Because I can’t be the girl I used to be. Not with Matt. Not anymore. If Matt and I ever get together, it has to be completely and just the two of us. Anything else would not be acceptable, at least not to me.
I slip out of bed and dress for the day. I always liked dressing flirty and casual - boyfriend tees that dipped low in the front revealing a hint of cleavage and a pair of tight skinny jeans. A tight long sleeved shirt paired with a miniskirt. Shorts with a blouse and maybe, if I'm feeling particularly mischievous, a pair of pigtails. I don't know how to dress flirty here. I don't know what's acceptable and what isn't, and I definitely don't want to offend anyone. As such, I prioritize comfort and pull on black pantaloons and a soft tunic the color of the sky. I wear a loosely-tied corset just because I can't go braless in this place and would rather have some support for my girls than nothing. Especially since this brothel has a tendency for getting drafty.
I take a seat in front of my vanity mirror and start to brush my hair. Back home, I used to run the brush through my locks a couple of times and called it a day. If it was particularly messy, I would throw it in a messy bun. But since I have the time, I curb in my urgency and take the time to really appreciate my hair and try and slow down and really brush it. It's cathartic, which is weird, I know, but it centers me way more than meditation ever could. I tried that a few times but I can't quiet my brain no matter how hard I try. Maybe I need more practice but I just don't have the patience for it. This, on the other hand, is much more doable.
When I'm satisfied, I slip on white stockings Sarah gave me when I first arrived - they're super cheap, apparently, and really easy to get here - before slipping on these badass pair of brown boots. They're an old pair she never wears anymore and the love of my life. They reach my knees with a cool diamond cut and there's a small heel on each one. They have this worn in look without actually being worn in. The brown color is light, like the brown labeled on a crayon, and go with every outfit I own here, even the dresses. Plus, they're so ridiculously comfortable... I seriously feel like Cinderella if Cinderella was a pirate and didn't have a ball to attend or a prince to impress.
From there, I walk over to the window once more. The sunlight is fast and sudden, like lightning, and it's no surprise to find that the town is already awake and busking. I see carts trotting down the dirt road pulled by tired horses. Men and women are selling trinkets, yelling their prices over each other, not caring if they wake anyone up. A man is passed out in the middle of the road with a jug probably filled with booze still clutched in his hand. A couple of women give him a sneer as they're forced to walk around him. If I close my eyes, I can hear the water hitting the shore. New ships are coming in while old ones are leaving. There's never a dull day here which, strangely, I find I like.
My family has always lived in the suburbs. Which I also like. I like the quiet, the feeling of safety, the green parks and areas to walk your dogs and take your kids. This is different, to a degree. Obviously, things here aren't as urban because the technology hasn't been developed yet. But this little port is crowded and businesses are mixed with residences and it's not as quiet as the suburbs by a long shot. There is still a divide between the classes, which I find interesting. The governor's mansion, as well as wealthy farm merchants, live in the hills, overlooking the downtown area, which is where we are. I've heard some of the girls who work here whisper about Brooke Cunningham and Charlie Colt running away together just before I got here. A merchant's daughter and a pirate - how scandalous. There are other names that get tossed around. Apparently, the governor is going to resign and someone else has been named in his place. I wonder if he's going to be as corrupt as the last one. Only time will tell, I guess.
A scream interrupts any other musings that may have crossed my mind. I pause and wait. Home has conditioned me not to go running. Isn't that messed up? I've heard people scream before but because we, as a society, are so worried about getting in people's business, we don't investigate. We don't go ask if someone is okay because, for whatever reason, we feel like assholes because we care. Because we said something. However, the scream could be some sex thing one of the johns are into, so I let the sound register and try to decipher it. It didn't sound sexy and it didn't sound fake. It sounded like genuine fear.
I decide to do something. If that makes be an asshole, then I'll be an asshole. I'm from the future after all, and that's a pretty asshole place. I throw open my door and try to decipher where I heard the scream come from. There sounds like commotion downstairs so I start to head down the staircase two steps at a time, keeping one hand on the rail so I don't get over eager and fall to my death or damage parts of my body.
By the time I get downstairs, I'm out of breath and make a note of attempting to get into better shape here, regardless of any impediments. I look around and it would appear as though someone cleared out the floor of the brothel - where customers can interact with potential whores before finally deciding what he (or she) wants and taking their leave upstairs. Something big must have happened if Sarah closed up shop for today. She is the only person to have that level of authority and Sarah wouldn't have done so unless it was really important.
"Isla!"
I hear Matt's shout and I snap in its direction behind me. I see a crowd of people - the majority of them white, with tears in their eyes, hands clamped over their mouths. A couple of them have backed away from the crowd shaking their heads. One is keeled over, clutching into the wall for balance as she empties the contents of her stomach onto the hardwood floor. I notice Sarah staring downward, her face paler than usual, the look she wears stoic. Henry is next to her, one hand on her shoulder as though he's offering her comfort in his own way. His lips are pressed so tightly together, they're white and he's shaking his head like he was some kind of antique bobble head doll.
What the hell happened?
Matt jogs over to me, his brown eyes pooling with concern, his jaw clenched together causing it to pop out. I try and get a better view of whatever it is the small group is surrounding but they're blocking my way and I can't see anything. He's trying to keep his own emotions off of his face - I can tell - but it's not working. He's gone pale, just like his sister. Like the color of ash. And every movement in his body is forced, rigid, like he's a tin man who desperately needs an oiling.
“What is it?" I ask as he places his right hand flat on the small of my back and begins to steer me back to the group. "What's happened?"
He can't speak just yet so I wait, trying to be patient for him. He eases me between a couple of the gawkers until I finally see what's going on, until I understand why he's reacting this way, along with the rest of the brothel.
It's a body. One of the girls.
"Don't touch it," I say in a loud voice before I can stop myself.
A few people turn to look at me like I'm crazy but Sarah actually steps towards me, her look inquisitive rather than confused. "Why?" she asks, and I can hear the rawness in her tone, how her throat has gone dry upon stumbling on a dead body in her brothel. She's scared; this woman who is so strong and so proud is lost and has no idea what to do. She's afraid - not because she's worried she may suffer the same fate. No. She's scared because she's worried this may happen to someone else. She's worried because she has no idea how to protect her girls - the women she's responsible for keeping safe under her roof - now that this atrocity has happened. "What do you know?"
Looking at me, knowing about me, she looks at me with hopeful brown eyes. Like I'm some kind of savior. Like I could figure this whole thing out because I'm from the future and I know what I'm doing.
I swallow and turn my eyes to the body. "Not much," I tell her. "I'm - I was - a journalist. But I wrote crime articles. A lot of it was boring stuff, but every now and then..." I swallow. I'm babbling but I can't help it. The body... "I also watch television. A lot of CSI. Some Law and Order. Dexter was also good. Dexter told crime through the prospective of the bad guy. But was Dexter really a bad guy, when he was
killing bad people?"
"Isla." Matt's gentle voice right by my ear. I pause and let myself feel him. He's perfect, standing next to me. My anchor, holding me together.
I look back at Sarah and swallow. "Don't let anyone touch the body," I tell her. "Don't move it. We have to look for clues and moving or touching the body could contaminate any evidence of who the murderer is."
"Sarah," one of the girls - Fieffer, I think is her name - says, both disgusted and aghast. "We can't leave Briyella here! To desecrate her memory like that is unacceptable! We don't want people to remember her like this, we want people to remember her for the young, vivacious woman she was."
Sarah looks to me - I can't believe it but she does - for answers. Trying to be as subtle as I can, I give a slight shake of my head telling her no. We need to examine the body.
Sarah fixes her eyes back on Fieffer. "I would rather honor her by figuring out who her killer is than worry about what she looks like in death," Sarah says. "You heard Isla. Do not touch the body lest you want to get turned out. I will not hesitate to do it should you impede us in any way, even if your points are valid."
Fieffer fixes me with a glare that rings true to the old saying if looks could kill. I never thought I'd ever be intimidated by a prostitute, especially one as seemingly flimsy as Fieffer is, but I can feel her anger rolling off of her body in waves and crash into me like waves did to a shore. I tense my legs so I won't lose my balance when it comes to her.
However, regardless of her feelings, she listens to me.
"All right, everyone," Sarah says, stepping in front of the small group that has gathered. She looks shaken, pale, unsure, which is odd for her because under normal circumstances, Sarah always knows what to do. Even when she doesn't. Now, she looks lost. "You've paid your respects. I'm going to ask you to leave the lobby for the rest of the evening. We will shut down for tonight and, if anyone asks why, we will say a few of the girls have gotten sick and we do not wish to infect anyone. Do you understand? Not a word of what you've seen shall be breathed to an outsider."
"We will lose a night's wages!" a voice from the crowd exclaims. I can't make out who it is.
Sarah presses her lips together. I can see a sympathetic flash in her brown eyes but judging by the tension cooling her body, she's already made her mind up. "I completely understand your worry," she says. "Unfortunately, we have no choice but to keep our doors closed. I assure you it will only be for this evening."
Fieffer scoffs. The girls, Matt, and even Sarah all appear surprised by her clear disapproval of Sarah's decision. No one has outwardly defied Sarah, I'm guessing.
"You're only making this decision based on this girl's proclamation that she has any idea what she's doing," Fieffer says and even though I try, I haven't quite figured out just how to keep myself from turning red under the heavy scrutiny. "Why do you trust her so much? She's staying her free of charge, a roof over her head, food in her belly. She does not have to offer herself to the men that frequent here."
Matt opens his mouth and I know he's going to say something to defend me. The thing is, he doesn't have to. Let them think what they want about me. It makes no difference to me. I grab his hand and squeeze, hoping I can convey my thoughts through a single touch.
"I trust her because she saved my life," Sarah says through gritted teeth. Matt doesn't have to interject at all because Sarah has my back. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. It feels good knowing she supports me, even if she doesn't like me all that much. "She's the reason you still have this roof over your head, this job. I trust her for those reasons but none more than the fact that my brother does. So I'm asking you for your trust, the same trust you've already given me." Her eyes find mine again and she nods once.
I nod back. “Okay, everyone, I need you all to please step back,” I announce. “I need to examine the body and anyone who touches it in any way can contaminate the evidence.”
The girls look at me with confused looks on their faces. It probably has to do with the fact that they’ve never heard the words I say strung together in this way. I hadn’t either, until I got addicted to Law & Order: SVU reruns. I sound more expert than I feel and as I step toward Briyella, I wonder if anyone else can recognize what a fraud I am.
“Does anyone have a handkerchief, a napkin, anything I can borrow?” I ask. I doubt they’d have rubber gloves here.
One of the girls, Stephanie I think her name is, steps forward and hands me hers. It’s more masculine than I realize, a simple white color – though it’s somewhat dirty – with the initials HB embroided in the corner. I shake my head to myself at the odd initials, but think nothing of it. I’m sure johns leave trinkets as gifts all the time. All that matters is, I can now touch the body without ruining anything.
Briyella is – was – one of the prettier girls. She has light brown hair, straight, she liked to wear down regardless of the style or occasion. She liked to wear blues and greens as well, pastel colors, that softened the angles that permeated her face. She carried herself as though she were strong and determined and confident. She had freckles on her cheeks and a strong jawline. She’s – was, I keep reminding myself – a tomboy. Playful. One of the more popular girls.
Except, as I get closer to her, I realize that I can already see how she died. I don’t have the technology or the expertise to collect DNA, to narrow it down to one suspect. I don’t have a federal database filled with fingerprints and DNA of previous offenders I can compare DNA to. I have nothing except my eyes and my Law & Order experience.
I don’t know what I can do, especially if Sarah doesn’t want to call the cops.
But I can see how Briyella died. It’s staring straight at me in purple and blue, on her slender, pale throat.
I turn to Sarah. “She’s been strangled to death,” I say.
Chapter 12
Matt wants to drink. I don’t blame him. I don’t know what it feels like to know someone who’s been murdered before. I’m not sure how to be there for Matt but I know I want to. So I offer to join him. This, for whatever reason, seems to brighten him up, if only a bit.
To be honest, I’m nervous about drinking. I’ve had drinks before. I’ve been buzzed before. But the few times I’ve let loose, I’ve been with people that I trust in safe surroundings. Here is a completely different story. I don’t know these people. The last time I was left alone in a scrag, I was nearly… I press my lips together and refuse to think about it. I don’t want to think about what could have happened if. It’s in the past and I want it to stay that way.
But that just proves my point – I’m in this new place and the only person I really trust here is Matt. And, surprising even to me, I trust Sarah. Don’t ask me why. There’s a good chance I trust her by association because she’s Matt’s sister, but I trust her as well. Even if she doesn’t like me all that much.
I go through the little wardrobe I have, deciding to change. I’ve finally distinguished between breeches and pantaloons, which I think is a victory unto itself, and cast the thought into the notes section of my mind so I don’t easily forget it. I run a brush through my hair and tilt my head as I look at myself in the vanity mirror. I used to date this guy who wouldn’t compliment me at all. Even when I went out of my way and looked good. He wouldn’t say anything and it drove me crazy. Then, I dated a guy who’d compliment me and then critique me. For whatever reason, guys weren’t crazy about my hair. The ends get dead easy and the waves make it look messy. I get it. But it sucks being criticized for something you can’t change. I shouldn’t have to put it up or straighten it just to appease the guy I was sleeping with.
But now, I don’t know if it looks good anymore. I doubt myself, and when I’m not sure, I toss it up in a messy bun to be on the safe side. I don’t want to doubt myself anymore, and normally, I wouldn’t care what Matt thinks. But I do. Tonight is going to be significant. I can’t say how I know or why I know. I just do. And I want to look decent. For me and for him.
I see 18th Century makeup on my desk but I have no idea how to apply it. I take a breath and decide to experiment because there is no way I’m asking Sarah for help. She’d want to know why and I don’t really want to get too deep into girl talk with her about her brother.
I do my best with the makeup and find it doesn't look half bad. Especially considering I don't usually wear makeup in my day-to-day life. What used to be my day-to-day life, I mean. I sit back and look at myself as a whole. I look pretty. Really pretty. I feel my lips curve up as I look at my body in this simple pink dress. The corset pushes my breasts up, but with a little help from the girls here - I can't seem to call them prostitutes even though they are, even though they won't get offended - I've managed to push them up in a more controlled fashion so it's not as in your face. It's subtle cleavage, which I like. The corset narrows my waist just slightly and the skirt flares out around my hips, emphasizing them in a flattering way. Which is a nice change, since my hips - like my cleavage - tend to go everywhere.
I leave my room - it feels weird not to lock it even though Sarah assures me no one will steal anything - and start to head down the two flights of stairs. My stomach is jittery with butterflies and hummingbirds and bowling balls, all crashing into each other and throwing me off balance. Luckily, I can grab onto the handrail in order to steady me.
The Art of Persuasion: Book 4 of The Swashbuckling Romance Series Page 10
