Katherine focused on her. Horror, confusion, shock. “His parents… his mother. She’s one of the founders of the Knights of Chastity.”
Isobel nearly laughed. Yes, no son had ever visited a brothel without his mother’s approval. She bit back the sarcastic remark, and sat down. “Knights of Chastity?” she asked instead.
“A group of people opposed to vice. They’ve fought the Nymphia since its conception. Early on Mrs. Noble learned the owners intended to call it the Nymphomania, and marshaled the city priests and influencers to close it down.”
Isobel had heard that. The hotel was supposed to be a home for women afflicted with that condition, but city planners quickly shot the name down, so the owners changed it to something more acceptable.
“Miss Hayes, can you think of any reason why Dominic would enter such a place?”
Katherine blushed. “I know what you’re thinking. That Donny is a man, and men must satisfy desires that come naturally to them. But I assure you Donny wasn’t that sort of man.”
That had not been what Isobel was thinking.
“A woman knows,” Katherine said firmly.
Isobel changed tack. “What can you tell me about Dominic’s activities during the days leading up to his death?”
“You mean his murder.”
Isobel inclined her head.
“Donny was busy that week. I saw him only once. We met at the Palace for dinner.”
“And what day was that?”
“That would have been Sunday.”
“Did he seem troubled at all?” Isobel asked.
“He was troubled by the argument he’d had with his father. But when I asked after the details, he waved the matter away. Clashing with his father was a common enough occurrence that I didn’t press him. But he did seem… distracted. I could tell something was weighing on him.”
“Why didn’t they get along?”
“Donny didn’t approve of his father’s business ethics. And Mr. Noble… well, he has a temper.”
“Did his father threaten him directly?”
“All the time. Before Donny met me, Ian threatened to take away his inheritance if he didn’t marry. He called him lazy and useless. The two couldn’t have been more opposite.”
“Why do you think his father killed him?”
Katherine sighed. “I thought because they argued—because Mr. Noble is a frightening man and the family lied to me. But I see now…” She paused to swallow, looking suddenly ill. “I see why that might not be the case.”
Isobel watched as the woman twisted a handkerchief in her hands. Katherine suddenly stopped, staring down at the bit of cloth in growing horror. “Surely the police are looking for the man who murdered him?”
“It may not be a man.”
“It couldn’t be a woman.”
“He was in a brothel, Miss Hayes.”
Katherine’s lip formed a sharp line. “Must you keep reminding me?”
“It’s a fact. I can’t change it. And that fact, I’m afraid, will eventually leak out to the public if this investigation continues.”
“I’ve hired you for your discretion.”
“And you have it,” Isobel said. “But murderers are publicly prosecuted. A trial will put Dominic, you, and his family in the public’s brutal eye. Every facet of his life will be laid open. Including private matters. I know. I went through it myself.”
“Are you asking me to drop this?”
“You hired me to discover what happened to your fiancé. I’ve done that. The question is, do you wish me to continue my investigation?”
Katherine shuddered slightly, then stood and braced herself on the mantel for support.
Isobel wished Riot were there—not because she felt inadequate, but because Riot was so much better at this than she was. He had an uncanny way of reading people. Something she often failed at. Riot would surely let the silence remain, but Isobel broke it.
“Dominic was clearly murdered, Miss Hayes. But as to his father’s involvement… it’s plausible Ian is simply trying to prevent a scandal to protect his son’s name. Ian Noble is rich and therefore influential. It’s in his power to shut down a police investigation.”
Katherine spun on her. “And allow a murderer to escape justice?” she hissed. “Isn’t it also possible that his father doesn’t want the murder investigated to hide his own sins?”
Isobel cocked her head at the plural use of the word. “What sins are those?” she asked.
“It’s your job to discover that!” Grief could take many forms, but Isobel wasn’t sure whether this was a glimpse into Katherine’s true temperament or that churning sea of despair.
Isobel kept her voice even. “Did Dominic use laudanum?”
“Why do you ask?”
“It was found in his stomach.”
“He pinched a nerve in his shoulder during a race.”
“A race?”
“Rowing. He’s a member of the Triton Rowing Club. A doctor prescribed laudanum to help with the pain.”
“Can you think of any reason Dominic would go to the Nymphia?”
Katherine looked at a loss. “I can’t fathom one. Donny was devoted to me.”
“And yet he only met you for dinner once in a week’s time.”
“He’s a busy man.”
“Did he work with his father?”
Katherine hesitated. “No… not really. He held a position in his father’s company, but in name only.”
“And yet he was busy?”
“Donny was involved in clubs and parties. It’s easier to name a club he didn’t belong to, and… Why are you interrogating me?”
“I’m investigating, Miss Hayes. It’s never pleasant.” Isobel adjusted her cuffs, and stood. “Do you wish me to continue, or not?”
Katherine closed her eyes, pressing the handkerchief to her lips. “What is worse,” she whispered. “A brutal truth or a pleasant lie?”
Isobel hesitated. Professionalism told her to be quiet. Her own twin didn’t want the murder investigated. It would be messy—dangerous even, considering the money that was involved. But justice had a way of raging from the grave. She felt its pull.
“The unknown can cripple a person for life,” Isobel finally said into the silence. “If it were me, I would need to know. You’ll never make peace otherwise.”
26
Heavenly Gods
Sao Jin stared up at her adoptive mother as they walked. Or rather, as Sarah talked and Isobel drifted. That was really the only word for it. Isobel was drifting down the sidewalk.
“It’s like a museum in there,” Sarah was saying. “Tiger skins and jade statues and little Egyptian figurines. And the most beautiful beaded necklace. Mr. Chang said that Mr. Hayes is rarely ever home. The Hayes own a shipping business and so the family can hop on a ship whenever they wish.” Sarah gave a wistful sigh. “I’d love to sketch the pyramids. And parrots. Have you ever seen a parrot?”
“Parrots do not live in Egypt,” Jin pointed out.
“If I went to Egypt, I’d travel on to other places. Don’t you want to travel?” Sarah asked.
Jin glowered. “I do not think government officials would let me back into America if I left. Adoption paper or not.”
“Mr. Chang travels. He said so. With Mr. Hayes. He’s been all over, too.”
“True,” Jin said. “But I do not think he is actually a butler.”
“He opened the door for us.”
Jin sighed at her sister.
Isobel stopped suddenly, eyes focusing like daggers on the girl. “Why do you say that?”
“He did not offer us tea. That is an insult. Why would a butler insult guests of a woman who wishes us to be there?”
“Is that the only reason?”
Jin’s brows scrunched together. “No… many little things. He carried himself as an equal.”
“Servants aren’t inferior,” Sarah pointed out. “They’re just employed. Mr. Hop argues with avó and drinks with vovô
all the time.”
“There was tea in the study. At the big desk. Would Mr. Hop sit at vovô’s desk and drink tea?”
“Are you sure it wasn’t Miss Hayes’s desk?” Sarah asked.
“We saw her little writing desk in the sunroom.”
Isobel began walking again, her thoughts on Jin’s observations. The lines between servant and family had blurred long ago between Isobel’s family and their long-time butler—her father and Hop were more akin to brothers who worked together. But even as close as they were, she could not imagine Hop sitting at her father’s desk to drink tea. A desk was as personal as a bed in some ways.
She tucked the information aside for later. It was too early in the investigation to form theories.
In the end, Katherine Hayes wanted justice. She wanted the truth. But a part of Isobel worried she’d overstepped her professional bounds and nudged the woman towards a choice she’d regret.
Again, she ached to talk with Riot. For the pleasure of his company and his insights. With Riot a suspect in Monty’s murder and an unknown assassin on the loose, adding this investigation would split her time and attention. She should’ve kept her mouth shut.
“Where are we going?” Sarah asked, intruding on her thoughts.
The street came into focus for the first time since leaving Miss Hayes’s home, and Isobel cursed. She was in Nob Hill, on the gated corner of her ex-husband’s mansion.
Isobel quickened her pace, forcing the girls to a near run to catch up. She hurried past Alex’s home, eyeing the grounds and windows with a simmering rage. She wanted to confront her ex-husband, but had no proof whatsoever that he’d hired someone to kill Riot.
Wouldn’t he direct his anger at her instead? Or would that come later?
Once her heart slowed down to a normal pace, she answered Sarah’s question. “The agency.”
“Why?” Jin asked.
“I have reports to write,” she lied.
Jin wrinkled her nose. “We will go to Chinatown.” And as Isobel was about to remind them of everything they weren’t supposed to do, Jin recited, “We will not go to, around, or across the street from the 17th Station. We will not go down alleyways, and I will not stab people unless we are in danger.”
Isobel glanced at Sarah, who nodded. She was sure there was a loophole in there somewhere, but she didn’t have the energy to delve into tedious detail. The girls would do what they would do.
Still, she added one more thing. “I want you home before the street lamps are lit.”
Isobel ignored Jin’s eye roll, and the three parted ways. God, she was starting to sound like her mother.
Ravenwood Agency was closed, but Miss Off was there to answer the telephone. Isobel cut off the woman’s ritual of insults. “Is Lotario here?”
“Look for your damn self. I’m not your maid.”
Isobel was already walking towards the back office. The door was locked, and after she employed her lock picks, she saw it was empty.
“There’s keys, you know.”
“I need the practice.”
Miss Off harrumphed, then waved a slip of paper at her. “Some dirty rotten scamp banged on me door. Said it was important you get this. Made me pay him. I’m adding that to my wages.”
Isobel snatched the folded slip of paper, and her heart skipped a beat when she read it.
LATE FOR THE MAGPIE
Isobel grinned with relief. It was Riot’s neat handwriting, and she understood the cryptic message immediately. A heavy weight fell from her shoulders.
“I can’t make no sense of it. That brat better not have conned me,” Miss Off muttered.
“He didn’t. Thank you, Miss Off.” She tucked the message away, and went off to find her twin.
Sunday mornings were for church, but the afternoon was for pleasure. All that talk of sin got the mind thinking, and the Barbary Coast was the place to go, waiting with arms wide open.
Isobel had swapped her skirts for shirt and trousers, and now walked with her hands in her pockets, taking in the sights. Women called from their windows and doorways, boys shoved pasteboard cards and bawdy pamphlets in her face trying to lure her in as a customer.
Keeping in character, she took a few and surveyed them as she walked. Isobel certainly hoped Lotario wouldn’t start advertising Ravenwood Agency in the same manner. Surely he had more class than that?
She wound her way through a maze of narrow lanes until she came to an alleyway, then cursed under her breath and kept walking. A working girl was entertaining a client against the wall, right in front of the secret entrance (or rather escape door) of the Narcissist.
She could wait for the pair to finish, but the noises coming from the filthy alley made her wonder if a pig was involved. Isobel went around to the front entrance—a dark door set in a recessed archway.
She pulled the bell and a peephole slid to the side, revealing a pair of eyes. They looked unimpressed until the gaze settled on her face. The eyes widened in surprise.
“Don’t ask,” she drawled, mimicking Lotario’s voice and mannerisms. “Just open the door.”
The eyes hesitated—only a moment—before the door opened.
Isobel stepped inside a marbled foyer with a mural of muscular young men, sans clothing, competing in ancient Olympian games. She appreciated the historical accuracy.
The chiseled watchman stared down at her in puzzlement. “I thought you were getting ready for a show, Paris?”
Isobel plucked an Apollo mask from a table, and exchanged it for her cap. “I’ll be late if I explain.” She waved a flippant hand and started for the black velvet curtains, slipped past twin David statues, and into what appeared to be a festival to Dionysus. Some masked men wore togas. But not many.
Isobel tried not to brush against anyone as she wove her way through the celebrants, until she finally pushed through a side door and past a bodyguard in Spartan armor, wearing what looked like a real sword.
Isobel lifted up her mask. “I need to get to my dressing room,” she said breathlessly.
The guard didn’t ask questions. Without makeup, she and Lotario were near to identical, but there were subtle differences when compared side by side. The Spartan opened the door, and she slipped into a backstage dressing room.
Isobel had toured the brothel only in theory, as she’d made Lotario describe the interior of the Narcissist. So she was relieved to find the layout hadn’t changed when she opened the door to his private dressing room.
Bruno, his hulking bodyguard, was helping him lace a glittering bodice. His skin was oiled, his eyes were lavishly painted, and his hair was a wig of flowing blond hair. The rest of his costume was… sparse. Isobel kept her eyes above his waist.
“What on earth are you doing here?” her twin hissed.
“I came to check on you.”
“I’m working.”
“Yes, I see that. Ari—”
“I’m fine. I have a show to put on.”
“Then I’ll wait and we can talk afterwards.”
“I’ll be entertaining the highest bidder.”
Isobel looked at Bruno. “Is he fine?”
Bruno shook his head.
“Traitor,” Lotario said.
“But Paris does have a show,” Bruno pointed out. “And Hera won’t be pleased if you agitate him before a performance.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” Isobel said dryly.
Bruno frowned. “Careful what you say.”
“She’s my twin, Bruno.”
“I know. That’s why I’m warning her. I don’t want you hurt if she gets herself into trouble.”
“How much time do I have?” Lotario asked.
Bruno started to check his pocket watch, but Isobel stopped him. “I won’t keep you. But I want you to know I spoke with her again. I told her the truth. She wants me to continue.”
“Is this about Dom?” Bruno asked.
Isobel raised a brow at her twin. “You told him?”
“Br
uno is my other twin.”
She glanced at the pair—one a giant with dark brown skin and bulging muscles, the other as pale as alabaster with a dancer’s lithe physique. “Are you identical?”
Bruno rumbled a laugh.
Lotario wasn’t amused. “Bel, I’ve said my piece. God knows I can’t stop you once you get something in your head…”
A knock interrupted his tirade, and the door opened, revealing the face of the Spartan from outside. Based on his musculature, he was clearly a man who tossed weights around all day. Isobel wondered if he could use that sword at his hip, or was the man just decoration.
“Hera would like to see you,” the man said. Given his size, he had a startlingly soft voice.
“Now?” Lotario asked. “I have a show in—”
“No. You.” The Spartan pointed a finger at Isobel.
A breath swept past Lotario’s lips. “The audience can wait. I’m the star of the show…”
The Spartan shook his head.
“Just remember, Bruno, I’m not the one who agitated him. This fellow did.” Isobel placed a careful kiss on her twin’s cheek and whispered in his ear. “If Hera is the family you say she is, then everything will be fine. Correct?”
She felt the tension in his body, the flicker of a long lash, and then he gave her a dazzling smile. “Of course.”
“Enjoy your… festivities. Oh, and Riot was released.”
“At least he’ll be around to drag you out of trouble.”
The words were light, but Isobel shared a more serious look with her twin, then donned her mask and left. She followed the Spartan through a maze of laughter, music, and gauzy curtains into a sitting room that bore no signs of a pagan festival, save for the woman standing in the room: petal-soft pink skin, full lips, and black hair piled high and bound in a golden serpent tiara. Flowing white linen trimmed with gold was draped around her sensuous body. It managed somehow to be more revealing than the Spartan’s spartan armor.
“Remove your mask,” the Spartan ordered.
Isobel did so.
Hera gestured for the guard to leave, and when he was gone the women studied one another in silence. It was Hera who broke the standoff. She slowly sauntered around Isobel, who slightly turned with the woman.
Beyond the Pale Page 15
