Lily smiled, dimpling her cheeks. "A chef never shares her secrets, Mr. Amsel."
"Oh, come now. Call me Lotario. You've tantalized my senses all evening. We're far past that nonsense."
Tim snorted, a puff of pipe smoke billowing over his head. "Don't let that boy sweet talk you, Miss Lily. I'll wager he practices on himself in the mirror most evenings."
"It's practice made perfect." Miss Lily started to rise, reaching for the first plate, but Tim hopped to his feet.
"No, no. Sit. You treated us to a fine dinner. Me and the runts will get the dishes."
Grimm stood without complaint, but then he rarely said anything. Only looked to his younger brother.
"Mr. Riot promised he'd teach us tracking," Tobias argued.
"Oh, yes, please!" Sarah beamed, and put her hand over Riot's.
"When the dishes are done," Riot said.
Jin narrowed her eyes. Deciding that she wanted to learn this fascinating skill, she began clearing away dishes with a speed that left the adults struck. "Hurry, Wun Dan. And you, Sarah."
"Wun Dan?" Maddie asked as she stood to lend a hand.
"Cracked egg," Isobel explained.
"More like an annoying egg," Maddie muttered.
When the children had filed out with their dishes, Isobel leaned towards Riot. "Who did you help?" she whispered.
"A girl named Jesse."
Isobel arched a brow.
"Bak Siu Lui." White Blossom: a madam in Chinatown. Isobel wondered at their relationship, but Riot hadn't offered any additional information. That in itself was telling, and this latest detail more so.
"I read you were arrested, Miss Bonnie," Lotario said.
She looked at her twin, and sighed. He never missed a thing. And she doubted Miss Lily did either. There wasn't much use keeping up a ruse with their observant landlady. She glanced at Riot, and he lifted a brow. The cat was out of the bag, as the saying went. Why not entertain them?
Isobel gave the adults a summary of events, leaving out red tokens, mysterious tongs, and dangerous names. Her account of tying Freddy to a chair left Lotario in stitches. Conversation turned to the plague, and the Call and Chronicle's mockery of Doctor Kinyoun. No one wanted to believe the Health Department, especially merchants. Plague was bad for business.
A yawn cracked Isobel's jaw, and she stood. Riot quickly rose to his feet. It was an ingrained gesture, regardless of her attire. "You have a class to teach," she reminded.
"They'll come knocking if I don't go now," he agreed, brushing her fingertips. That brush felt like an electric jolt. She looked into his eyes a moment longer, and then turned away to thank Miss Lily for dinner. "If you'll excuse me, there is a bathtub with my name on it."
"I hope the children used up all the hot water on the dishes," Lotario drawled.
She flicked her twin's ear. "Good night, Mr. Amsel."
A grape hit her on the back as she walked out of the conservatory.
✥
"Bring the lanterns," Riot instructed. "Set them here, in a square. Now gather an armful each of those logs."
The children ran to the wood pile, each returning with a full armload. Tobias dropped two logs at Riot's feet, Sarah dropped four, and eight logs tumbled from Jin's arms. Maddie and Grimm added their own.
"Set the logs up in a line, here and here. Make a ladder out of them."
Tobias stared at Riot for a moment. Puzzlement plain in his eyes.
"It'll make sense when you do as you're told," Riot assured.
When the wooden ladder was laid out, he walked into the night, plucked an apple from its tree, and placed it in the first grid. Then he pressed his foot into the ground beside the apple, leaving a print. The children stared at the apple in wonderment.
"While walking on Mount Carmel, two Jews were taken prisoner and enslaved by a Persian. The Persian was wary, and so had his slaves walk in front of him," Riot began. He reached into his pocket and brought out a folded napkin. "As the Jews walked, one—"
"How come they didn't attack the Paris fellow?" Tobias asked. "There were two of them, and one of him."
Maddie glanced at her brother. "A Persian, not a Parisian."
Tobias waved his hand. "Did he have a gun?"
"Revolvers weren't invented yet."
"What?"
"This was a long time ago," Riot explained. "Biblical times."
"I thought we were gonna learn trackin'. What does Sunday school have to do with trackin'?" Tobias asked.
Jin growled low in her throat. "Shut up, Wun Dan, or Mr. Riot will be tracking your corpse to where I bury you."
Riot held up his hands for peace. "Observation is a tracker's first skill," he said gently. "That includes listening." He tapped his head. "Remembering, selecting, and analyzing." He gestured to the grid of logs. "And finally deduction. Be patient, Tobias. That's your first lesson."
Tobias blew out a breath.
"As the Jews walked, one said to the other, 'The camel that went before us four hours ago, is blind in one eye, is laden with two skin bottles, one containing wine and the other oil, and is driven by two men, one an Israelite and the other a Gentile."
"What's an Israelite and a Gentile?" Jin asked.
"One's a Jew and the Gentile isn't," Sarah replied.
Tobias narrowed his eyes at Riot. "How'd they know all that?"
"That's what the Persian asked," Riot said. "'You stiff-necked people', he cried. 'How do you know all this?' They replied, 'A camel as you know, usually grazes equally on both sides of the road. You can plainly see the grass here has been nibbled on only one side. The camel is surely blind in one eye.' The second Jew said, 'As for the kegs, all you need to do is examine the dregs left behind. The drops of wine on one side are sunk into the ground; whereas, the oil drops remain above it.' The Persian scoffed. 'And how do you know one is a Gentile and the other an Israelite?' The slaves smiled. 'Let us go, and we will answer.' The Persian's curiosity ate at him, because he didn't know the answer. Do any of you?"
The children shifted, looking one to another, and finally shook their heads in unison.
"The Persian agreed to let the slaves go free if they answered the question. The first Jew said, 'One of the drivers relieved nature at some distance from the road, the other, a Gentile who was indecent, relieved himself in the middle of the road.'"
Sarah wrinkled her nose.
"Did the Persian let them go?" Maddie asked.
"So the story goes."
Jin scoffed. "That would never happen."
"Is that 'cause slaves aren't clever enough?" Tobias shot back.
"No." That single word dripped venom. "The slave master would have been insulted by the slaves' intelligence. To make himself feel better, he would have beaten them until they passed out. Then he would have locked them in a small trunk for days with no food or water. Their wounds would swell, and their limbs would cramp, and they would beg for death. But every time they made a sound, the slave master would scream and kick the trunk." Jin's entire body was rigid, her jaw set, fists curled into white balls.
Grimm stared at the girl, his face a stony mask, but Tobias was oblivious to the deeper significance of her words. "There wasn't no mention of a trunk in the story."
Maddie was too stunned to correct his grammar.
"Would you be quiet!" Sarah hissed at Tobias.
Riot stepped beside Jin. He didn't touch her, only waited until she looked up at him. "That likely would have happened, but I think these slaves were clever enough to escape, no matter what they were put through. What do you think?" he asked gently.
Jin gave a stiff nod and turned away, her fingers toying with the frayed bracelet around her wrist. Now was not the time to press her. To take attention off the child, Riot returned to the lesson, hoping it would distract her. "Observation and deduction. Tracking is as simple, and as difficult as that. So we'll start with observation first."
"How'd the Persian know they were four hours ahead?" Sarah asked.
> "That's what I intend to teach you." He gestured at the grid of logs. "This is an 'aging stand.' We can stand and observe all day, but unless we know what things look like when exposed to the elements, we can't make accurate deductions. I want you all to gather a variety of items: twigs, leaves, tin cans, clothing, shoes, flowers, paper—whatever strikes your fancy." He placed the napkin in the grid beside the apple. "Every day, I want each of you to visit the aging stand and take notes on any changes you observe. Have the twigs changed color? Did the paper start to fade? Understood?"
The children nodded.
"In a week, we'll put fresh items beside the old, and compare the two." He made a shooing gesture, and the children spread out on their mission. Riot sat on a low wall and watched with amusement as they ran back and forth, darting in and out of the house.
Sarah placed a final item in the grid, and sat beside him as he shuffled his cards. "Do you think I'll be able to learn all this?"
"I think you'll do just fine, Sarah. If you want to."
"I do." She hesitated. "Thank you, Mr. Riot. I'm not half as blue when I'm with you."
The deck stuttered in his hands. He bent to retrieve a card.
Jin moved a lantern closer to the grid, and began taking notes with a pencil and paper she had salvaged. The girl crouched, completely still, watching each item as if it might change before her eyes. Riot cocked his head. She reminded him of himself at that age.
"Where's Tobias?" Maddie asked.
"He was probably distracted by more food," Jin said.
As if on cue, the back door flew open and the boy jumped down the steps. He cradled something in his hands. Tobias scowled at everyone, hunched his shoulders, and turned his back so they couldn't see his bundle.
"What did you bring?" Maddie asked.
He made a face. "None of your business." Tobias set the bundle of brown paper inside one of the grids, and plucked at the edges. It opened, and he upended it onto the ground.
Maddie plugged her nose. And Jin slowly swiveled her head towards the boy, disgust plain on her face. Sarah stood up and leaned forward. "Is that—" she cut off.
Tobias crossed his arms. "That's what was in the story, wasn't it? Nature and all."
"I didn't know there was a dog in the house," Sarah said.
Jin sighed. "There is no dog."
"Tobias White! Is that yours?" Maddie asked, placing her hands on her hips.
"So what if it is?" Tobias defended.
The children fell to arguing, and Riot cut them short when he stood. He looked down at Tobias' offering. "I'd say you all have made an excellent start. Good thinking, Tobias." Halfway up to his rooms, Riot's lips cracked in a smile.
✥
Isobel studied the chessboard. It sat between Ravenwood's chair and Riot's—or had it become her own now? A half-played game from days ago remained, the pieces frozen in battle. But in her mind's eye the pieces were clues rather than players: names, dates, and tokens, with a string of red connecting them all. The chessboard looked like a giant red spiderweb. But where was the spider? Her gaze was drawn to a map on the wall, to Angel Island.
"We need to question the city health inspectors," she said to no one in particular.
Tim was perched on a windowsill, smoking his pipe. "Do you think Lincoln Howe fell into some bad business with this Parker Gray? Blackmail? Abduction? Murder?"
"It's too early to say," she said.
Riot was in his own chair, legs crossed, reading her notes on Ravenwood's journals. There were still a great deal more to decipher. She rubbed her temples. Not tonight. She couldn't tonight. Now that she was fed and watered, all she wanted was a soft bed.
She glanced at her partner. The firelight softened his features, and illuminated the spectacles over his eyes. She watched his fine fingers turning the pages, and wondered at his stillness. He was quiet. More so than usual.
A burst of laughter heralded an earthquake of boots, four children sounding like a herd. Sarah, Tobias, Jin, and another boarder's child were playing some game. As long as there were no knives, swords, or guns involved, Isobel didn't care what they did to the house. From a shuddering boom, she surmised it had to do with the banisters.
Riot flipped her notebook closed, and looked at the web of information scattered around his fireplace. For so few pages, the reading had taken him far too long.
"So what's the ol' miser have to say?" Tim asked.
Isobel took one look at Riot's stiff posture, and the Adam's apple moving in his throat, to know he was in no state to answer. So she answered for him. "Ravenwood was working on something to do with Jones Jr. He saw a connection with the lumber yard. Do you know anything about that, Tim?"
"I told you already, I don't know what Zeph did half the time. I'm not sure I wanted to know."
"We need to know now," Isobel said. If she stayed in that chair one more moment, she'd fall asleep. So she stood, and tapped Jim Parks' name. "We know that someone arranged for Jim Parks to leave prison two months early, in secret, to murder Ravenwood."
"Aye, that Sing Ping King Sur," Tim said.
Riot absently rubbed at his temple, tracing the scar beneath the wing of white hair. "We're not positive, but that's the working theory. That, or Jim Parks was toying with me."
"I dug up some information on the judge who released him early."
Both Isobel and Riot looked at the old man. He had a gleam in his eye. Tim always appreciated an audience, and he had their full attention. "His family is very well set up. They came into money three years ago." Tim rocked back and forth on his heels, looking immensely pleased with himself.
"That's more coincidence than I can stomach," Isobel said.
"I agree."
"Jim Parks was set to be released anyhow," Isobel said. "What judge wouldn't accept a bribe? What harm could there be in releasing a man a few months early?"
"Two murdered women and a murdered old man," Tim grumbled. "I'll see if I can't trace that money."
Riot nodded, reaching for a deck of cards. "Excellent." He pointed a card to a slip of paper with Hip Yee written on it. "Vengeful partner goes on a rampage. Kills most of a tong dealing in slavery, leaving a void that is quickly filled by…someone."
"It's brilliant," Isobel breathed.
Both men raised their brows.
She reached over to the chessboard, and idly traced the black queen's crown. "Well, it is if our theories are correct. If I were a secret organization, I'd operate from the shadows. Puppets, Riot. An army of ignorant puppets. Misdirection, chaos, and sacrifice. It's strategy at its finest. But it also requires a deep understanding of human nature."
"I'm relieved you did not turn to a life of crime," Riot said.
She flashed him a grin. "You'd have caught me."
Tim tugged on his beard. "Either get a room or focus, you two."
"You're in my room, Tim."
"Say the word and I'll leave. You can call me back in five minutes."
Isobel laughed.
Riot leveled a severe look on the old man. "Kindly refrain from being crude in front of a lady."
"She's wearing a man's clothing, boy. I'll treat her how she likes."
"Back to the matter at hand." Isobel plucked up the queen. "Three years later, we stumble over a runaway slave girl."
"Stumble isn't quite the word. You went looking for her," Riot corrected.
"And I uncovered a snake pit," she said. "But to be fair, you also found Sarah Byrne. I don't know how either of those encounters could have been staged. I'll chalk it up to our observant natures. So it's safe to assume we're not presently being manipulated for some unknown scheme."
"The curse of a detective: constant vigilance."
"Amen," Tim muttered.
Riot took up the narration. It was complex, and it needed sorting. "Andrew Ross, Lee Walker, Jim Parks, and Freddy all had these red tokens. And according to Jim Parks, if he can be believed, Sing Ping King Sur was behind Ravenwood's death. So he was implying that they
hired him. That means the red token is a marker for whatever shadowy organization this is."
"Andrew Ross was killed while trying to recover Jin and Mei. Again, an accident. But it led me to Ross' corpse and the calling cards of Lincoln Howe."
"Who supposedly came over on the SS Australia, worked for the health department, and suspiciously disappeared the day Andrew Ross was murdered by the hatchet man."
"What a tangled web," Isobel muttered.
"It's a pile of shit," Tim grunted. "San Francisco's not a large city—not like New York or London. In this city, you can't take a step without finding a criminal's mess underfoot."
"I'll question the city health inspectors tomorrow," Riot offered. "Maybe they have a description of Lincoln Howe."
Tim scratched his beard. "Might be best to have it from another source, too. A quick telegram to Honolulu isn't possible. We'd have to send it by post. How about London University where he studied?"
"Ravenwood had a colleague in London. I'll send a telegram first thing."
"Is he reliable?" Isobel asked.
Riot flipped a card around with a flourish: the ace of spades. "I think you'll find him dependable."
Isobel arched a brow at the card, and placed her queen in the center of the board. "I find few men dependable. Whatever happened, I don't think Lincoln Howe willingly handed over his calling cards to Andrew Ross. We need to find him. He's our missing link."
"How do we do that?" Tim asked.
Riot caught the gleam in her eyes. "I thought you wanted a soft bed?" he murmured.
She sighed. "How do you know me so well?"
"I had in mind the same thing."
21
The Drifter
This was proof. —Z.R. Journal Excerpt
AS WIDE AS SHE was tall and with a billyclub in hand, the landlady of this particular boardinghouse wasn't one to be crossed. Mrs. Kettle looked the young man in front of her up and down. Ragged, underfed, dark circles under his eyes. She'd seen it before. And the bruises. The man's palms were raw and his cheek swollen. She didn't ask. She never did. It wasn't her concern.
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 13
