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

he didn’t know it was hers. He didn’t remember anything. The case or her. It was up to her to remind him. It was up to her to make sure that he saw the case to the end. Everything was on her.

Byron’s door opened, and he stepped into the room, scrutinizing her. Gathering her courage, she spoke.

“Byron, seeing as you think I am insane, could you humor me?”

“How, exactly?”

“Can you listen to a case that I believe we were working on together?”

“I really think we ought to get to the police station.”

“It won’t take long. I could even explain it on the carriage ride over.”

“Very well. But we need to get going.”

She grabbed her sketchbook and the bag of clothes from the day before. He walked to the door and opened it, waiting for her to leave first. He glanced at the bag and frowned.

“What is that?”

“Something we’ll need for today’s investigation.”

“Hm.”

She walked down the steps and he joined her, waving a carriage down. He paused before telling the driver where to go. Mira swallowed and took a deep breath, recounting the case once again. Byron stared out the window. Was he even listening? She continued, hoping that something would spark his memory.

“How long have we been investigating this Pennington issue?” he asked once she was finished.

“I’ve been working with you on the case for almost two weeks. I don’t know how long you’ve been investigating it. But he died on the tenth of last month.”

“Hm.”

“Do you believe me?”

“Not entirely. It seems implausible that I forget so much every day. But perhaps if Inspector Thatcher can corroborate your story, then I will believe you.”

She nodded and went quiet. Why couldn’t he just remember? Not even the case, but her. The acceptance she often saw in his eyes faded away to nothing. His demeanor constructed a chilled wall between them. Mira shivered and looked away from him to hide the tears forming in her eyes. What happened to the blind trust they had built over the last few weeks? What if he never trusted her before? What if he only trusted what he wrote about her?

The carriage slowed to a stop in front of Scotland Yard. He offered a hand to help her out. She stepped down, ready to pull away, but he kept a firm hold on her wrist. He marched her right in and up the stairs but turned down the wrong hall.

“Byron! It’s this way.” She tried to pull him in the other direction.

“I know the way to the Inspector’s office. That hallway takes you to the main offices. The chief inspectors are there.”

“But he is a chief inspector!”

“You’re delusional. I don’t know how you know so much about my life, but I’ve known Raymond Thatcher for years. I would remember if he got a promotion.” He dragged her down the hall and she attempted to keep up with him. They reached the end of the hallway and he stopped with a frown. Releasing her arm, he turned slowly in a circle and examined the nameplates. Mira rubbed at her wrist.

“It should be here.” He turned and paced back down the hall, face flushing. They came to the Inspector’s “new” office. Juliet stood as they approached.

“Mr. Constantine! Is something wrong?”

“I need to talk to Inspector Thatcher. Who are you?”

“Juliet Chickering. His secretary?” She gestured to her name plate. “You’ve always recalled me before.”

“Where’s Ms. Adams? Did he change secretaries so quickly? She was here yesterday.”

“Er, no. I’ve been working here for three years, sir.”

“Is Thatcher in?” His voice rang hollow.

“Yes. Just knock before entering.” Juliet picked up a stack of papers and rushed off in a huff.

He moved past the desk and knocked without another word.

“Enter.”

Byron rubbed the back of his neck and took a few deep breaths before opening the door. The chief inspector glanced up from his paperwork as they came in.

“Good morning, Constantine. Good morning, Miss Blayse.”

“You know her?” Byron whirled back towards her.

“She’s your secretary. Did you not read your journal this morning?”

“We couldn’t find it, Inspector. It’s nowhere to be found.” Mira took a seat and rubbed at her temples.

“That is a problem. I assume she has filled you in on the situation?”

“She has.” Byron paced behind her.

“Do you believe her?”

“I think now I have to.” He threw up his hands and sat down.

Thatcher softened. “I hoped I’d never have to see you like this again, Byron.”

“Again?”

“I was the one who found you. The first person you saw when you woke up the day you didn’t remember. I’ve seen you this way many times over.”

“Exactly how long have I had this problem? This girl says it’s been years.” Byron gestured to Mira. She didn’t like being called “this girl.” The little hope she built up continued to fracture as she lost her composure. She turned away from them.

“It’s been about four,” Thatcher said.

“Four years? I have forgotten four entire years?” Byron stood again, running a hand through his hair and walking off his nervous energy.

“You’ve written all of them down. In fact, you’ve managed to solve nearly forty-two cases on just the facts from your journals. Miss Blayse has helped immensely with this last one. But if you’ve misplaced your most recent journal there could be a problem.”

“Could be? I don’t know anything about this case except for what she has told me. How can I deduce anything from that?”

“Maybe you can start by trusting me.” She stood to face him. Tears threatened to fall again, but she didn’t care. Her voice resonated with an unyielding determination as she approached him.

“You’ve trusted me in the past, Byron. You’ve helped me through deductions. You’ve listened to my perspective on things. Every day I come, and I don’t know what you are going to do. You’ve pulled a gun on me before. You’ve threatened me. But I still come. You could trust me as much as I trust you.”

He swallowed and looked away from her. A tear rolled down her cheek. The Inspector looked between