Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4)

by Sabrina Flynn

  After the girls left to examine the trunk, Lotario motioned Riot closer. "Since I'm here willingly, I'm in one of the bungalows. I don't mind sleeping in Bel's ward room though."

  With those suggestive words, Riot touched the brim of his hat, and left the children with Lotario and their tree climbing. He picked up Isobel's trail twenty feet from the green, and followed it to the same stream where the two of them had spent the night after Virgil Cunningham blew himself up with a stick of dynamite.

  Isobel reclined against a tree trunk. Leaves rustled overhead, and the stream trickled at her feet. From her damp hair and glowing skin, he surmised she had taken a dip. She was sleeping, a book lay open over her stomach. Riot stopped to appreciate the scene. Under the sky and leaves, she was free of stone and bars. His heart swelled.

  Riot snapped a twig in two on purpose. Isobel opened her eyes, her hand reaching for her pocket. But then she saw him, and stopped. A smile danced in her eyes.

  "How's prison?" he asked, removing his hat.

  "Tolerable."

  Riot offered a hand, and she accepted, letting him pull her to her feet. The book dropped to the ground, forgotten, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. After a number of breathless minutes, Riot surfaced. Isobel pulled away to meet his eyes. She ran her fingers through his beard.

  "I think I'm dreaming," she whispered.

  "It's the best kind of dream."

  "Let's not do that again."

  "Kiss?"

  "Spend a single night apart."

  Riot rested his forehead against her own. "That's a fine idea, Miss Amsel."

  "I'm so relieved to have my name back."

  Those few words said everything—months of strain, of blackmail and abuse, all the gut-wrenching days of her trial were over. He stared into her eyes, and she held his gaze for a long minute. "We managed."

  Isobel grinned. "It was close."

  Riot grunted. "I thought we'd lost, but you pulled a card out of your sleeve. That was brilliant."

  "What precisely did you think I was doing for two months while I studied law at Berkeley?"

  Riot cocked his head.

  "While everyone else was staggering over trivial assignments, I researched every legal loophole in existence. I'm not the only one with an ace up her sleeve, Riot."

  "I never cheat."

  "And you never lie."

  He crossed his heart, and she snorted.

  "You look well," he said.

  "It's good to be free. Or nearly. It helps that Lotario checked himself in for recuperation. He needs it. And if I were honest… I need it, too." Isobel glanced up at the swaying branches, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath of fresh air. "We were lucky, Riot."

  "You made your own luck."

  "By the skin of my teeth."

  Riot tightened his hold on her, and her eyes slid to the side. "Did you bring me flowers?"

  He started in surprise. Flowers littered the ground. He had forgotten all about them the moment he laid eyes on her. "I did."

  "It's fortunate I'm not the flower type."

  Riot took a step back, and reached into his coat pocket. "I had planned on hiding these in the bouquet. I'm afraid I botched that plan." He handed over a set of lock picks and wrench. "You'll finally have time to practice."

  Isobel laughed, and kissed him again. She bent to tuck the lock picks inside her coat. "If I can't open a lock after six months, I'm going to give up the detecting business for good." She glanced his way. "I expected you sooner. Did you throw yourself into another case without me?"

  Riot shed his coat, loosened tie and collar, and sat. He leaned against the tree trunk, stretching his legs towards the stream. "I was wrapping up loose ends."

  She arched a brow.

  "Jonathan Thorton was found dead in his office. Self-inflicted gunshot wound. This was curled in his fingers. Inspector Coleman showed it to me." Riot flicked a white token to her.

  Isobel frowned at the blossom imprinted on the surface. "This is different than the one I found next to William Punt."

  He nodded, and told her of his conversation with Siu Lui.

  Isobel sat down beside him. "Your sister?" she said faintly.

  He could only nod.

  "I'm sorry, Riot."

  "And you were worried about what I thought of Lotario."

  "I won't be near as accepting."

  "I'd worry if you were."

  She turned the token over in her fingers. Riot could feel the gears of her mind turning. "Siu Lui wanted you to make a connection. There was no other reason to leave such a clear marker."

  He inclined his head. "I thought as much."

  "How cruel," she whispered.

  Riot could only swallow the lump from his throat. "I don't know what to do."

  Gray eyes sharpened, and then softened. "For now…" She flicked the token into the stream. It landed with a faint splash. "We take our winnings and thank the stars for our victory."

  "I'd be more apt to thank you, Bel."

  "Only if you do it properly."

  "I plan on it."

  The edge of her lip quirked, and he drew her into his arms. She turned and settled against him. They sat in comfortable silence, listening to birds and the sway of trees.

  After a time, Isobel stirred in his arms. He suspected she had fallen asleep. "What now?" she asked.

  "Marry me."

  "I've only been divorced a week."

  "It will cause a scandal," he murmured against her ear.

  Isobel laughed. "You know me so well."

  "People will be shocked."

  "I doubt that."

  "Society ladies everywhere will faint."

  "I think they'll be more apt to jealously."

  "Your Mystery Detective articles may not be as exciting."

  "Women love a married man."

  "Do they?"

  "Hmm."

  Isobel sat up, and turned to look at him. "I will marry you on one condition, Atticus James Riot."

  "I'll get down on one knee—two, if it pleases."

  "Considering you're sitting, don't you have to stand first?"

  Riot flashed a grin. Those teeth. He made to rise, but she pulled him back down, and found his lips again. When she pulled away, all the whimsy had vanished. "My condition," she reminded.

  Riot braced himself.

  Isobel touched the tattered bracelet on her wrist. "That we adopt Jin and Sarah as soon as we're married."

  Riot stared, speechless. Then his face softened, his eyes warming until she thought she'd melt. "And they say you don't have a heart," he whispered.

  Isobel cleared her throat. "I need a capable crew. Adopting them serves my purposes."

  "Of course it does, Bel."

  The edge of her lip twitched. "Don't tell anyone."

  "It will be our secret."

  "I hope to have many more with you."

  Historical Afterword

  I love weaving fiction into the gaps of history. Truth and lies blur, to create an intricate tapestry. San Francisco had such a wild reputation that the rest of the world doubted the stories coming from the city, even when they were reported by such reputable newspapers as The London Times.

  So what, you might be wondering, is fact?

  The bubonic plague in San Francisco was real. It is believed to have come over on the SS Australia on January 2 1900, the very steamer Riot traveled on from Honolulu. Honolulu had a plague outbreak that resulted in Chinatown being burned to the ground. In San Francisco, despite health officers' inspections, the plague skipped six blocks to kill Wong King Chut, a lumber yard salesman who resided in the Globe Hotel.

  Chinatown was quarantined. Twice. But the barbed wire fences conveniently skipped by white-owned businesses. There was a ransom note sent to Consul General Ho Yow asking for ten thousand dollars to remove the quarantine on Chinatown. However, the consul's detectives were unable to trace the source of the demand.

  Merchants, politicians, and newspapers decri
ed the plague as a 'yellow disease' and generally attempted to discredit Dr. Kinyoun, mocking him at every turn. Seeing the plague as a news opportunity, Randolph Hearst broke ranks with the other San Francisco papers and started taking the plague seriously. One of his reporters, J.A. Boyle even went so far as to volunteer for the Haffkine vaccine, in order to report on its effects in an article.

  Mandatory vaccination of Chinese residents was real too. Including the poor girl who tried to climb out of the third story of the 920 Sacramento mission home, and broke both her ankles.

  Merchants and politicians did such a good job of discrediting health officials that the bubonic plague was able to gain a foothold in San Francisco. Eventually it spread to the East Bay, where it infected American wildlife, which is why there's still pockets of bubonic plague in wildlife today.

  Developers and politicians did have their eyes on the prime real estate of Chinatown, which many of the elite considered a 'festering sore' at the foot of Nob Hill. Through the years, there were numerous attempts to drive the Chinese out of Chinatown.

  The mayor at that time, James Duval Phelan, was anti-Chinese. He would later run for U.S. Senate under the slogan, 'Keep California White'. Phelan pushed a Chief of Police into office who the Morning Call printed this blurb about: 'We predict that the man elected will be Lawrence's Esola—and then may the Lord have mercy on everybody in that great city who is innocent.'

  Phelan was part of the Bohemian Club—a secretive organization of powerful men still alive and thriving today. Recently, the Washington Post ran an article: "Bohemian Grove: Where the rich and powerful go to misbehave." It's said that the planning of the Manhattan Project took place in the Grove, leading to the creation of the atomic bomb.

  Alex Kingston is based on a real attorney: Abe Ruef. The rich and powerful kept the attorney on retainer for his services, including bribing and manipulation for his clients' benefit. In 1902, Ruef founded the Union Labor Party, which he used to set up a puppet mayor under his control.

  A zealous newspaper editor, Fremont Older, was determined to expose Ruef. It took years of tireless work and a whole chain of wild events: detectives shadowing other detectives, abductions, spying, the dynamiting of a witnesses's home, hired gunfighters, bribed jurors, and even a court room shooting, where an attorney was shot in the back of the head just before a court session began. The attorney survived. In the end, Fremont Older realized that Ruef was only a small cog in the graft machine.

  Sing Ping King Sur is based on unconfirmed fact, or a whisper of it. I came across a single line in Richard H. Dillon's The Hatchet Men. The organization was so secretive that its existence was never confirmed or denied. Sin Chi-Man is also based on a vague reference to a super secret Chinese detective in Victorian Chinatown.

  What about Isobel's final court room stunt? That too is based on truth. A cat burglar by the name of Mack was caught red-handed as they say. After pleading guilty, Mack's attorney declared that since it was a daylight burglary, he should only get five years instead of the fifteen for a night burglary. The judge argued that he was caught after sundown, and the attorney argued that he had been arrested five minutes after the sun had set, so the burglary was done in daylight. An argument ensued. It flustered the judge so much that he forgot to arraign Mack, and closed the case. Mack was released after a year. He went on to become a respected doctor.

  And that brings me to another fact of San Francisco: reputation. San Franciscans loved a good fire, and they loved a good fight. They tended to side with the person who started the fight. They also loved spirited women of questionable reputations, who smoked and gambled, and shamelessly dressed in male clothing. Big Alma, Lillie Hitchcock Coit, and Aimee Crocker, to name a few.

  I've only shared the tip of the iceberg of my research. San Francisco has a wild past: gun-dueling newspaper editors, feuds, vigilante justice, mobs, shoot-outs, and more larger-than-life people than I can remember.

  I think Joshua Norton sums up the city. In 1859, he proclaimed himself Norton I, Emperor of the United States. He had no formal political power, but he was treated deferentially, citizens sometimes bowing in the streets as he passed. Currency was issued in his name, and honored. San Franciscans celebrated his presence with a city-wide wink. And he's honored every year, even down to this day.

  That same spirit endures. In 2013, residents came together to turn San Francisco into Gotham City for a five year-old cancer survivor who wanted to be Bat-Kid for a day. It's safe to say that when it comes to San Francisco, the more outlandish the story, the more grounded in truth it's likely to be.

  Acknowledgements

  No book is written alone. I'd like to thank my editors: Annelie Wendeberg, Merrily Taylor, and Tom Welch. My beta-readers: Alice Wright, Erin Bright, Rich Lovin, Lyn Brinkley-Adams, An-Sofie, and Chaparrel Hilliard. My daughter, who I use as a sounding board to work through complicated plots. For a thirteen year-old she is extremely helpful.

  My husband, for putting up with me. Whenever I start writing a new book, my family rolls their eyes in dread, because I turn into a pacing, fidgeting, 'head-banging-against-wall' writer. I find myself hard to live with while writing; I can only imagine what my family must think.

  Do people actually read the acknowledgements? I'd like to thank my dog, Kelly. My chair. My computer. I mean, really, what could I do without my computer? Can you imagine having to write and revise each page by hand? The delete key is close to my heart. And spellcheck. Thank you, spellcheck, for passing those occasional odd spellings that reflect the usage of 1900 America (my editor, Tom, added that last bit about era appropriate spelling).

  Finally, to my readers. Thank you! And even more so if you've left a review. Reviews keep writers writing.

  About Author

  Sabrina lives in perpetual fog and sunshine with a rock troll and two crazy imps. She spent her youth trailing after insanity, jumping off bridges, climbing towers, and riding down waterfalls in barrels. After spending fifteen years wrestling giant hounds and battling pint-sized tigers, she now travels everywhere via watery portals leading to anywhere.

  You can connect with her at www.sabrinaflynn.com

  Glossary

  Bai! - a Cantonese expression for when something bad happens (close to the English expression, 'shit')

  Banker - a horse racing bet where the bettor believes their selection is certain to win

  Bong 幫 - help

  Boo how doy - hatchet man - a hired tong soldier or assassin

  Capper - a person who is on the look out for possible clients for attorneys

  Chi Gum Shing - 紫禁城 - Forbidden Palace

  Chinese Six Companies - Benevolent organizations formed to help the Chinese travel to and from China, to take care of the sick and the starving, and to return corpses to China for burial.

  Chun Hung - a poster that puts a price on someone's head

  Dang dang - wait

  Digging into your Levis - searching for cash

  Din Gau - 癲狗 - Rabid Dog

  Dressed for death - dressed in one's best

  Faan tung - 飯桶 - rice bucket - worthless

  Fahn Quai - White Devil

  Fan Kwei - Foreign Devil

  Graft - practices, especially bribery, used to secure illicit gains in politics or business; corruption.

  Hei Lok Lau - House of Joy - traditional name for brothels in old days

  Hei san la nei, chap chung! - 起身呀你個雜種！- Wake up, you bastard!

  Highbinders - general term for criminals

  Kedging - to warp or pull (a ship) along by hauling on the cable of an anchor that has been carried out a ways from the ship, and dropped.

  King chak - the police

  Lo Mo - foster mother

  Mien tzu - a severe loss of face

  Mui Tsai - little Chinese girls who were sold into domestic households. They were often burdened with heavy labor and endured severe physical punishments.

  Nei tai - you, look

  Ngor bon
nei - I help you

  No sabe - Spanish for 'doesn't know' or 'I don't understand'. I came across a historical reference to a Chinese man using this phrase in a newspaper article. I don't know if it was common, but it is a simple, easy to say phrase that English speakers understand.

  Pak Siu Lui - White Little Bud

  Sau pan po - 'long-life boards' Coffin Shop

  Si Fu - the Master

  Siu wai daan - 小壞蛋 - Little Rotten Eggs - An insult that implies one was hatched rather than born, and therefore has no mother. The inclusion of 'little' in the insult softens it slightly.

  Slungshot - A maritime tool consisting of a weight, or "shot," affixed to the end of a long cord often by being wound into the center of a knot called a "monkey's fist." It is used to cast line from one location to another, often mooring line. This was also a popular makeshift (and deadly) weapon in the Barbary Coast.

  Sock Nika Tow - Chop your head off - Very bad insult

  Wai Daan - 壞蛋 - Rotten Egg

  Wai Yan - 壞男人 - Bad Men

  Wu Lei Ching - 狐狸精 - Fox Spirit

  Wun Dan - Cracked Egg

  Wun… ah Mei - Find Mei

  Yiu! - 妖! - a slightly less offensive version of the English 'F-word'.