The Case of the Troubled Tycoon: A Gilded Age Historical Cozy Mystery (Shipwreck Point Mysteries Book 5)

by Elise M Stone

  “That does it, then. It’s looking like Mrs. Muir must have found a thief in Whitby directly. Or been approached by one.” Briefly, Titus wondered if any of Ranson Payne’s thugs had stolen the clock, but he was reluctant to send Campbell to make inquiries with them, especially since he’d been beaten once before when asking too many questions of the wrong people.

  He looked toward the door as he realized Elisabeth hadn’t joined them around his desk. She still stood there, leaning against the doorpost, her arms folded across her bosom. “I’ll be in late tomorrow morning,” he said to her. “It looks like I’ll be going up to visit Arthur Muir first thing.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Titus paced up and down in Muir’s parlor, wearing a path in the nap of the rug. The maid who had answered the door told him her master was still at breakfast, but he’d thought the man would either eat faster or interrupt his meal to see him. As if mocking him, the blasted cuckoo clock began playing that happy folk tune, followed by the bird popping out, a gong sounding, and the cuckoo calling eight times.

  “Good morning, Strong.”

  He stopped pacing and faced his client. “Good morning, Mr. Muir.”

  “I hope you have good news for me.”

  “That depends on the serial number on your clock. Mr. Chapman showed me his bill of sale, and I wrote down his identifier from that. All we have to determine is whether the two are a match.”

  Muir wasted no time in marching over to the timepiece. “Would you grab the weights and chains while I lift it down from the wall?”

  Titus hurried up beside him to do as he asked. Once Muir had lifted it from the hook that went into the hole in the back, he turned it around. A paper label with the manufacturer’s name was pasted there, and a number in black ink was stamped directly on the piece of wood that covered up the works. Juggling the weights in one hand, Titus reached inside his pocket for the notebook where he’d written the serial number from Chapman’s bill of sale.

  “They’re the same.”

  “What? They can’t be. Let me see.”

  Titus held the page in front of Muir’s face so he could read it. He shook his head. “There’s definitely something amiss here.”

  It seemed his client was not going to give in quickly, and the lawyer’s arms were getting tired from holding up his half of the disputed clock. “Shall we hang it back on the wall while we sort this out?”

  Apparently, Muir’s arms were fitter than his. He looked at his hands as if noticing for the first time that they still held the cuckoo clock, then turned around and mounted it on the hook once again. Titus gently lowered the weights into place.

  Muir faced him, his spine rigid, shoulders drawn back, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

  “Was your maid able to find a receipt among your wife’s things?” the lawyer asked gently.

  A shake of the head was his client’s answer.

  “I understand how hard this must be for you,” Titus said. “I know if someone wanted me to relinquish a gift, particularly the last gift from a woman I loved, I’d be reluctant to do so.”

  “Reluctant is too mild a word,” Muir said through clenched teeth.

  Obviously, empathy was not working. It was time to try something else. Titus pulled himself up to his full height, locked his eyes on his client’s, and said in a firm voice, “You agreed to surrender the clock if Chapman could produce a bill of sale for it. He met your stipulation. You have an obligation to comply with the agreement you made as a gentleman.”

  Muir’s stance sagged, and his lower lip trembled slightly. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  Knowing that he’d won, Titus felt he could afford to be amiable and thought to suggest a way for his client to maintain his dignity. “If you like, I could take the clock to Chapman for you.”

  “That might be a good idea. If I had to bring it to him myself, I’m not sure I wouldn’t punch him in the face.”

  “Shall we take it down again?” Titus asked.

  “Let me call Hodgkins to pack it.” Muir went to the wall and tugged on a bellpull. A moment later, the butler arrived. “Please fetch the box the cuckoo clock came in from the attic and wrap it up securely. Mr. Strong will be taking the clock with him.”

  “Very good,” Hodgkins said and left the room to do as his master had asked.

  “Will you join me in the dining room for coffee? I believe there are a few pastries left yet.”

  Titus, who had skipped breakfast in order to arrive as early as possible, was happy for the invitation. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  As the two men sat over coffee, it was as if they’d forgotten all about their brief confrontation. Titus told his client that he’d started drawing up the papers for the yacht club, and Muir responded with an invitation to go sailing on his yacht in the near future. “I can always use an extra hand.”

  “I’m not very experienced,” Titus admitted, “although I’ve learned a thing or two since moving to Whitby, but on a boat smaller than yours, I’m sure.”

  “Have you thought about buying a yacht of your own?”

  Titus almost spit out the mouthful of coffee he’d taken and just managed to swallow it without choking. “I doubt I’ll be doing that for a while. I don’t have enough leisure time to sail it, for one thing.” He carefully omitted his lack of funds, instead dodging with, “Besides, I have a friend who owns a boat with whom I can go sailing whenever I please.”

  “That’s good to hear. Anyone I know?”

  He conjured up a picture of the bicycle tycoon going fishing with the old fisherman, Joe Kelley, and almost laughed out loud. “I don’t think so.”

  Muir stared at him for a moment, as if contemplating asking for more information about the boat owner, but instead changed the subject. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

  “Think nothing of it.” He was feeling magnanimous after satisfying his hungry stomach with two buttered croissants and a cup of coffee. A mischievous smile came to his lips. “You might change your mind when you get my bill.”

  “I just might.” Muir smiled in return. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have any plans for this Saturday night?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Before I go back to Boston, I thought I’d have a small dinner party. I’d like to get to know Ranson Payne and his wife better, see if his support for the yacht club is as strong as Dietrich implied. And the owner of the steamboat line. I’m of a mind to feel him out as far as building a pier for us. I know it’s short notice, but I’d very much like you to attend.”

  He was interrupted by the arrival of Hodgkins with a large box, which Titus assumed now contained the cuckoo clock. Once the butler left the room, Arthur Muir continued with his invitation. “Feel free to bring a companion to the dinner.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Titus said, then remembered the strain in his relationship with Elisabeth. “Although I may come on my own.”

  “Has there been no one since your divorce?”

  Titus froze at the boldness of the man to ask such a question outright.

  Muir didn’t wait very long before saying, “So. Might I invite someone as a companion then?”

  He couldn’t seem to loosen his tongue to make a reply, if he could even think of a reply to make. Finally, he said, “May I let you know later today?” Then, feeling more sure of himself, he added, “I could telephone you from my office.”

  “So you’ve finally gotten a telephone?” Muir asked unnecessarily.

  “I thought it was about time.”

  “Good, good. I’ll await your call.”

  Elisabeth looked up as the door to the hall opened and Titus walked in. He appeared to be a lot cheerier than he had been in recent days. “Did you have a good morning?”

  “As well as could be expected.” He hung his hat on a hook near the door. “I convinced Arthur Muir to surrender the cuckoo clock after a brief tussle, then deliv
ered the clock to Mr. Chapman’s residence. Is there coffee?”

  She almost laughed at the question. “I believe our favorite detective may have left you a cup.”

  “Was Owen in this morning?”

  “He was.”

  “Did he have anything further for us?”

  “I’m afraid not. I think he just wanted coffee.”

  “Some day he’ll have to buy his own coffeepot.” Titus said with mock severity as he headed into his office.

  She followed him, taking her stenography pad and pencil with her. She put them on his desk, then went to pour coffee for him. “He’d also have to hire a secretary to make it.”

  “That’s true.” Titus picked up the cup she’d placed in front of him and drank from it. “And she’d never make as good a brew as you do.”

  Flattered, she had no idea what to say to that. Instead, she took refuge in business matters. “Shall I send an invoice to Mr. Muir?”

  “I think we should. We’ll keep the fees for the yacht club separate from his personal dealings, which, I should hope, are now complete.”

  He told her the amount and the details of how the bill should be worded, which she diligently wrote down. When she was done, she asked, “And how is the yacht club organization proceeding?”

  “Well enough. I imagine there will be another meeting before too long to approve the charter and elect a commodore.” The lawyer rubbed his jaw as he stared out the window. He turned his eyes back to her, then cleared his throat. “Arthur Muir is looking to assure Payne’s endorsement for the club.”

  Although Ranson Payne kept a close watch on all doings in Whitby, Elisabeth was surprised someone as powerful as the bicycle manufacturer felt the need for his approval. “Is that necessary?”

  “Perhaps not necessary, but politic.” He halted and seemed to be appraising her for some unknown reason. When he finally spoke, the words came out in a rush. “He tendered an invitation to a dinner party on Saturday.”

  Elisabeth suddenly felt short of breath. She closed her eyes for a moment to calm herself, and images flashed through her head: the first day she’d laid eyes on him, boldly carrying her typewriter to interview for the job in this very office, their initial celebratory dinner, the visit to the art gallery, dancing in the Holmes’s parlor, and, most of all, Christmas, when they’d almost kissed. And then, finally, the hurtful words he’d uttered during the dinner at Peck’s Landing. Now his words suggested she should go to a dinner party with him. Or was she reading something into them that wasn’t there?

  She opened her eyes and took a slow, deep inhalation. When she had herself under control, she said, “Did you accept?”

  He must have felt as awkward about the situation as she did from the way he squirmed in his chair. “I told him I would let him know this afternoon. After I spoke with you.”

  Was she supposed to say something? He hadn’t exactly asked her to go with him. Should she assume he had? She wanted to. But no. She wouldn’t make it that easy for him. “Do you want to attend?”

  “It would be good for my practice.”

  Why would the man not answer a question directly? He’d certainly had no problem expressing his opinion at Peck’s Landing. “In that case, you should be there.”

  “Does that mean you won’t go with me?”

  “You haven’t asked me.” She wasn’t totally successful at keeping the frustration out of her voice.

  “I thought I had…” He stared at the ceiling, his lips pressed together for a few seconds. He must have replayed the conversation in his mind, and more, because when his attention came back to her, he said, “Just a moment.”

  Puzzled, she watched him go into the outer office and heard him lock the door. When he returned, he extended his hand to her and guided her to the couch on the far wall. Once seated beside one another, he took hold of her other hand and looked into her eyes. His touch, firm but gentle, gave her hope.

  “Elisabeth… I should have apologized to you long ago for my thoughtless words at Peck’s Landing. You have to know they had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Victoria.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this, but it was clear he had a need to tell her, so she listened quietly to his narration of falling in love with a woman who had no such feelings for him, their life that looked so perfect from the outside, but was nothing close to perfect in private, and her horrible behavior in Newport that led to the divorce. She couldn’t keep her heart from aching for him.

  “There’s a lot more you don’t know about me, but for now just let me say that I’ve never known what a happy marriage looks like. Or feels like. I’ve often doubted there is such a thing. But since I’ve met you, I’ve dared to hope that it’s possible. Will you forgive me for my hurtful words? Will you give me a second chance to show you how much I care for you?”

  A second chance? She was so fond of this man, she’d give him a second, and a third, and a fourth chance if he needed it. “I forgive you. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you in my life.” A genuine smile came to her lips for the first time since that awful dinner at Peck’s Landing. But she couldn’t resist teasing him just a little bit. “You’ve forgotten one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You haven’t asked me to go to the dinner party.”

  Titus roared, then in all seriousness said, “Will you go with me to a dinner party at Arthur Muir’s this Saturday night, Miss Wade?”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Strong. I would love to attend the dinner party.”

  Was that a sigh of relief she heard? At least one of them was relieved. She, on the other hand, had to come up with a gown suitable to wear in just a few days. She hoped Annie was ready for some marathon sewing sessions.

  “And now I have something to ask of you,” she said. “There’s a meeting of the Whitby Garden Club tomorrow afternoon. Melissa Chapman is going to give a lesson on making tussie-mussies. Would it be possible for me to have the afternoon off so I could go to that?”

  “Of course. I told you that wouldn’t be a problem. Other than that I’ll miss you. Enjoy yourself.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Elisabeth got off the horse-drawn trolley at Washington Street, where Mathilda and Susanna Baumann lived. Ever since Mathilda had been elected president, the Whitby Garden Club had been meeting at her home. Being only a few streets from Elisabeth’s own bungalow, she’d be able to walk home after the class.

  It was a brief stroll to the Baumann house, where the butler who answered her knock directed her to the garden gate. Before she opened it, she peeked in the basket she carried to reassure herself that the flowers she’d picked from her own garden this morning hadn’t wilted too much while they’d been on her desk at the law office. They looked a little the worse for wear, but not so terrible that she couldn’t use them.

  When she reached the back of the house, she saw a table and chairs had been set up in the shade of the large maple tree in the corner of the garden. Four women sat around the table, the sound of their conversation and their laughter drifting toward her on the gentle ocean breeze.

  “Elisabeth!” Susanna exclaimed when she caught sight of her. “I’m so glad you were able to come. Here, sit next to me.”

  She couldn’t very well refuse her hostess and smiled sweetly in response. “Mr. Strong is a very generous employer. He was happy to give me the afternoon off.”

  Susanna gave her a knowing look. “So I’ve noticed. I’ve often wondered what else he gives you. You spend so many hours with him in the law office.”

  Heat suffused Elisabeth’s cheeks. Hattie Nichols, a woman who had acted as something of a surrogate mother to her after her own mother had passed, had cautioned her often enough about her reputation once she started working for Titus Strong, but she had paid little mind to her concerns. Was it possible the owner of the stationery store was right, and that people were gossiping about her and the attorney? It was best not to think about that, and so she q
uickly took note of the other garden club members who were here. “It’s nice to see you again, Rose. How are the preparations for the summer theater shows going?”

  Rose Baldwin had inherited the Limelight Amphitheater when her husband passed away, and had since taken an interest in planning for the plays and other entertainments that would perform during the tourist season. “Very well. In fact, I’ve just booked a vaudeville show for the month of August.”

  “That should be so much fun,” Susanna said, “but isn’t it a little daring?”

  “Not nearly as daring as the burlesque group that was appearing there last year,” Elisabeth pointed out. “I hear even families attend vaudeville shows.”

  She turned to Melissa Chapman. “I’m looking forward to the lesson. I hope I’ve brought enough blossoms.”

  “There’s no need to worry about that. I’ve brought an assortment of blooms, herbs, and leaves, and Susanna has been so generous as to allow us to clip some flowers from her garden if we need them.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Not wanting to slight anyone, she turned to the remaining woman, who sat across from her at the table. She was older than the others, who were mere girls in comparison. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Elisabeth Wade.”

  “Drusilla Rowland.” Her hair was fashionably done up in curls pinned on top of her head. She wore an elegant house dress in a deep pink fabric embroidered with roses which not only had puffed sleeves, but a ruffle stitched to each shoulder over them.

  “You must be the wife of the bank manager,” Elisabeth said, recognizing the surname. Her husband’s position explained her age and attire. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

  “And I, you. My husband will be forever grateful for the way Mr. Strong handled that bit of difficulty at the bank last year.”

  “You’re too kind.” Elisabeth said the expected words even as she thought they were mild compared to what Titus had done for the financial institution. On the other hand, it had resulted in a monthly retainer from the Bank of Whitby to oversee any legal documents the bank might enter into, providing at least one source of steady income for the two of them.