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

out of her pocket. “And you have short term memory loss. Please. Just read your journal.”

He considered her for a moment, his gaze settling on her watering eyes, and she saw a wave of trust cover his face. He believed her. She watched as he walked further into his room to grab his journal from the nightstand. He walked past her into the living room and sat down to read. She came in anxiously and sat down across from him. Every other time she had watched him read it seemed to only take a few minutes. Now that she was truly waiting for him, it felt like hours. Finally, he closed the book, looked up at her, smiled for a moment and then frowned.

“Based on my journal you’ve never come this early or woken me up before. What’s wrong?”

“Did you write down the fact that your rooms were burglarized yesterday?”

“Yes, I did. And that nothing of consequence was disturbed.”

“We were wrong. Something of consequence, at least to me, was taken.”

“What?” He sat forward in his seat.

“My address. When I got home, everything was completely torn apart. The perpetrator was still there, they attacked me, but they got away and, well, they left a note. Other than arranging my bed and making a cup of tea, I haven’t touched anything.” Her words were shaky, the events of the night playing in her mind’s eye.

“They came to your rooms?”

“Yes.”

“They attacked you?!”

“Yes, Byron.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“No, Mira. Are you alright?” He looked at her with a mixture of fear, anger, and concern muddling his expression.

“I’m a bit rattled. But otherwise alright. They didn’t seriously injure me. Or Nero.”

“Then let’s get back over there. You were right not to touch anything, especially the note.”

He stood and walked back into his room. Several minutes later he came back fully dressed and grabbed his journal from the armchair. He placed it in his satchel. Then he walked over to the side table and took a pistol from its case, placing it into his satchel as well. Lastly, he opened the drawer in the table and removed a box and a small bottle and placed it with the rest. He looked up at her and nodded.

“We have no time to lose.”

The ride over was an anxious one for them both. Of that, Mira was made certain by the tenseness of Byron’s features and the drumming of his fingers on his leg. Once there, they climbed the steps together, and she unlocked the door. Everything was as she left it, other than Nero, who was now mewing at her feet, and the fact that she could see things more clearly now in the light of day.

Byron came in and gave everything a thorough inspection. Each stick of furniture, every strewn page. He stopped entirely when he saw the cuts made into the wallpaper.

“You weren’t lying when you said the place was destroyed.” His tone was serious, and his face darkened as he looked at her. Before she could answer, he walked up the stairs into her room to examine the carnage. She followed him as he inspected her tattered clothing, the broken bedstead, and finally the note and the knife.

After reading the note with a look of great disgust, he took out the box and bottle he had procured from the drawer. He opened it and pulled out a small brush. He turned to her.

“Hold this for me?”

She moved next to him. He placed the box in her hand and then opened the bottle, dipping the brush into a fine powder and then brushing it lightly over the handle of the knife. He examined this thoroughly and then brushed it onto the paper as well. He turned to her.

“No fingerprints. I would guess they were wearing gloves.

“They were. And they were entirely dressed in black. It was dark enough I didn’t see the length of their stature.”

“Mira, you are in danger.”

“I know I am. But I’m not going to stop helping you just because of a note and a death threat.”

“Mira, this isn’t worth it.”

“Yes, it is, Byron!” Her voice had risen, but she didn’t care. She was uncertain what she was saying. Thoughts popped into her head and spouted out of her mouth like fire. “This is exactly what they want. They want me to stop helping you, and I think I know why.”

“Why?” He folded his arms defensively and sat on the remains of the bed.

“There are only two things between them and a complete wipe of evidence against them. Me and your journal. If I leave, I won’t be able to remind you. If they alter your journal, then they can erase any facts you have written down, and even replace them with new ones that you can give to the chief inspector, corrupting the case. They could steal it and wipe your memory of the case entirely.”

Byron paused before standing and holding her by her shoulders, eyes roving over her face. His touch stirred her emotions, and it took all her willpower not to hug him or start crying again.

“You’re right. Of course, you are right.” He turned away in silence for a few moments more.

“But you are still in danger. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

“And I can’t stand the thought of being sent away like a child. Obviously, I can handle myself, Byron. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

“Well, it had better be the last.” Byron straightened his tie. “I’m not going to convince you to stand down, am I?”

When she shook her head, he continued. “You shall continue to work with me, but you need to stay safe. We will get you police protection. You will find a new place to stay in London and I will not put that address into a file. We might also want to meet somewhere other than my rooms.”

“We can’t do that Byron. If you don’t read your journal you won’t remember to meet me.”

“Quite