Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6)

by Alex P. Berg

  From there, I moved to my chair, over which I’d draped the tuxedo I’d worn the night prior. As I checked the pockets, Shay joined me.

  “Don’t tell me you forgot to hang this up,” she said.

  “I didn’t forget,” I said. “I chose to leave it here.”

  “But there’s a crease in the jacket, now,” she said. “It’ll need to be pressed before tonight’s opera.”

  “Opera?”

  “The Pirates of St. Gustifere, by Smotrycz and Gullivan. What did you think we were doing tonight?”

  “I hadn’t given it any thought,” I said. “But more important than the jacket at the moment is whether or not you found anything missing in your room. Or anything added, if that makes any sense.”

  Shay shook her head. “All my belongings are where I left them, more or less. I could tell someone had been through them, though. As for clues? No obvious ones. Whoever went through it was careful.”

  “You know, I’m really starting to miss our CSU team,” I said. “Remind me to buy them a round of drinks when we get back.”

  “Do you think it was the same person who broke in last night?”

  I finished with the jacket pockets. Nothing missing. “Not unless the person who broke in last night was Wanda, because I know for a fact it was her who busted in here.”

  Shay lifted an eyebrow. “You do?”

  “When I say fact, I mean it’s another hunch. Why else would she have ditched me through the greenhouse? Nobody else was missing during the lunch hour.”

  “Just because she caught onto your tail and managed to lose you doesn’t mean she came here afterwards,” said Shay. “She might’ve been up to something nefarious elsewhere, or she might’ve not been up to anything at all but rather suspected you of misdeeds. And you’re wrong. She wasn’t the only one missing during lunch. Johann and his men had already left, and Verona hopped out of the dining room early.”

  “All true,” I said, “but you’re not supposed to point it out. You’re supposed to buttress my hunches with facts that prove my point.”

  Shay tilted her head and lifted her brows. “Daggers…”

  I heard a knock at the door. I shared a glance with Shay before moving to the front and opening it. It was Steck.

  I nodded him in and closed the door behind him. “About time you showed up. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anyone other than us coming in and out of our room, have you?”

  Steck narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”

  Steele joined us in the living room. “We’ve had two break-ins. One while we were out last night and another at some point today during the poker tournament.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Steck.

  “This is kind of what Steele does,” I said. “Trust me, she’s sure.”

  Steck sighed and threw up his hands. “Look, I don’t know. I’ve barely been around. But I can ask. Some of the crew might’ve seen something. I’ll…add it to my to-do list.”

  “Long day?” asked Steele.

  Steck nodded. “You could say that. It’s been challenging isolating all of the staff from last night’s events, but I’ve met with all of them now and taken their statements. And I’ve had a chance to go through said statements and try to find common ground between what they claimed.”

  “And?” I said.

  Steck pointed at the water glass, still untouched on the coffee table. “May I? I’m parched.”

  Steele gave him the go ahead.

  Steck took a long draught. “Ah. Better. Okay. First, the bad news. No one saw anyone entering or exiting the luggage compartment. I talked to several of the crew that work on the lower levels and gave them descriptions of the people in the poker tournament, but they couldn’t even confirm if they’d seen any of them at all, much less near the hold. I can’t blame them. With last night being the first aboard the Prodigious, everyone’s face is fresh. Hard to distinguish one partier from the next.”

  “But there’s good news?” said Steele.

  “To an extent,” said Steck. “The bartenders, waiters, and waitresses from last night’s mixer all agree. Verona Quivven, Jimmy Frazier, and Theo Hornshoe were in the bar area throughout the evening. None of them left for more than a few minutes at a time, probably to use the facilities. If Detective Steele is right that Johann’s man died roughly thirty minutes before our crewman, James, found him, then that eliminates them as suspects. If we also assume Johann or one of his other guards didn’t kill the man, that narrows the suspect pool even further.”

  “Don’t ever assume anything in this business,” I said. “But you’re sure about Jimmy?”

  “I’m only sure of the waitstaff’s testimony,” said Steck. “But they all agreed. Remember, I interviewed them individually. Why? Do you have reason to suspect him?”

  “Verona eliminated Jimmy from the competition prior to breaking for the day,” said Shay. “He didn’t take it well. He blew up, making threats and throwing furniture. But we don’t have any specific reason to suspect him of the murder—unless there’s something you failed to mention to me, Daggers. We did get sidetracked with me discovering evidence of another intrusion.”

  I pursed my lips. “Nothing specific. I mean, there are various elements of Lumpty’s murder that would seem to eliminate certain parties. The angle of the wound would indicate a downward trajectory of the blade into Lumpty’s back, making it difficult for someone short like Theo or Orrin to have dealt the blow. Similarly, the blade pierced pretty deep. Someone weak like Wanda might’ve had difficulty mustering up the strength for that. But short people can jump or dive off stacks of luggage, and even weak people are capable of surprising feats of strength when faced with stressful situations. Rather, I was more concerned with Jimmy’s overall behavior during the afternoon poker session.”

  “You mean his drinking?” said Shay.

  “Well that’s part of it,” I said. “Jimmy’s playing behavior changed from the morning to the afternoon. He started to get looser with his bets, and from the hands he played, I’d say he made some mistakes. His drinking would explain that. It could’ve made him cocky and reckless, but why was he drinking to that extent in the first place? Theo was being a prick when he said it, but he was right. Poker’s a thinking man’s game. If you drink that much, you’re going to lose.”

  “Unless you’re Verona,” said Steele.

  “Even she slowed down in the afternoon,” I said. “And she got lucky with the river in the hand that eliminated Jimmy. But my point is Jimmy seems like a guy who’s played a hand or two. And he’d know better than to get that sloppy, or to bet the way he did.”

  “What are you getting at?” asked Shay.

  “He bet five thousand crowns with an off suit jack ten starting hand,” I said. “Then he went all in with two pair. It turned out Verona didn’t have him beat right off the bat, but he couldn’t have known that. All I’m saying is that if I wanted to make my exit, that’s how I’d do it, and I’d be sure to throw a fit at the end like he did.”

  “You think Jimmy threw the hand?” asked Shay. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But there’s supposed to be some sort of fraud going on here. If Jimmy did throw the hand, there must be a logical reason for it.”

  Steck snapped his fingers. “See? This. This is exactly why I brought the two of you on. The Captain said if there was even a whiff of corruption, you two would sniff it out. It’s possible someone paid Jimmy to lose, or someone’s blackmailing him—and maybe others—toward financial gain. So what else have you noticed?”

  “That’s not enough?” I asked.

  “I…well…” Steck sighed. “Sorry. It’s been a long day, and stuff that’s actually related to vice excites me. Trust me, I’d rather be playing card games than talking to waiters and waitresses.”

  “You know what I don’t get?” said Shay. “Johann. He’s one of our prime suspects, one of his men dies the night before the
tournament starts, and yet he’s the first one out.”

  “It doesn’t mean he’s not involved,” I said. “As I said. Assume nothing.”

  “I suppose so.” Shay chewed her lip, and we all contemplated our thoughts for a moment. Then Shay clapped her hands. “Either way, we need to get moving. The opera is set to begin in a couple hours, which sounds like a lot of time, but considering we haven’t eaten and still need to get into our evening wear, I’d say it’s pretty tight.”

  “We need to change again?” I asked.

  “You remember when I asked about your tuxedo jacket?” said Steele. “There was a reason for that.”

  “Right,” I said. “Steck, I don’t suppose you’ve gotten that list of passengers with luggage in the compartment where Lumpty was murdered, do you?”

  Steck slapped his forehead. “Dang it. I knew I was forgetting something. My fault. I’ll get it tonight. Anything else you need?”

  “Well, actually…” I glanced toward my quarters. “Do you know how to press a tuxedo?”

  Steck took his time answering. “I’m going to regret asking that question, aren’t I?”

  “I think you already do. But seriously, leave it hanging in my closet for when Steele and I get back from dinner. And if you could tidy up a little while you’re at it…”

  Shay frowned. “Daggers…”

  “Kidding,” I said. “Your toil is appreciated. I’ll owe you one.”

  19

  I tapped my fingers on the armrest of my chair. I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the sitting room and contemplated the nature of time. I continued to tap.

  “Are you about ready?” I called out.

  Steele’s voice drifted over from her room, slightly muffled by the closed door. “Almost. Give me another five minutes.”

  “Five minutes…” I tapped my fingers some more. When Steele mentioned we had a little over two hours until the start of the opera, I’d figured we’d have plenty of time, especially considering the speed with which the waitstaff in the restaurant had served us breakfast and lunch. This time around, the waitresses and cooks hadn’t disappointed, but I hadn’t accounted for the glacial pace of female preparation.

  “You know,” I said in a voice loud enough to be heard, “it surprises me the disparity in time it takes for men and women to get dressed, specifically in regards to formal attire. Women clothe themselves in a dress, shoes, a few pieces of jewelry, and undergarments, unless they’re feeling frisky, whereas men end up donning at least three times as many items. I’m wearing underwear, slacks, a shirt, a vest, a coat, socks, shoes, and a tie, not to mention cuff links and shirt studs. So tell me, given all that, why does it take women three times as long as men to prepare? That’s a ninefold disparity in the ratio of clothes put on per unit of time.”

  Steele’s voice drifted over again. “Did you style your hair?”

  “I combed it.”

  “And did you put on makeup?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Do you think perhaps you’ve answered your own question?”

  I drummed my fingers on the armrest and neglected to further the conversation, mostly because in doing so I’d make myself look more foolish than I already had.

  “We’re going to be late, you know,” I called out. “And I’m not warning you for my own benefit. I find the merits of a show sung in a language and tenor that’s completely unintelligible to be dubious at best.”

  “Very well,” said Steele. “I’m all done with my makeup. If you help me zip into my dress we could probably be out of here in a minute or two.”

  “Zip into…? How tight is this thing?”

  “Quite, in the places where it needs to be,” said Shay. “Now come in here and give me a hand.”

  I stood and crossed to her door. I rested my hand on the doorknob, wondering if I should ask whether or not she was decent, but she had told me to come in. No need to be overly reticent.

  I pushed my way in and found Shay standing in front of her mirror, wearing an ankle length strapless black evening gown with a sweetheart neckline and a fair amount of lace in the bodice. She had her back to me, and though the dress came to just under her shoulder blades, the majority of said back was currently exposed. A single clasp held the dress together under her armpit, but the zipper on the side was completely undone, showing off a length of creamy skin that reached from her ribs down to the curve of her derrière.

  “Well don’t just stand there,” said Shay, looking at me through the mirror. “Come help me.”

  I crossed to her side and took hold of the zipper’s pull tab. Shay collected her hair and drew it over her opposite shoulder. She’d curled it slightly and treated it with a different perfume than normal, a jasmine scented one if I wasn’t mistaken.

  “Be careful not to catch my skin. As I said, the dress fits snugly.”

  “I’ll be careful.” I pulled the dress’s fabric tightly toward me and worked the tab north, moving it in hitching increments until catching a groove and sliding it all the way home.

  “Perfect.” Shay turned and smoothed the front of her dress. “So…what do you think?”

  Her hair tumbled across the side of her face, cupping her cheek before cascading over her shoulder in a jumble of curls. A touch of rouge brightened her cheeks while a hint of dark liner made her azure eyes pop like pools of the clearest ocean shoal. Her lips had been enhanced with a natural-colored balm that somehow made her seem fresher and more beautiful than she already was. I wanted to dive in and kiss her.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I said.

  Natural forces conspired to enhance the effects of the rouge. “Thanks. Now let’s go, otherwise we really will miss the show. We’ll need a little luck as is.”

  I ushered her to the front, but I paused with the door a few inches shy of closed. “Oh, one thing,” I said. “Before we leave, could you pluck one of my hairs? One of the gray ones, if you can find one. I won’t miss those.”

  Shay’s eyebrows furrowed, and she opened her mouth. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask. Hold still.”

  Shay’s fingers dug into my scalp. I felt a tug followed by a sharp pluck. I winced but didn’t yelp.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Shay eyed the hair. “And what am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Put it in the doorframe as I close up.”

  “Ah. Got it.”

  With the rudimentary alarm in place, we set off down the hall and into the stairwell. Our feet clattered off the steps and echoed off the ship’s steel walls.

  “Daggers, can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” I said.

  “Are you self conscious about your gray hairs?”

  “Well, that depends,” I said. “If you mean am I aware of them, then yes. If you mean do they bother me, then still yes.”

  “You shouldn’t be, you know,” said Shay. “They don’t impede your charm in the least.”

  I snorted. “That’s nice of you to say, but I suppose it’s one of the perks of going prematurely gray. People are taught to be kind to the elderly.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t mind them.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to launch into a joking, thinly-veiled tirade of self-loathing wherein I tore myself down, assuring anyone nearby I was unattractive and thoroughly unlovable, but I stopped myself in the formative stages. For one thing, I didn’t really believe that anymore. I’d seen the effects of my diet and exercise regimen, and those physical changes had helped spark a psychological renaissance. I wasn’t anywhere near as repellant as I’d once convinced myself I was, and if Shay liked the way I looked…well, who was I to dissuade her?

  I nodded and smiled.

  Apparently, we weren’t the only ones running late. A crowd swelled against the face of the ship’s theater, crashing into the overwhelmed ushers out front in waves. We joined the sea, shuffling back and forth and back and forth before eventu
ally working our way to the front of the mass. There, I flashed one of the ushers our room key, and he herded us in through a set of thick, velvet drapes.

  If not for the slightly lower than normal ceilings, the theater would’ve been indistinguishable from one on land. Over a dozen rows with thirty seats apiece stretched back from a full-sized stage, one currently closed off by heavy red curtains. A single layer balcony provided additional seating at the sides, though exactly how much I couldn’t tell. The lights had already been dimmed, and my eyes were in the process of adjusting.

  The usher showed us to our row. We excused ourselves to the other patrons as we shuffled past them into our seats—not particularly close to the stage, but at least centrally located in the row.

  “Apparently, money can’t buy quite everything,” I said as we seated ourselves.

  “What are you complaining about?” asked Shay. “As if any seat in this house is a bad one.”

  I would’ve replied, but our tardiness didn’t provide me with an opportunity. The orchestra sprang to life, the crowd’s communal voice dwindled to a murmur, and the red curtains drew apart.

  20

  The lights from behind the curtain cut through the dark, revealing a backdrop of pristine blue, dark for the water below and bright for the sky above. Wide-leafed palms thick with coconuts hung over the sides of the stage, and in the back, up high, white clouds shifted back and forth. The orchestra quieted, but the void of the music was filled with heavy thumping.

  A man raced forth from stage right, dressed in a billowing white shirt, torn brown trousers, and with a bandana wrapped around his head. He looked about wildly before exiting stage left. Moments later, a band of pirates followed him from the right, racing across the stage without pause, bellowing all the while. The first man reappeared after their exit and hid behind one of the palms, only to have the pirates reappear and race back across the stage in the opposite direction. He paused after they’d left, looking to his left and right before eventually leaving the safety of the tree and moving to the center of the stage. He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. The music started back up, and the man erupted in song.