Uncharted Waters (Ravenwood Mysteries #6)

by Sabrina Flynn

  Uncharted Waters

  A Ravenwood Mystery Novella

  Sabrina Flynn

  UNCHARTED WATERS is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's overactive imagination or are chimerical delusions of a tired mind. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely due to the reader's wild imagination (that's you).

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  Copyright © 2019 by Sabrina Flynn

  www.sabrinaflynn.com

  Cover Art © 2019 by MerryBookRound

  www.merrybookround.com

  Published by Smashwords

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  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Day 99

  Day 90

  Day 89

  Day 88

  Day 84

  Day 74

  Day 70

  Day 57

  Day 20

  Day 0

  Dreams

  Ambush

  Wild Souls

  The Gift

  Historical Afterword

  Connect With Author

  Also by Sabrina Flynn

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Dear readers,

  Fair warning: This novella does not contain a mystery. I’ve always found it unrealistic for private investigators or amateur detectives to constantly be tripping over bodies wherever they go. One starts to wonder if the detective isn’t really the murderer. So I decided to let Bel and Riot have a bit of a breather before whatever danger is in store for them in the next book. For this installment, I hope you simply enjoy their company.

  for Jessie Vanek

  every voracious reader deserves

  at least one book dedication

  "I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?"

  — Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing

  Day 99

  Things Buried

  Thursday, June 21 1900

  Lily White sipped her coffee, enjoying the peace of a clean home, the scents of beeswax, polish, and a hint of lemon. The house was quiet, too. The boarders had come and gone like a train on schedule, steaming through the morning buffet with places to be.

  Lily was exactly where she wanted to be, in a place that had become home. Home, a word she hadn’t felt for quite some time. As she sat in silence with her coffee, she tallied up receipts, and made notations in the account books for Ravenwood Manor. When she reached the end of the pile, she stared at the final number.

  Atticus Riot was near to broke. Not broke like most folk. He had this house, and plenty of assets to sell off, but he was broke by the standards of his class. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure where he fit in with society, or even if he did at all.

  It always happened to the good ones, she thought. That, and he had no mind for business. Thank the Lord, she did. But what could she do with so little savings left? Full partner as she now was, it took money to make money, and she was no miracle worker.

  While Mr. Riot was a gambler, she was a business woman. Some said there was little difference. If that were true, then Lily was the cautious type. She preferred to have a sure bet before putting her money on the line.

  She set down her pencil and frowned at the financials in the newspaper. Should she take the traditional route? Or—she glanced at a name and address she had written on a slip of paper—a less conventional path? Would Mr. Riot invest in the idea she had in mind? Well, as a full partner who had been given the reins, it was her decision. But was she biased—entertaining the idea of starting a business with a friend? New businesses were always a gamble.

  Noise came from outside. Boots, running ones that could only belong to one person, her younger son. A knot unwound from between her shoulders and a buzz switched on in the back of her mind. Aah. Motherhood.

  Lily sighed, and braced herself for what was to come. It was always something with Tobias White.

  The door slammed open. A bit of plaster flaked off the abused wall. Tobias bolted straight for her and didn’t slow until his arms were around her neck. As quickly as he came, he was gone, heading straight at the pie bin with a large grin.

  “Tobias White, give a proper greeting to your mother and wash your hands.”

  “I’m too hungry for words.”

  The cuffs of his trousers showed more of his boots than she’d like. She swore he had grown another two inches in the four days he had been gone.

  “Have you eaten breakfast?” she asked. Tobias was always starving. Two hours between meals and the boy was convinced he’d die.

  “’Course not. There ain’t no breakfast at sea.”

  “There isn’t any,” she corrected.

  Tobias was drooling at the apple pie. Before he decided to help himself to a slice (and make a mess), she pushed back her chair and took up a knife. “Wash up first.”

  Tobias ran to the utility room sink. He ran everywhere. Lily didn’t believe for one moment that her younger son had a source of boundless energy. She knew the truth. He sucked energy from everyone else around him and used it on the most useless things he could dream up. Tobias was back in a flash, leaving a trail of water dripping onto her freshly polished floors.

  Lily handed her son a towel. He dried his hands, plopped on a chair, and took up his fork.

  “Say your grace,” Lily ordered.

  “It’s dessert,” he argued.

  “It’s breakfast.”

  Tobias bowed his head and said a starving man’s prayer. Lily let his brevity slide for the generous thanks he gave for his wonderful mother, and set the plate down. Half of the pie was gone in one gulp.

  “How was your trip?” she asked.

  Tobias’s eyes widened as he chewed. Lily put away her ledgers and folded her papers. She sat, waiting, watching her son. Another bite replaced the first, but he’d run out of pie eventually. And she’d be waiting patiently.

  The inevitable happened.

  “That sure was good, Ma.” Tobias hopped to his feet, wiping his hands on his coat.

  “Did I excuse you, Tobias?”

  Tobias sat back down with a “No, Ma’am. But I’m sworn to secrecy, you see. On pain of no sweets.”

  Despite herself, Lily snorted a laugh. She covered up her amusement by stirring some cream into her coffee. “Pain of no sweets? You can live with no sweets, child. You can’t live without food, however.”

  “A shipmate don’t rat out his captain.”

  “I think Mr. Tim is a bad influence on you.”

  Tobias’s mouth fell open. That boy was about as subtle as a mime. “But it was Captain Morgan who ordered me to silence!” he said.

  Lily blinked.

  Tobias froze. His eyes got big as a cat’s.

  “Close your mouth when you eat,” she ordered. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  Captain Morgan was a pseudonym for Isobel Amsel. Dear Lord. Isobel was supposed to be languishing in an asylum. Why on earth had she risked further punishment by leaving the asylum grounds?

  Lily gave her son another piece of pie to silence him.

  Another set of boots stomped at the back door. Mr. Tim shouldered it open and walked inside, carrying a dirt-encrusted box. He deposited his load on her table.

  “Compliments of A.J.,” Tim announced.

  Lily glanced from the dingy box to the dingy man, who was patting his pockets and murmuring to himself.

  Tobias reached into
his coat pocket, swallowed, and held out a folded envelope.” Mr. A.J. said you’d lose it.”

  Tim turned a furious blue eye on the boy. “I wasn’t gonna lose it. A.J.’s just got a smart mouth on him. And no respect for his elders.”

  “You were there when he gave it to me.”

  Tim blew out a breath. “Ungrateful little—”

  “Mr. Tim,” Lily warned, holding out her hand.

  “I was talkin’ about A.J., not your son.”

  “Just so. Hand it over.”

  “Open it, Ma!” Tobias burst out.

  “I was intending to.” She set the envelope down. “Would you like coffee, Mr. Tim? Something to eat?”

  “I can get it.”

  “Sit,” she ordered. “I don’t want you tracking any more mess in here.”

  Tim turned brick red. He cast his gaze over the floor, muttering to himself, and went off to wash up.

  Tobias looked from his mother to the box. “Don’t you want to know what’s inside?”

  “Is that box going anywhere?” Lily asked.

  No answer.

  With a nod, she lit the stove and went about cooking up an omelet and fresh coffee. Tobias sighed, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and melted halfway off the chair.

  Drawn by the scent of food, Watson sauntered in from the hallway. Lily arched a brow at the plump cat, but he pointedly ignored her and began licking his claws.

  “Will Mr. Riot and Sarah be here any time soon?” she asked when Tim returned. He scratched at his now damp beard.

  “I’m not rightly sure. Jin is staying with Miss Bel at the asylum—”

  “Where she belongs,” Tobias muttered.

  “And A.J. took Sarah off to wrap up a case. I wager he’ll be back to Napa soon enough.”

  That was a great deal of traveling, but then love was an intoxicating thing. Lily placed coffee, eggs, and toast in front of the old man, who dug in with gratitude. His white beard made him look larger than he was, but Lily knew there wasn’t much to the man. Bones lost their weight and muscles weakened as time wore on a body.

  Tobias watched her through his lashes as she dried her hands and sat down. Just to annoy her son, she moved her coffee mug to the right, repositioned a vase, and began rearranging the flowers.

  “Ma!”

  Lily gave a slight smile as she sliced open the envelope. Mr. Riot had a steady, even hand, and he dotted his i’s with precision. The envelope was addressed to her.

  Miss Lily,

  I can’t do much to change the way of the world. But I can do this. It’s not the mountain of gold you would prefer, but I believe a capable woman like yourself can turn it into one.

  Bel is in agreement. My offer stands.

  A mountain. Lily’s conversation with Mr. Riot from a few days before came to mind, when he had asked her what she preferred.

  “I’d prefer a qualified teacher who wasn’t a prostitute. And I’d prefer not to have to worry about the color of my skin every time I leave this house.”

  “Anything else?” he had asked.

  “I’d like the past to stay where it belongs, and I’d like my employer to stop using my young son as a spy.” She had paused then. “A mountain of gold would be nice, too. What do you prefer?”

  “To be at Bright Waters.”

  She grimaced at her words, at how close she had come to telling Mr. Riot everything. To a detective with ties to the Pinkertons, no less. As much as Ravenwood Manor felt like home, she was walking a dangerous line there.

  Pushing the past back into a mental box, she turned to a physical one—the old rotting crate on her polished table. There was no lock, so she opened it. Red dirt, pebbles, and sand dribbled onto her table, but Lily didn’t pay the filth any mind. She was transfixed. Gold. A box of gold Lady Liberty coins. Twenty dollars apiece.

  Tim cackled at her shock.

  Lily cleared her throat and picked up a coin. It was heavy. “Did Mr. Riot win this at a gambling table?” she demanded.

  “It’s buried treasure!” Tobias burst like a trumpet blast.

  Tim shot the boy a glare. “Don’t shout it to the rafters, boy. Good way to get it stolen.”

  Lily stared at Tim, waiting for an answer. Her son was prone to feats of imagination that would try a saint.

  “It’s as he says,” Tim said between mouthfuls. “A finder’s fee, you might say.”

  Lily opened the box, and did a quick estimate by the size of the box and the value of coins. There had to be close to twenty five hundred dollars in there.

  “A.J. said you’d know what to do with that,” Tim said.

  “Where did you find it?” she asked.

  Tobias didn’t need further invitation. Her son launched into an all too brief summary about a case. “Some strange fellow was being followed. Turned out the stalker was his grandad’s pirate buddy. They stole eggs. Then buried gold. I helped Mr. Riot find the map. It was on a box.”

  “Er, aye, that’s the gist of it,” Tim agreed.

  Lily studied the gold coin in her hand. Why not, she thought? Pirates and buried treasure. Would her business proposal really be so strange?

  Day 90

  Lies and Truth

  Saturday, June 30 1900

  Isobel Amsel stared at her twin. Dumbfounded would be the word—a state she was rarely in and would never admit to. But it would be difficult to deny it, with her mouth hanging slightly open like a fish. She clicked it shut.

  “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

  “Shall I get a dictionary?” Lotario asked.

  “I know what it means,” she snapped. “Why are you leaving?”

  Lotario waved a flippant hand. “I’m bored.”

  Isobel was, too. Only she couldn’t leave. She sank into a chair and gazed numbly around her twin’s rented cottage on Bright Waters’s grounds. His trunks were thrown open and his clothes flung this way and that. For all his words, he didn’t appear to be in a hurry. He sat there, sipping chilled tea and staring at his mess fully expecting his garments to sort themselves given enough time.

  “You have a shadow to keep you occupied now,” Lotario said into the silence.

  Isobel glanced out the window to where Jin was climbing a tree. Since the girl had been introduced to the idea, her feet had hardly touched the ground. It was true though. Isobel did have a shadow. And to be honest, she enjoyed the diversion. Since Riot and Sarah had left, Isobel had taken to training Jin, devising elaborate exercises in tracking and lock picking. Not to mention schooling.

  “I’m not worried about myself, Ari.” Now that she’d had time to think it over, at any rate.

  His brows shot up. “That’s a first.”

  She considered throwing a shoe at him, but that would undermine her next words. “Your shoulder isn’t healed yet.”

  Lotario raised said arm with only a minor wince, but his range of mobility was frightful. “I don’t think the good doctor can do much more for me.”

  “What will you do?” she asked softly.

  Her twin had numerous personas—identities that he actually lived. Not like her own blundering attempts at living other lives and lies. Lotario didn’t live lies. Each persona was a piece of a puzzle that made a complete picture: Paris, a high-class burlesque dancer and male prostitute; Madame de Winter, an opera singer of some renown; and Lotario, flippant bachelor and traveler.

  “Will you be able to dance with that shoulder as it is? What of your singing? How will you explain the scars on your shoulder?” Makeup would only hide so much.

  “Don’t worry, Bel,” Lotario said with a roll of his eyes. She frowned, and he hesitated. When he spoke next, the whimsy was gone from his voice. “I mean that,” he said.

  “That is the opposite of reassuring.”

  “I’m not here to reassure you. You have three months left of your sentence. Jin is here. Atticus will return. I’m only in the way. Besides,” he gestured at the cottage, “this place is paid for, through the day of your release. I�
�ve already checked with Julius. You can move from your single room into here.”

  Isobel stifled her surprise. Bright Waters’s private cottages did not come cheap. Part pleasure retreat, part asylum, the hospital catered to both, and the cottages helped offset the cost of patients who couldn’t afford its fees. Lotario’s personas were profitable, and thus the cottage. Her persona had been, too. As the wife of Alex Kingston, she’d snagged a gold mine. Only Isobel had discovered that she could not live a lie.

  When strong emotion threatened, Isobel put up her walls. She stood, intending to leave. “Will you go abroad?” she asked coolly.

  But Lotario wouldn’t let her withdraw. He wrapped his arms around her, and she let him, suffering through his display of emotion. But when he released her, it wasn’t Lotario who had tears in his eyes.

  Isobel scrubbed her palm against her cheeks.

  “Tears, sister dear?”

  “Allergies. Do be careful, Ari.”

  “Of course,” he drawled, then frowned, eyes narrowing. “That won’t work on me, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Your tears.”

  “It’s not a ploy,” she insisted. “Do you really think me so cold-hearted?”

  “I think you a horrid actor.”

  “You’re disappearing with hardly a warning—”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “You’re half healed from a bullet. Pale, exhausted, with no word of where you’re heading. Of course I’m worried!” The last left her lips with more anger than intended.