by Paisley Ray
“A blueprint?” I asked.
“It’s a staff, like the one we saw in the Tower,” Travis said.
“But this is the original. Sonny pointed to a spot of the drawing. “The Cullinan’s placed here. A stroke of ingenuity. The diamond is removable so it can be worn as a brooch. Bet you didn’t know that.”
Sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds that embellished the stick were detailed down to the size and shape, cut, color, and flaws. The amethyst was labeled ‘Facet, round. Grade, gem, Deep Russian – Origin Turkey, circa 1853-1856.’
“Did you design this?” I asked.
“No, not I. This piece was crafted before I was born to accommodate the great Star of Africa.” Hovering his finger over the drawing, he was careful not to touch it and smear the oils from his finger onto the sketch. When he neared the top of the scepter, just below the emerald set in the cross, his hand began to tremble.
I looked to Travis. He mouthed my thought. “The amethyst.”
“The amethyst in the scepter? Does it have something to do with the brooch?” I asked.
Sonny’s eyes bugged out and went all goldfish on me.
“The amethyst brooch and the crown jewels, linked? That’s crazy,” Travis said.
Re-folding the paper, Sonny replaced it in the envelope.
Thoughts spilled from my mouth. “Why would the Turks want an amethyst that’s as big as a golf ball?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Travis replied.
The gears inside my head cranked. I laid a hand on Sonny’s arm. “What do you know about the amethyst?”
“Cockles and mussels,” he said, looking for his cane.
“Did the Brits get it from the Turks?”
“Acquired under the gray area leaders like to call ‘diplomacy,’” Travis said.
“That’s a devious theory.” I was impressed. “Now the Turks want it back?”
Snatching his cane, Sonny bolted out of the vault room.
“Sonny, Sonny,” I called as I hurried after him down a hallway.
Our shopping bags rustled as Travis brought up the rear.
Before the steps, Sonny leaned his back against the wall. “It was before my time, I don’t know how the amethyst came to Britain.”
An ‘ah ha’ moment snapped inside my brain. “That circa dates it to the Crimean War. The Brits and Turks fought against the Russians.”
Sonny stood, paralyzed.
“But what does the oyster brooch have to do with the amethyst in the scepter?” Travis asked.
Sonny clutched the envelope against his heart. “Insurance. That’s why he took it.”
“He? Who?” Travis asked under labored breath.
I searched Sonny’s eyes. “King Edward took it so he could abdicate and still be safe, taken care of. Don’t you see? And the brooch is a key.”
Noises echoed down the staircase. All three of us tilted our heads upward. In a panic, I patted my chest. “The brooch, it’s upstairs in the shop.”
NOTE TO SELF
Having serious kook attraction situations. Going to switch deodorant brands or toothpaste or something.
Sonny’s story—not a load of codswallop!
CHAPTER 18
Getting On My Wick
Taking two steps at a time, I left Sonny and Travis in my dust. No sooner did I enter the front of the empty jewelry showroom than arms on either side clutched me up and propelled me forward. The counter where the brooch had lain was empty. Stupid.
My head swiveled left then right. The guys I’d seen at the bar and again in the parking lot were fit and their grips pressed imprints into my forearms.
The thugs moved me toward the door, which pissed me off. Digging into my arsenal of possible diversionary tactics, all I came up with was going limp. My knees now dragged on the floor, and out onto the sidewalk where an idling transit van’s side doors were open. “You can’t just snatch someone. That’s kidnapping and my country is best buds with this country. If you don’t let me go, a ballistic missile will be pointed at your ass.”
They both laughed and in a twangy British accent that sounded exotic, the thug on my right said, “Don’t struggle. Someone wants a word with you. It would be in your best interest to cooperate.”
“Hey, you know English,” I said, trying to wiggle out of their grips.
Ducking my head low, I flailed my arms high and threw one of the men momentarily off balance.
A rapid clicking noise tapping on the sidewalk echoed from behind me. Travis called my name and things went warp-speed weird. Surprisingly not only did Sonny stick around, but he found some inner mojo and cracked bruiser number one on the back of the knee with his cane, sending him on a field trip to inspect the cobbles.
In a synchronized ambush, Travis sideswiped bruiser number two on my left upside the head with shopping bags to the face, temporarily discombobulating him.
With wide eyes, I scrutinized the shopping bag, then Travis. “What kind of underwear did you buy?”
“Egyptian cotton. Some jeans, and an oak backgammon game set to help us pass time on the boat.”
Speaking to one another in a native tongue I didn’t understand, the thugs rallied. Closing in, they positioned themselves to pounce, then abruptly froze. With raised arms, they backed away. I turned to Travis, who under Sonny’s instructions was tossing all the purchases we’d made into the back of the van. Sonny had drawn a wicked six-inch straight blade from the shaft of his cane. With practiced dexterity, he made a show of swishing and thrusting it in the direction of our assailants. “Get in and drive, Missy,” he ordered me.
It was then that I noticed Ahmed cowering behind the passenger door that he sneakily tried to close.
“Ahmed,” I seethed as I snatched the door handle.
“This is not what it looks like, Ms. O’Brien.”
With two bounces he was in the driver seat and out of the door onto the street before darting around the back of the van to meet his cronies.
Travis and I jumped in, followed by Sonny. Car doors slammed and I hit the gas. When I looked in a rear view mirror, I saw a handful of men pile out of a Range Rover that had pulled into the spot we’d left. A guzzling noise rattled next to me. “Really, you managed to bring the scotch?”
“Want some?” Sonny asked.
“Yeah!”
Travis locked his door and reached forward, locking mine. “Rachael, not now.”
“Tally-ho,” Sonny shouted, then sheathed his sword.
I’d only driven a manual vehicle on two prior occasions and fuddled to find the gears. We lurched with each shift. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t have a license to drive on the left side of the road.”
“I don’t drive,” Sonny said.
“Rach, just get us away from here.”
I chanted, “Left side, stay left,” and merged into traffic. “Where are we going?”
“To the river,” Travis suggested.
“No, we can’t. This van will lead them to us,” I said.
Sonny made an honorable attempt at finishing the bottle. “Piccadilly Circus?”
Spotting a roundabout, a cold sweat broke on my forehead. “Sonny, I barely evaded Turkish kidnappers. You can’t expect me to have a night out on the town to watch lions jump through hoops.”
“I’m not suggesting we faff around, it’s the nearest underground.”
“Subway?” I asked.
“It’s the quickest way in and out of London.”
“Then what?” Travis asked.
Sonny wiped his sleeve on his mouth. “Then we forget any of us ever met.”
‘Boozy breath’ navigated and we aimlessly drove around a few loopdeloos before reaching the subway station. Abandoning the van in a no parking zone, we hustled away. Outside of the underground, my heart strained against my ribs.
Travis traced a finger across the rail lines on a map. “Brown line to the yellow line. Quick and easy. Sonny, where do you live?”
Head down, I traced my eyebro
ws with my fingertips. My heart lodged in my throat and my brain went all fuzzy. “Please tell me one of you has the oyster brooch.”
Travis looked to me, then to Sonny. Sonny mirrored Travis, and swayed his head between the two of us. In a wobbly motion, Sonny’s feet dragged and wavered like a puppet. The empty bottle dropped from his hand and clattered on the ground. Slumped against the wall, gravity pulled his bottom downward. “If word leaks it will be an embarrassment to the nation.”
“Everyone embarrasses themselves.” Travis frowned at me. “Some more than others.”
I smacked his arm.
“Ouch.”
Keep it together, O’Brien. We got a situation on our hands. Seems Sonny has hit a wall.
“Sonny, Sonny,” I called.
The jeweler’s face was a blank smile. “I’m a bit tiddled.”
Leaning in close, I fought the ripe odor that wafted from his pores. Lifting an eyelid with my thumb, I peered into his eyes for signs of life and he belched in my face.
“What are we going to do with him?” Travis asked.
NOTE TO SELF
The brooch is a goner and it’s my fault.
CHAPTER 19
Unexpected Cargo
Tucked against Travis’s bare chest, I ignored the blunt object that thumped my shoulder. A seasoned boater, I was now accustomed to rocking and the noises that pinged and creaked. Even from the docks, London street traffic bustled late into the night, and I’d lain awake next to a slumbering Travis while reeling through the day’s events in my head. At this point, I actually had more questions than answers, and it was near dawn when a frustrated exhaustion eventually lulled me to sleep.
A window in the cabin had been left open and above the quilt, the temperature hovered low enough to keep a slab of meat chilled. Under the covers our body heat had calibrated at that perfect not-too-hot, not-too-cold temperature. It was as though I was sleeping on clouds, and I didn’t dare move even an eyelid.
“Lass, you decent under there?”
Sleep deprivation and funky food consumption had me delirious. That had to be it. It was the tinned Heinz baked beans and bangers we’d cooked on the makeshift stove last night. Brown food after ten p.m. can’t be digestively healthy. That and the half pack of cigarettes I managed to puff through on deck.
“We had visitors, but don’t worry, I unmoored us,” the voice said.
Wrenching an eye open, I caught a close up of Sonny’s cane. He held it backward, and kept tapping me with the curved bit, which helped my mind rewind. The throb in my bad shoulder prodded an image to appear of Travis and I hauling a scotch-soaked Sonny on and off the underground. Not knowing what to do with him, we’d brought him back to Her Grace and plunked his ass onto the cushioned galley bench for the night.
“I’ve been steering Her Grace, but it’s not working.”
My tee shirt had bunched against my ribs and as Travis’s warm hand slid forward—off my hip toward my stomach,—I had to concentrate to focus.
“Sonny, quit talking gibberish. It’s still dark outside.”
“Just. It’s nearly six.”
“A.M?” I whined.
“What visitors?” Travis asked.
“Not sure. They pulled up in a big black paddy wagon. My guess is police. I didn’t like the look of them.”
GG hadn’t been keen to meet the authorities either, but maybe they could stop Ahmed and his goons. “Where are they now?” I asked.
A wry smile cracked the corners of Sonny’s thin lips. I had a front row view of his beard stubble, a mix of ginger and gray. His teeth, the color of a meadow of golden rod at summer’s end, zigzagged across his gums.
“They’re gone now. We slipped away.”
“We’re on a boat. How did we slip away?”
“I told you. I unmoored us.”
Travis stirred and let a cold draft creep under the covers. “I don’t hear the motor. Who’s captaining?”
A nearby horn blared. Throwing the covers off, Travis bolted off the foot of the bed. Shirtless, in his new Egyptian cotton boxers he lunged to the cockpit. “We’re adrift on the Thames,” he shouted.
Serenity under Travis’s arms—in the perfect temperature bedding—and the chance of a spontaneous romantic something, was kyboshed down the well-of-missed-moments. I made a mental note to inflict extreme pain onto Sonny for ruining my alone time with Travis and for whatever else he’d done to the narrowboat.
“Rachael, get out here. There’s a container ship coming.”
Hustling past Sonny while pulling my tee down to cover my panties, I poked my head outside the cabin. Daylight had begun to lighten the silver sky and on the plus side, it wasn’t raining.
“Where are the keys?” Travis screeched.
We were the middle of the Thames and I tried to gauge if Blackfriars Pass was ahead of us or behind us. The freighter in the distance approached us like the rising sun. And like the rising sun, it swept a growing wake behind it.
Sonny dangled a jangly keychain. “Right here.”
“Not your keys. The boat keys.”
Her Grace drifted and bobbed in the river’s current in the mammoth ship’s path. “Travis, there’s a wake. It’s gonna be big.”
He dug through cubbies near the tiller and looked on the floor. “There’s a good chance we are going to sink.”
“I don’t swim.” Sonny confessed.
Last night, we came into the locked cabin, so we had to have the keys. I toggled the events through my head: Put Sonny in a deck chair. Unlocked cabin. Checked on Sonny. Smoked cigarette. Unpacked groceries and bottled water supplies from dockhand. Found Guinness. Drank one. Travis massaged my aching feet. Checked on slumbering Sonny and smoked a cigarette. Travis modeled his new jeans and rugby shirt. Drank another Guinness to settle nerves while Travis worked the knots out of my dodgy shoulder. I realized with certainty that the brooch was no longer in my possession. Travis scolded me for smoking another cigarette. Stomach grumbled. Cooked beans and bangers—some kind of English sausage—not code for having sex, but hopeful. Went on deck to offer Sonny some food. He didn’t open his eyes. Got changed into clean clothes from Marks and Spencer. Took keys out of jean jacket pocket and put them in the refrigerator Tupperware container with money. Ha.
I shouted as I ran. “In the fridge. Tupperware container.”
Travis beat me to the container and pitched the keys in my direction. Fumbling with the metal bits, I lodged the largest key into the starter and didn’t breathe until she turned over. Holiday narrowboats are not speed boats and when I shifted the gas gear forward, the metal and wood beneath me didn’t lurch ahead. Instead, it ground, spat, and puttered resentment. There was no outrunning the giant ship. At best-case scenario, I’d clear the middle of the river and angle us to take the wave it generated head on. Travis and Sonny hurried to batten down the cabin windows.
“Rach,” Travis lectured, “why not tell the police about the attempted kidnap?”
Sonny shook his head. “I don’t trust them. They may have been paid off. We can’t risk information falling into the wrong hands. We have a saying here in England, Help the police—beat yourself up.”
“Brace yourselves. I see whitecaps.” I shouted.
“This is why I don’t drive,” Sonny said.
“What information? We don’t have any information,” Travis said.
“Um. Er. Lad, what was your name again?”
“You don’t remember my name?” Travis squeaked.
“Last night isn’t very clear, help an old man out, will ya?”
Even though the deck chairs were roped to the rail, they clanked and rattled. “Here it comes,” I yelled. Gripping the tiller hard, I was knocked off balance and Sonny and Travis ate it as a sheet of water washed over the wood deck. The bow pivoted and dropped half a dozen more times, the rolling effect lessening with each crest and plunge.
“We’re through. Everyone okay?” I asked.
“Wet,” Travis remarked as he
helped Sonny to his feet.
“Look for a landmark so we can make our way to Blackfriars Pass.”
Sonny paced, his hand trembling. “We can’t go back.”
“I was accosted last night. Practically kidnapped. My grandmother’s brooch has been stolen. What am I going to tell her when and if we find her in Stratford? We have to.”
Settling onto a kitchen counter stool, Sonny sank his face in his hands.
Crouching onto a step near where I steered, Travis said, “We need a plan.”
Sonny popped his head up. “We’ll go to my house in the country.”
“You have a country house?” I asked.
“No, it’s a house in the countryside, in Stoke Bruerne, South Northhamptonshire to be precise.”
“We can’t abandon the boat,” Travis said.
“It’s off the Grand Union Canal, on your way to Stratford.”
“My grandmother’s directions say we should take the Oxford Canal. Are you messing with us?”
“Of course not. The Grand Union Canal also leads to Stratford, and it’ll be quicker. We need to keep things quiet. Think this through. You can spend a night or two at my place.”
I’d known Sonny for less than twenty-four hours. He was quirky, liked to swill hard liquor, had some ties to the crown jewels, my oyster brooch, and my grandmother. Ahmed had converted a good chunk of my fear into anger, and with the anger came determination to unravel this riddle. I didn’t know if I should believe Sonny or go with him. I didn’t have a choice, he was my only lead.
NOTE TO SELF
The brooch is gone, could it be for the best?
JULY 1988
CHAPTER 20
Third Wheel
Being in close quarters with a guy you find attractive and who you think is attracted to you even though he’s gay can go one of two ways. Underneath my outward smartass cynicism, I’m a positive person. And I thought if anything between us were ever to happen, it would be on this trip. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Travis would be the person who would make me forget the other southern men I’d rendezvoused with. That fantasy would have seemed more plausible if I got to spend some quality alone time with him.
