"What are you doing?" He held up a hand. "No, never mind. I don't want to know."
"Good, I wasn't going to tell you."
"You're going into town, aren't you?"
"Only for a short while."
"Only?" He took a step closer. "Are you mad? If you get caught you'll lose what freedom you have."
Isobel shook the dress at him. "No one will look twice at me."
"Don't risk your happiness for a magnifying glass."
"Tied to a tree. With a crack," she said. "Go read. Finish your book. I'm not asking for your help, so stop meddling."
Lotario snatched the dress from her hand. "I'm trying to keep you out of trouble."
"Did Riot put you up to this?"
"Of course not. The man is not an idiot," Lotario said.
"Agreed. So why are you stopping me?"
"I happen to like Atticus, and I don't want to see his heart broken when my twin ends up in a grave."
"Since when has a mercantile been dangerous?"
"Everything is dangerous with you. Since you've been back, I've been seduced by a mad coroner, abducted, nearly drowned, and shot."
"I'm not asking for your help." She took back the dress, and briefly considered shoving her twin into the wardrobe, but Lotario always made such an awful racket.
"Well, you should."
"You told me you wouldn't swap places with me anymore."
Lotario arched an imperious brow. Finally, he gestured to himself.
Light dawned, and Isobel cursed under her breath. She was an utter idiot at times. "Will you take the magnifying glass into town and inquire after the owner?"
"Ask nicely."
Isobel batted her lashes. "Please, oh wonderful brother of mine."
"That's better."
"Can you telephone Riot, too?"
"You don't have to ask nicely for that." Lotario smiled like a cat. "Besides, mother and father are visiting today." Before she could retract her request, he snatched the magnifying glass from her hand and darted from the room.
10
A Simple Task
LOTARIO
Sunlight touched the dirt road, playing over leaves and a trail of wagon ruts. Lotario Amsel frowned at the long road. From silks to fine cuisine and four-horse carriages to this. And, by God, the parties he was missing. He could be in Paris, with ancient cobblestones under his feet, or on the Riviera. Tan bodies, carefree love, and Venetian balls. Instead, he was here.
Lotario curled his lip as he side-stepped a steaming pile of manure. The things he did for his twin. He was exhausted, his shoulder hurt, and the trees were swaying. But he didn't dare let on. Otherwise Isobel would beat herself up for making him walk to town. And then she would fuss. If there was one thing worse than a restless Isobel, it was a fussing Isobel.
Light-headed, Lotario stopped to rest on a rock. The shade cooled him, and he adjusted the sling on his shoulder. As a general rule, he tried not to ponder the future. It led down dark places and Lotario preferred the light. But weeks here—a place of recuperation—had forced him to slow down. To contemplate his life. And that was something Lotario had always tried not to do. His usual life involved fluttering from one party to the next, moving between johns and lovers, and swapping personas whenever he grew bored with who he was. But now he was stuck with himself. Lotario Amsel, black sheep, outcast, and now, cripple.
Lotario squeezed the magnifying glass until his knuckles turned white. It sent pain arcing up his wounded shoulder. Angry with himself, he pushed off the rock, and continued his walk towards Calistoga.
A rattle of wheels sent him hurrying to the side of the road. He stopped under a tree, and turned. The driver was covered in grime from his Stetson to his overalls. Not an ideal ride, but it would do.
Lotario hailed the driver. "Can you give me a lift into town?"
The man pulled on the reins, and eyed Lotario's sling and suit. He plucked a pipe from his lips. "Amsel's boy, are you?"
"One of them. Lotario Amsel," he introduced.
"Finneas O'Conner." The driver thrust down his hand, showing off a bright pink palm. A mercury miner.
Lotario took the hand with his good one, and his arm was nearly yanked from its socket. He was deposited on the seat with a thud. Lotario turned to look in the bed. A bandaged Chinese man sat beside a bloodstained blanket with a telling bulge underneath.
"We're due at the undertakers," Finneas explained, snapping the reins. The wagon rolled forward. "So where do you fall in the Amsel line? I can't recall all your names."
"I'm one of the twins."
Finneas laughed, and slapped his knee. "One o' the 'wee devils'."
Lotario hadn't heard that nickname in years. He studied the driver, and recognition touched memory. The mines had worn Finneas down, stolen his teeth and youth, but Lotario remembered the man. "You're Finn!"
Finneas flashed a gummy smile.
"You used to work at the vineyards," Lotario said.
"'Tis a shame 'bout that. Your ol' da was a good man. Paid us our worth."
"It is a shame." Aside from a few of Isobel's childhood expeditions, Lotario had fond memories of the vineyard. They had wandered for miles, and slept under the stars—with or without parental permission.
"Couldn't believe when he sold it. Then I heard 'bout some trouble with a rich fella and higher ups takin' what wasn't theirs." Finneas glanced at Lotario's bandaged shoulder, and frowned. "Those rumors, about your sister and you, they true?"
"Which ones?"
Finneas chuckled. "I can't read, so I have to divine the truth from what I hear. Never sure with that."
"I can read, but I'm always skeptical of what's in the newspapers. But if you're referring to the business with Alex Kingston and the court case that followed, then yes."
"And you took a bullet for her?"
"I did."
Finneas slapped him on the back, jarring his shoulder. Lotario swallowed down a wave of dizziness. "There's a lad. Good thing it wasn't my own dear sister. I'd have took a step back." Finneas wheezed for a few seconds. "I'll be damned. You wee devils turned into something good after all. Always figured you two for bank robbers."
"Bel was sentenced to an asylum."
The man barked. "Crazy, the both of ya. Is your ol' da going to buy another vineyard?"
Lotario lifted a shoulder. "I don't know. With the aphid infestation, I'm not sure there'll be any vines left. It's the vines that make the wine. But all the same, it'd be nice to keep some land here."
"Nasty pests," Finneas agreed. "Maybe it's good he got out when he did. I always said you two might be devils, but you're lucky ones."
Finneas hacked and gagged, and spat out a wad of thick phlegm. Lotario remembered a young, red-headed man full of energy. But then that was nearly a decade ago.
"How are the mercury mines?" he asked.
"Hellish." Finneas wiped his sleeve across his mouth. Lotario was on the verge of asking why he'd left the vineyard, but he didn't want to prick a nerve. If his father had sent Finneas away for some transgression, Lotario didn't want to be at the receiving end of the man's forgotten anger.
"Was there an explosion?" Lotario asked, nodding towards the corpse and injured passenger.
Finneas shifted. "Yep."
Lotario glanced over his shoulder, but the injured miner kept his eyes down. Accidents were common in mines, but so was malicious intent. It was none of his business. Still, Lotario was never one to pass up an opportunity to wheedle information from someone. He turned back around to Finneas and tried not to listen to the man's hacking—a common ailment among quicksilver miners.
They talked of the good old days at the vineyard, which turned to California's aristocracy. "A pompous, greedy bunch, the lot of them." And by the time Finneas dropped Lotario off in front of the general store, Lotario knew the man's favorite food (oysters), drink (whiskey), the lazy workers, and the whore Finneas wanted to marry (Sabine). Lotario had found that most men liked to hear themselves t
alk, and it took very little to nudge them in the right direction.
As the dust cleared, Lotario stepped onto the boardwalk, and gazed wistfully across the street to the hotel Magnolia. He longed for a good soak and a long sleep. But duty called.
A bell above the door clanged as he entered Smith and Sons General Store. Specialty cheeses and wines mingled in with breads and chocolates, among the more practical items. It wasn't a San Francisco boutique, but it was certainly civilized. Calistoga catered to a wide clientele, from vacationers to miners to the infirm.
The storekeeper's smile was at odds with his drooping mustache. The greeting only puffed out his cheeks until his eyes disappeared. "Afternoon, sir."
"Afternoon," Lotario said, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief. "I'd forgotten how brutal summer can be here."
"You must be from the city."
"One does become dependent on our lovely fog."
For a minute, a pair of lacy gloves distracted Lotario.
"Shopping for the missus?" the storekeeper asked.
"Hmm." Lotario cleared his throat, and pulled himself away from the reams of cloth. "I need to replace a magnifying lens. It's cracked."
"I don't keep them in stock, but I can order one."
"That'll do."
The storekeeper reached under the counter for his ledger. "Make?"
"I'm not sure, but I have it here." Lotario placed the glass on the counter. The storekeeper hesitated a fraction, then picked it up and turned it over in his hands.
"A fine piece." His voice was rough. "I may have a lens in the storeroom. Excuse me." He hurried through the back door, taking the magnifying glass with him.
Lotario frowned. That had been far easier than expected. Never one to question luck, Lotario took advantage of the storekeeper's unexpected exit. He spun the ledger around, and ran his finger down a list of names and goods sold. There. A magnifying glass, ordered and arrived a week before, for a Mrs. Sheel. That fit the second initial on the handle. No address, but never mind that—there hadn't been a postmaster yet that Lotario couldn't trick into giving him an address.
Lotario spun the ledger back around, and waited. The minutes ticked on, and he turned to the merchandise. He collected a bag of hard candy, a pair of silk stockings, and those lovely lace gloves. He turned his nose up at the selection of dresses, and became enamored with a tiny book of poems.
The bell chimed, and Lotario snapped out of his book, wondering where the time had gone. A determined man with broad shoulders strolled inside. He had a star on his chest, and a scowl in his eyes. At that same moment, two more men walked in from the storeroom. Lotario swallowed.
"Stay where you are," the determined man ordered.
Lotario raised his hand. "I intended to pay for the candy."
Two quick steps and the Deputy Sheriff grabbed Lotario's arms, twisted them around, and slammed him onto the counter. "Miss Morgan, or should I say, Miss Amsel, you're in a heap of trouble," the sheriff growled in his ear.
White hot pain raced up Lotario's bad arm, right into his skull. Robbed of the breath to answer, his only reply was a strangled cry.
11
The Parents
ISOBEL
"Mother, I'll say it one more time: I will not have another wedding." Isobel put all her stubborn will behind the words.
Catarina Saavedra Amsel scowled at her only living daughter. Catarina had a presence that sent most men in retreat. But Isobel was immune. The emotion crackling between the two could power the city for a day.
"You will have a wedding, Isobel. I will not have a daughter living in sin."
"That ship sailed long ago. The entire country knows about my adulterous ways." Isobel delivered the statement with relish, provoking her mother to trace a cross over her breast.
"You must make this right. It reflects on the entire family." Catarina glanced to her husband and butler. She doubtlessly imagined the two of them already covered in filth.
"A man's reputation doesn't matter one jot. My brothers can whore their days away, and still run for congress," Isobel said.
"That judge should have put you in a work camp!" Catarina snapped.
"My dear, please," Marcus said, then looked to his daughter. "She did not mean that, Isobel."
"The hell she didn't."
Catarina's eyes flashed, and Marcus Amsel quickly put his hand up. "Stop antagonizing each other," he said firmly.
"I am not," they said as one. Both women clicked their mouths shut.
Isobel rolled her eyes, growling under her breath.
"Are you done yelling at each other?" Marcus asked.
"No," said his wife. "We need to discuss arrangements—her dress, flowers, guests…" She counted down on her fingers.
"I'm in jail!"
"Pfft. You're on holiday." Catarina gestured towards the lush gardens. "What did you do with Lotario?"
"I didn't do anything with him. And don't change the subject, Mother."
Catarina blinked at her. "Would you like to discuss your wedding?"
Isobel took a breath. She managed to count to five before her mother's piercing gaze dashed any chance of calm. "I've already had a society wedding. In a church. I don't want to do that again. Riot and I aren't part of society. We would only have a handful of guests, most of whom would be ex-convicts."
"You have family. What will they think?" Catarina asked.
"Probably that I'm an adulterous liar, or simply mad." And then, despite her better judgment, she tossed one more thing into the pot. "Were you planning on inviting Curtis's widow and orphaned daughter to my wedding?"
The words hit Catarina like an answering slap. Her mother took a step back. The air cooled, and Catarina's face went hard with grief.
"You should have told us about Kingston," Marcus said softly, shying away from the son who had tried to murder his own sister.
Catarina swallowed, keeping a tight grip on her cane.
"I can't change things," Isobel whispered.
Her father wrapped a long arm around her shoulders, and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "My Isobel. Always courageous."
Words caught in her throat. She was on the verge of telling them that she wasn't—far from it. She was a coward who had killed her brother.
Catarina gathered herself up. "I thought your attempt to handle Kingston foolish."
"Well, she's always taken after you, Schatz." There was a twinkle in Marcus’s eyes.
Catarina put her hands on her hips. "Marcus, surely you agree with me about the wedding?"
"Wie bitte?" Marcus asked in German. He always forgot his Portuguese when it suited him. Her mother huffed, and looked to Hop, arching a brow in question.
Hop wisely held up both hands. "No sabe, Miss."
"Mr. Hop, you spend far too much time with my husband."
"He is a wise man," Hop agreed.
Catarina turned her back on the traitorous butler. "Where is Lotario?" she asked again.
"He went into town."
"No doubt to gamble," Catarina said.
"Mother, I'm marrying a gambler."
Catarina waved the observation away like an annoying pest. "Señor Riot is a good man."
"Yes, he is," Isobel agreed.
Marcus Amsel clutched his chest, and began to wheeze. Hop reached for his arm, but Isobel grabbed her father first, and shoved him into the closest wicker chair.
"Marcus?" Catarina asked, clutching his shoulder.
"I'll get a doctor," Isobel said, tensing to run.
"No, no," her father wheezed. "I've always said the day you two agreed would be the death of me." He was laughing so hard that breath was coming hard.
Isobel smiled as her mother playfully slapped the side of his head.
"Señor Riot is a good man," Catarina repeated.
"An honorable one," Hop added with approval.
Isobel looked to the man. "I'm glad you think so."
"My own daughter cares more about the butler's opinion than m
ine,” Catarina huffed.
"Hop is a butler? I thought he was your advisor," Isobel said.
"Does Mrs. Amsel ever listen to advice?" Hop asked.
Marcus wheezed again. "You are trying to get me in trouble, Hop."
"I am sorry to say, sir, you were in trouble long before I came to your household."
Catarina turned her back on the men. "Isobel," she said softly. "I only want to see you do something right."
Always a backhanded compliment.
"Mother, St. Mary's won't marry us."
"Do you mean Señor Riot isn't Catholic? We'll fix that." Catarina pursed her lips. "Unless he's Protestant?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does."
"Except if it's the man you love?" Isobel pointed out.
Catarina clicked her mouth shut.
Marcus took his wife's hand, and kissed the back of it. "I married a rebel, and have never had a peaceful day since." It earned him a glare, but Catarina curled her fingers around his hand.
"Riot and I haven't discussed wedding plans." Isobel took a breath and dove in head first. "But we have decided to adopt Jin and Sarah."
Both of her parents stared at her, speechless. Hop's eyes widened a fraction in alarm.
"And if you say one word about Jin being Chinese, I will disown you here and now, Mother." Isobel meant every word. But rather than anger, something far worse happened: tears sprang to Catarina's eyes.
Marcus climbed to his feet, and guided his wife into the chair, kneeling despite his arthritic knees. "There, there, mein Schatz," he soothed.
Isobel stared, horrified, as her mother wept silently into a handkerchief. She glanced at Hop, who tilted his head slightly towards the weeping woman. Isobel had only ever seen her mother cry once—shortly after her older sister, Liliana, had died in childbirth, along with her newborn daughter.
Isobel tried to make amends. "I said, if…"
"Shush, Isobel," Marcus said.
Isobel sighed, and turned to pace, but a bony hand snaked out and held her fast. It was her mother's. Catarina looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "How could you think me so cruel?"
The Devil's Teeth (Ravenwood Mysteries #5) Page 6
