Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity by Natalie Brianne (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

seem that we’ll be staying a bit longer than I had anticipated. I’m sorry, Mira.”

“No. It’s quite alright. I’d rather we land.”

As night closed in, the storm continued. They sat with the other passengers in the observation lounge and watched the rain slip down the glass. The captain announced that any passengers who did not have room accommodations would be provided them. Byron acquired two keys for adjoining rooms. He led her to the back of the ship where they would be staying. They walked in a still silence as the thunder cracked outside the ship. He stopped next to one of the doors and turned to her.

“Mira…this will be the first documented occasion since the accident that I have stayed overnight anywhere that wasn’t 27 Palace Court.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be disoriented when I wake up.”

“Yes. I believe you are.”

“I’m going to need you to explain everything to me. I shall be setting notes around my bed to ensure that I know of something. You will come in the morning to make sure I remember?”

“Yes, Byron.”

“Good. Good.” It was his turn to be nervous. Up in the sky he exuded confidence. Here on the ground he seemed scared of the prospect of staying somewhere new.

“Goodnight?” She gently touched his arm, pushing him towards his room.

“Yes. Right. Goodnight.” He handed her key to her, turned, and entered his room. She watched the door close and then entered her own room.

It was small, but it fit her purpose. A door connected her room and his, only separated by a lock, really. She sat on her bed thinking about the unexpected route the day had followed. On a normal day, she would be back at her rooms around this time. And what about poor Nero? Hopefully he could fend for himself.

Her thoughts drifted to Byron. His entire day, with the newspaper and the airship, her fear and his compassion, the questions, the investigation, all of it would be forgotten. Even though this was normal for Byron, it was burdensome for her to wrap her head around. How could so much be lost in such a short period of time? What kind of accident could have happened to him to cause his memory loss? The more she thought about things, the more she realized that she knew little to nothing about Byron. And now she was, as her uncle would say, gallivanting all over the countryside with someone who was practically a stranger. She laughed a little as she got ready for bed. What did she know about Byron? Practically nothing. She knew he was a private detective who forgot. Other than that, everything was a complete mystery to her. She added “ask Byron about himself,” to her mental list of things to do. Although the mystery of how he lost his memory seemed a bit of a large subject to breach. She laid down on the bed. That would have to wait until the rest of the mysteries were out of the way. And when that time came, she would help him remember for good.

After tossing and turning for half the night, she decided sleeping was fruitless. She determined to help Byron at the first sign of trouble, despite her lack of sleep. She waited in the darkness for any sounds to come from the adjoining door, her thoughts keeping her company as she mulled over the case. One murder. Three suspects. She spread her sketches of each witness or suspect across her bed. Some were less than satisfactory as she hadn’t had time to perfect them. The cat burglar still prowled in North London but that could be a completely different matter unrelated to the murder. Pennington’s place had been searched, at least. But perhaps that was something else as well. There were other reasons for breaking and entering other than burglary. Had anything been stolen? Only Clement Pennington would know. Or possibly the woman. Molly Bridges. Did she kill him after a fight? Motive. That was one of the few things that hadn’t come up in her discussions with Byron. What motive could there possibly be for killing Clement Pennington? Maybe it was suicide. Her eyes grazed over the sketch of Doyle Morrison. He certainly didn’t have motive, but he was in the vicinity.

And the accident of 1870. Mr. Graham had been surprised that either of her parents were involved. After all, her father had been late and her mother shouldn’t have been there at all. But the bodies were proof of their involvement.

She heard the bed creak in Byron’s room. He was awake. She held her breath listening, wondering when she should intervene. Sounds of confused mumblings and the rustling of papers came through the door. She tiptoed to the door that separated them and knocked, unlocking her side. The door opened with a bang.

“What the devil is going on?” Byron’s hair was a complete mess and his suit disheveled. He, like her, slept in his clothes the night before. She stood there in shock for a moment. Wasn’t he going to leave himself notes?

“Well?” he said. A smirk stirred at the corners of Mira’s lips. His eyes brightened from the confusion and he looked more handsome because of it. She pushed that thought away.

“I suppose the first thing to say is, it’s nice to meet you, Byron.”

“What?”

“I mean, this is the first time for you at least. You’ve never seen me before in your life. Except I’ve met you every day for over a week.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?” She searched his face for recognition.

“I’ll have you know I have an excellent memory. But I do know one thing, I don’t remember you so if you’d care to explain what’s going on.”

“Right. There is quite a bit to tell you then.” She bit her lip.

“Such as?”

“Well, good morning is a good place to start.” She walked past him to look for his journal. She knew anything she said