The Gadgeteer (Arabeth Barnes Book 1)

by Gin Hollan

  "Do you know what you're looking for?" Hicks asked.

  "Marble does. She caught a strange scent in an alley earlier. She followed it but I couldn't go with her. If she picks it up again, she'll let me know." They had chased little more than a rumour and a shadow, after all.

  Hicks reached out and scratched Marble between the ears. "She is a clever little thing."

  This was all starting to feel a bit too cozy, but not in an awkward way. She was probably being overly sensitive because of her mother's visit.

  "Are you sure you're not needed back at the station?" she asked.

  Hicks smiled. "I suspect you overestimate my usefulness at the station level."

  She narrowed her eyes as she examined his expression. He had to be kidding.

  "Seriously? They're not children. They'll be fine on their own," he said.

  The part of her that craved independence wanted to head out just with Marble. The other part of her—the part that said going alone into hazards was crazy—that part was grateful.

  "I've been curious … why were you so angry earlier?" she asked.

  He stood. "We should get going while it's still light out," he said, turning to go.

  "Fine. Evade." Standing, she tore off the relevant section of map and tucked it into her brown satchel. Her pulse sped up a bit as she thought about what they might encounter. This wasn't a capture. This was.... Well, this was detective work.

  She locked the door behind her and as they walked away, a police constable hurried up to them. He took his hat off and gave them a slight bow, regaining his breath as he did. Constable Frank Masters. Age thirty-nine, six years’ service. He never brought good news.

  // Chapter 5 //

  "I'm glad I caught you, Mrs. Dane. We're having trouble notifying the direct next of kin of your cousin, Betsy Marsh." He glanced at Hicks, nodding.

  "I go by Barnes now. Why do you need her next of kin? Isn’t her family home?" Arabeth asked. Betsy had been a good friend while they were growing up, before her parents sent her away to finishing school. "What happened?"

  "There's been an … incident."

  "Let me talk to him. I'll get the details for you," Hicks said softly as he placed a hand on her arm.

  "Is it related to Dawson's case? Is it the same terror that got him?" She wasn't letting anyone filter for her. Betsy was more than just a cousin. She needed to hear what had happened.

  Masters shook his head. "This isn't related, Mrs. Dane. Also, I hate to say this, but she will need to be buried in a closed casket, unless you have a miracle worker doing the face work at the funeral house." He looked at Hicks again.

  As that sank in, Arabeth wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection as her legs went lightly numb.

  "Who ... who did this?" she whispered, wondering why she wasn't reacting more strongly. She looked up at the constable. "Who did this?"

  He clenched his jaw a moment before answering. "We don't have any leads. There is a vague description, but people seem to have been so shocked, they can't get the details right."

  Staring, Arabeth wondered how that was possible.

  "My family will want to know why. They’ll want something to help them understand."

  "What we know is in here, Mrs. Dane" He held out a sheet of paper but looked at Hicks again before turning back to give a slight bow. "My condolences to you and your family."

  "Thank you," she said quietly, her mind already off down rabbit trails. She wanted to talk to the morgue attendant and the funeral director to see what they knew. Not about the nature of the injuries.

  She did not want to see the body.

  They had to know something about who did this. Looking at the sheet of white paper, the starkness of the black text seemed poetic.

  Constable Masters bowed again, putting his hat back on.

  "When are you back on the job, Hicks?" he asked. His being thirteen years older than Hicks gave him the right to ask, even if they were in separate departments.

  "I'm assisting on the Dawson case—I've got a lead in the southeast quadrant. It may be a while. Miss Barnes,” he emphasized her maiden name, “is assisting me with that. Why?"

  Sam had lied about where they were going, Arabeth noted.

  Masters nodded. "I'll update your location in the log book."

  "Thank you," he said, looking momentarily puzzled.

  The news about Betsy slowly sank in as the two men played their power game. Her cousin was dead. Arabeth looked at the paper again. Betsy’s death couldn't be real, but there it was, in black and white. She should tell her family. Having the news come from her mother might be easier on Aunt Trudy than from a police officer, or even her.

  Still, how? The paper said Betsy had been found in the back of a dress shop in the southwest part of the city. That couldn't be coincidence, right?

  "A middle-aged man came into the shop and pushed past two other people to attack Betsy. This medium-sized sketch of the man is based on witness description. Still, police don't believe she was targeted. She was about to purchase a hat. When the man said he wanted it, she refused and he overreacted. He's been locked away, and they have sent for a psychiatrist." She read aloud, partly so Hicks knew what it said, but more to help convince herself it was real.

  "Betsy was a bit on the frail side." She slowly let a breath out. "And he punched her, several times."

  Hicks didn't say anything, but his expression darkened considerably.

  "Wait, why couldn't they reach Aunt Trudy or Uncle William?" A shot of adrenaline hit her as she considered the thought this may actually be a targeted attack, disguised to fit in with the other attacks going on. She spotted a horse cab and waved to the driver.

  "You go on down to the southwest. We can meet up later," she said as she ducked down to pick up Marble.

  "I think it’s better you don't go alone." He got in the cab with her.

  Arabeth wouldn't admit it, but she was actually grateful.

  As they rode, she sorted through possible motives. If the entire family was killed, but in separate locations, it meant it wasn't robbery, or a crime of passion. Most likely this was revenge or manipulation, which would mean someone was still alive, and possibly being held hostage.

  "Maybe they've gone away. You know … on vacation," Hicks offered.

  She looked at him, grateful he'd come along, and grateful he'd stepped back into her life after her husband passed away. He was a good friend. The best she'd ever known, really.

  "Yes, maybe. They do like the southern beaches this time of year." They usually left someone to mind the house, but they didn't have to be there full-time to do that.

  The house was dark as they pulled up, the pathway unlit. The long shadows of the setting sun gave it a deserted feel. Slowly a light brightened a window, up on the second floor in one of the larger windows.

  If Arabeth recalled correctly, that would be the large sitting room, meant for entertaining groups of up to fifteen. It was also the only room with a piano and some of their most impressive books. And it was comfortable. It seemed perfectly reasonable for a house sitter to choose that room for the evening.

  Marble walked behind the two, not in a rush to be anywhere. Her tail swished, relaxed, behind her.

  As they approached the house, Arabeth's mind started to go in circles. The light was logical, she repeated, but what had happened? The knot in Arabeth's stomach got tighter and stronger until she found she couldn't walk forward. The trees, still quite forested on one side, cast a foreboding shadow. This wasn't her normal.

  Mentally, she was ready. Physically, she was dressed for the task, and fit. She had packed for a capture, so that was good. Emotionally ... that was where it all fell apart. This was family. A home she knew and liked.

  Hicks stopped to look, a little puzzled. She shook her head.

  "I'd feel better if you waited here," she said to Hicks. Although it was less than a half truth, it was the part she could admit. She felt foolish for even saying it. He's a police
detective, she chided herself, and was a patrolman before that. She was cat-like—stealthy, agile, and lucky. He was more direct. He'd trained for conflict. He went into dangerous situations all the time.

  Sure, these days it was after the crime and the criminals were gone by the time he arrived, but this was a house she knew. Someone inside lit a candle, then another, as if they were expecting company. It wouldn’t be for her or Hicks.

  Maybe her uncle and his family had heard about Betsy through another source and were coming back, and this was a servant getting the home ready to receive them. That thought, right there—that was the one she would hold on to. Knowing the fussiness of her cousins, this might even be the dusting phase of preparations. Nothing shows dust like bright lights.

  Hicks closed the short gap, touching her shoulder with a hand.

  "It's fine. We'll knock on the door. If no one answers or the lights go out, we'll know something suspicious is going on and get help. Or you could wait back here. I'm sure it's nothing nefarious. We'll just knock."

  At the front door, Hicks rapped loudly so there could be no misunderstanding that someone was waiting. Inwardly, Arabeth cringed. Instinct wanted her to sneak in. Her sense of self-preservation was strong. That was why she tended to overpay her contacts. The more value she brought, the less likely they'd put her in harm’s way.

  Footsteps approached the front door and a short, older man opened the door. Seeing them, the smile fell off this face. She remembered him as being the livery manager for the family stable.

  Relieved, Arabeth smiled at him.

  "Mr. Jacobs, it's good to see you. Can I ask … where the family is?"

  There was a slight pause before he ducked and barged forward, out the door, past them and off into the trees. Trained reactions took over and Arabeth stuck out a foot, tripping him down the steps. She smirked. She was used to guys doing that, usually right before they landed face down in the dirt and shortly afterwards, into a pair of handcuffs.

  Hicks immediately restrained him. Turning back, she looked inside the house and listened for others. If the family was inside, restrained for reasons she couldn't begin to guess, she needed to find them. Had Betsy's escape from family control led directly to her death? No, she was casually shopping when she was attacked.

  Hicks would find out why Jacobs thought he needed to run. In the meantime, she wanted to search the house. She knew the layout well. It had been years since she was last inside, but walls rarely move.

  She went to the living room upstairs and retrieved one of the candlesticks, followed by Hicks and Jacobs. Walking from room to room, she was startled by the disarray. By the lack of furnishings, even. She wasn't aware of the family being in any financial difficulties. Things happened, though—things that even family wouldn't tell each other.

  This was probably one of those things. Whether by drug addiction or some other demon, they were gone. They may have moved and only taken what the new home needed, thinking to come back here later, or sell if none of the children wanted the place.

  Jacobs would have the answers. He'd have to. The rest of the house was empty. She returned to Hicks, hoping that Jacobs’ scrapes and bloody nose were caused by the fall.

  She looked to Hicks for comment.

  He shrugged. "He says he was just startled."

  "Tell me the story, Mr. Jacobs. You know me—I'm Betsy's cousin, Arabeth. Where is everyone?"

  A glimmer of recognition flashed in his eyes and he slouched down into a chair. "It's been a while. They moved to Baltimore, but left me here to watch the place."

  He wouldn't make eye contact.

  "Mr. Jacobs. You can tell me the truth. Betsy's been murdered and I need to find out why." He seemed talkative enough now. Maybe a bit too talkative. She'd have to sort through his dialogue later.

  "I wouldn't know. She hasn't come here since the family left two years ago. I haven't seen even one of them in that time."

  "Why would the entire family move to Baltimore and not let my mother know? I would have thought that Aunt Trudy would at least send a note, or leave an address."

  He coughed and rubbed his chin. "Odds are they were ashamed. They would have sold this mansion, except that it would draw notice."

  "What else do you know?" Hicks demanded.

  "I only know the rumour, sir. There was a falling out with a business partner, and accusations were made. They had to move or Mr. Marsh would be arrested."

  "Who made this threat?" Hicks continued.

  "Brayberry." Jacobs nearly spat the name. "Adam Brayberry."

  "That name came off your tongue easily," Hicks said.

  His direct approach was a little off-putting, but he could read people better than she could. She saw no reason to stop trusting him. It might be a good idea to take notes, mentally, on how he got his questions answered.

  "It's all Brayberry. He's the cause of all this. The diminishing grandeur of this home; the joy it brought. He's why I'm here, alone. Of course I'd remember the name I curse daily."

  Adam Brayberry? Did she know that name? Did her parents know him? When she finally visited, it would feel like an inquisition. Maybe she should find the answers to her mounting questions elsewhere ... but her family was the most direct route. She sighed. For every question she'd bring, they'd have three. The difference was, their questions were intensely personal, prying, and half the time, about things she didn't want to think about, let alone conclude. Too bad she couldn't bring Hicks along for that.

  "Do you have an address for them?" Arabeth asked softly. "And how do you get paid?"

  "I have it committed to memory, not laying about on paper." He stood up, only to have Hicks push him back down into the seat. "I need a pen. I won't say it out loud."

  Arabeth pulled a pen and notepad out of her bag and handed it to the livery manager. Her cousins had been coerced into leaving town two years ago and she didn't hear anything about it? How could that happen? Yes, she would have been grieving, but that kind of news gets through. Maybe her mother thought it better to not say anything, believing Arabeth had enough to deal with already.

  Still, it would have been good to know, even if they were sneaking out of town. "If the rest of the family was gone, why not Betsy? Did she marry someone local?"

  "No, maam." He handed her back the notebook. "She was supposed to be at the home of one of your eastern cousins."

  A loneliness seemed to drop over him as he said it. He'd served this family since he was a young teen. To be so disconnected from them, to be left behind … it had to hurt.

  "Mr. Jacobs, if I want to stop by now and then, would that bother you?" Arabeth asked.

  "You shouldn't. It's fairly dull around here without any other life. They even took the dogs." He sighed. "But it's dangerous, too. If we can solve the problem of Brayberry, the family can come back. That would be better."

  She smiled. Jacobs had a fondness for dogs. Maybe she'd curry some favour by bringing him a companion animal, a puppy.

  "Sorry about the light in the window. I won't do it again." He sighed.

  Did he think he was caught at something?

  "Honestly, Mr. Jacobs, it was coincidence that I came here at all. It was only because of Betsy. I'm not spying on you." She smiled.

  Mr. Jacobs sighed again and slumped back in his seat.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "I would have thought that Miss Betsy would come here, especially if she was at risk. She knows the house is bare but livable. And she'd be safe. The appearance of vacancy is exactly why she'd be safe."

  Arabeth nodded. "My understanding is that she didn't know her attacker. The witnesses said she regarded him as she would a stranger. It was not premeditated."

  He nodded.

  "We should get you some medical care. Would you come with us? It won't take long."

  "No, miss. I have supplies in the basement."

  "At least let me tend the wound on the side of your face. That one will be tricky for you." She suddenly want
ed to see this basement room. She hadn't seen a livable space while walking through the house.

  He nodded and stood. Hicks still seemed wary, but accepted the man's sincerity.

  "Mr. Jacobs, why are you calling her 'miss' now?"

  "I'm sorry if that offends you, but I've always thought it cruel and a little morbid to remind a young lady she was a widow. No one knows it better than she."

  "You'll have to work harder than that if you're trying to offend me," she said lightly, to which he chuckled.

  "Good to know, miss."

  They went down the short, deep steps into the basement. The lack of windows made it the perfect place for someone to hide out. The furniture missing from upstairs seemed to have accumulated down here.

  "They want it to look vacant, but didn't have the space for all this in the other home," he explained.

  There was a simple but winding path to a large area in the back that he'd used the furniture to section off. There was a cot, a small dining table, and a chair. Jacobs’ medical kit was a large, sectioned wooden box. As he opened it, Arabeth had to remind herself not to let her jaw drop. Extensive. That was the best word for it. Maybe overkill.

  "When you live alone and going out is a hazard...." He shrugged.

  It only took a few minutes to patch him up.

  "Are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?" Jacobs asked.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Jacobs. We have to go."

  This wasn't the news she'd wanted, but at least the rest of the family was safe. Should she go see her mother ... or skip that for today? Wait, they still had to go check the southwestern corner of the city. Cheered, she smiled at Hicks.

  "I think we've bothered Mr. Jacobs enough. Let's get back to the map." That odd area in the southwest that Sam had pointed out bothered her. Why had she never noticed it before? It wasn't new, was it?

  // Chapter 6 //

  "Let's wave a cab down. We'll get there quicker, and daylight is an advantage," Arabeth said as she waved out at a cab driver. The hospital could wait ten minutes. She wanted to make some progress on Dawson's case.