she proved demonstrative in her emotions, Frederick was glad to note his darling wife’s logic and wit balanced out the emotions on a continual basis, for the most part. A fact for which he regularly thanked God.
“The last Juliets are the ones in your possession on your island.” Jack folded his hands together in front of him on the table and leaned forward. “Therefore, your island is where we must be. As long as you give me your word to be honest from this point on, I see no reason to alter your plans at present.”
Laraby gave a stiff nod in appreciation.
“However, if things begin to become dangerously unruly, you must heed my advice. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes.” He blew out an exasperated breath and made to stand. “Are we finished here, Detective? I have arrangements to put into order before the party begins tomorrow.”
Jack studied him, quiet building to such a degree Laraby squirmed. “Take care, Mr. Laraby, that you don’t treat this situation like a game, because I can assure you, the people who desire your Juliets have proven they won’t play nicely.”
“Nor according to your rules, I should think,” Frederick added.
Laraby tugged at his jacket and raised his chin. The arrogance pouring off the man dimmed only a little at Jack’s warning, and as Laraby left, Frederick met Jack’s knowing look.
“I’ve really held no previous conviction about circus folk one way or the other. In truth, I’ve had no acquaintance with anyone from such a life.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “But if Mr. Laraby is a sampling of the lot, I’m not certain I wish future familiarity.”
“Perhaps the money has a little to do with it, Jack,” Frederick offered. “There’s no knowing what someone who has lived without for so long might become with such sudden wealth.”
“Hmm” was Jack’s only response.
“I wonder, if seven of the nine paintings have presumably been stolen by the same people”—Grace drew out her notebook and quickly jotted down a few lines as she spoke—“do we have any idea at all where the paintings went?”
“That is the question I have some of my colleagues working on even now. I only know a hint of where two of the paintings went, but they’re not helpful answers. For the elderly woman, a widow by the name of Lady Chambers, her Juliet was left to her maid, a woman by the name of Jane Smith.”
“Which is a very unspecific name,” Grace added. “And I would guess not her real one.”
“My thoughts exactly, especially since no one has been able to locate this Jane Smith after the young woman left with the painting a year ago.” Jack shook his head. “And it’s all the more unfortunate because I actually was an acquaintance of Lady Chambers. She was the nearest neighbor to my father. As a child and young man, I would regularly cut through her garden on my way home to the nearby village, upsetting the delicate balance of her pug, if I remember correctly.”
“How curious to have it be someone you actually knew.” Grace patted Jack’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He smiled in a gently amused way at Grace. “I hadn’t had contact with her since Father lost his title and lands over a year ago, but she’d always seemed the pleasant sort. Indulging to my bit of mischief, except for the anxiety my actions caused for her pug, of course.”
“And the other case? What happened with the painting there?”
Jack looked to Frederick. “The painting went to a Monsieur Laurent’s footman, with the unassuming name of—”
“John Smith,” Grace guessed, her smile expectant.
“Very near the mark, my lady.” Jack grinned. “John Miller.”
“How far apart were these two incidences, Jack?”
Jack’s attention turned back to Frederick. “Very astute question and something I asked my contacts. If my hunch is correct, I’d say it was a very short time between the two. Lady Chambers’ death was not a year ago. In fact, I offered to investigate the fall down the stairs, but no one seemed remotely interested in a further look into her death.”
“I still don’t understand where the curse originated. If the related deaths are just now being connected to the paintings, then why a curse?” Grace muttered, marking something down in her notebook. “I’d always thought curses pertained to old things or places, like when we were in Egypt with the ancient tombs. But Accardi painted these in the middle to end of the last century. That doesn’t seem old enough for a curse, does it?”
“Curse?” Jack’s gaze sharpened. “Who told you about the curse?”
“Signore Capello,” Grace answered.
“He associated the robbery with the curse, so to speak,” Frederick added. “But it was something that had been shared with him, not an original idea.”
“A curse is a perfect way to instill fear and to distract.” Jack rubbed a palm over his chin.
“Are you suggesting one of the murderers may have started the idea of the curse?” Grace stopped writing in her notebook. “A clever way to keep others from collecting the art.”
“Yes.” Jack’s response came slowly, almost absently, and then his attention sharpened back on them. “Perhaps the two of you should step back from this investigation now.” Jack ran a hand over his face and gave his head another shake. “The plot of this particular story is taking darker turns than I’d anticipated.”
Frederick felt Grace’s gaze on him as he studied Jack. “What do you mean?”
“Disappearances and deaths have a tendency to encourage ideas of curses and the like.” His frown deepened, an uncommon expression for their friend’s face. “The past few days, I’ve been going over previous news articles related to Accardi, the painter, and his family. You see, I had hoped the robberies were merely that, simple thieves taking something of value for their own benefit. But after what you’ve told me and my own discoveries, I’m afraid it goes much deeper. Accardi’s own history points to unrest and mystery. His son-in-law murdered Accardi’s daughter and wife, and after the funerals, Accardi went after the rascal, ending in a murder-suicide by the son-in-law. From those origins, we have the possibility of something much darker than I’d thought.” He sighed. “Now is the time to back out. Once we arrive on the island, you may be too much in the thick of it to turn back.”
Frederick searched Grace’s face, already aware of her answer, but Jack didn’t give him time to answer.
“Take the evening to decide.” He stood and smashed his hat on his head. “If I don’t see you at the ferry in the morning, I’ll know your answer.” He gave a slight bow of his head. “Good night, dear friends.”
He exited without another word, and Frederick’s thoughts warred between two dissenting decisions. On one hand, the idea of helping his friend and benefiting from the—should he even admit it to himself—thrill of an investigation seemed the right choice for him and for his mystery-loving wife. But his thoughts turned to Grace—nearly losing her in Egypt had struck such a fear in his heart. The idea of putting her in danger again fought against any desire for mystery.
“You have a worried brow, my dear Lord Astley.” Grace slid closer to him and placed her palm over his hand on the table. “But if you’re concerned about my thoughts on the matter, let me put you at ease. I believe we should help our friend.”
“I can’t bear the idea of putting you in harm’s way, Grace. Not again.”
“I’m afraid you don’t really have the power of keeping me from harm’s way, Frederick.” She tipped her head, her nose wrinkling with her frown. “Danger can be anywhere.”
“But running headfirst into it is a certain way to find it.”
“We are here for a reason, and Jack needs us.” Grace squeezed his hand. “I know you want to keep me safe, as I want to keep you, but we also have lives to live in this very real moment. Who knows how God might use us to keep our dear friend and others safe?”
He stared at her, the vision of her wounded and coughing against him after he’d pulled her from a sand trap stiffened his resolve to let Jack do what he’d been doing on his own for years.
“Frederick,” she whispered, drawing his thoughts back to her very alive and beautiful face. “I trust you to make whatever decision you think is best, but I say we’ve been given this opportunity to help, and we should take it. Together. As we should always be.”
“You must promise me to do as I ask you, even if you don’t completely understand.” He tightened his hold on her hand. “And tell me where you are going, if you should need to leave.”
“I promise.” Her smile flashed wide with excitement. “And I’ll be certain to leave a note if I can’t tell you in person.”
“And”—his frown softened a little—“we must find a way for you to mask some of your expressions, or anyone, good or bad, will read every emotion you’re feeling. In this type of danger, that may be a detriment to you.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, so that’s how you know what I’m thinking sometimes.” She looked away, slowly shaking her head before returning her attention to him. “No wonder no one ever believed me when I tried to lie.” She shrugged. “Not that I lied a great deal, but I was always caught.”
“I don’t want you to lie.” He rubbed a thumb across her knuckles. “But perhaps putting your very good brain to use in practicing how to keep your expressions more neutral might be a good exercise if we’re to embark on investigations.”
“Oh yes, I will practice.” She nodded and gave his hand another squeeze. “And I’m so glad you’ve already committed to the idea of future investigations before we’ve even really started this one. We were meant for adventure together, Frederick, and all the clues were there from the very beginning.”
His eyes drew closed with his sigh before he looked back at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the way we ended up married started as a bit of a mystery.” One thin auburn brow tilted. “Someone was trying to kill you before we even met and nearly drowned us in the river on our inaugural ride to Havensbrooke as man and wife. Then your former lover almost killed us after poisoning a few people.”
Each sentence felt like a barb to his well-thought-out plans of keeping her safe.
“Then it was an adventure with your side of the family that caused all the delicious excitement in Egypt. Not to mention a smattering of ghost hunts and man-nappings.”
His throat began to tighten. He’d thought all this time that Grace’s insatiable love for fiction had somehow brought all the danger into their lives, but the truth was … he’d been the one to bring the danger into their lives from the beginning.
“So it only seems right that if so many adventures and mysteries find you on a regular basis, we may as well give in to the apparent tug and run headlong into them instead of finding ourselves surprised.” Her bright smile and confident eyes contradicted the wild increase of his pulse. “Just think about how much better prepared we’ll be.”
How could he argue with her logic, as disturbing as it was? So he acquiesced to it all.
The mystery, the danger, and the fact that the life he’d imagined was not the one he would live in reality.
Something deep in his heart responded …
Perhaps reality would be even better.
Chapter 7
People often underestimated the wisdom of bookshop owners. With a little prodding, Grace had convinced Frederick to leave her at a lovely old bookshop while he went ahead to the hotel to initiate their packing for the trip to Laraby’s island.
In truth, she’d wanted to find a few mysteries to take with her, and no matter which town they’d visited, there always seemed to be at least a few English copies of books in these little out-of-the-way places. But she’d also hoped to do a bit more investigating at the local level. Maybe. It couldn’t hurt to try.
She rummaged through the narrow rows, bookshelves towering on either side, the smell of dust and old books mingled in with the smell of new. As a child, she’d always felt as if these sorts of places led to other worlds. Not just through the stories they held, but an actual realm hidden down a narrow stairway or behind a bookshelf. She’d longed for real-life adventures, but she hadn’t needed a secret stairway or a magical potion.
She’d only needed to marry Frederick.
That scenario for adventure never seemed to make its way into the books she read. She sighed. Perhaps she should write one. Marriage was a very exciting, romantic, and sometimes life-threatening adventure that seemed highly underrepresented within the fictional world.
