She snorted, and stood, water trailing down her body. "You weren't even close, Riot."
His gaze traveled upwards.
Isobel glanced down at him. "It appears you've warmed up."
"Considerably."
With a small smile, she stepped over the rim, and threw a towel at him. Riot paused, eyeing her injuries. After he dried himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist, and left, returning shortly with disinfectant, plaster, and a pile of clothing.
Isobel sat through Riot's doctoring as he gently teased splinters from her back. As the sting of disinfectant receded, he covered the cut in plaster.
"I didn't much fancy a watery grave," he said after a time. "Thank you, Bel." His lips touched the nape of her neck. It made her shiver all over again. "I'm sorry about your Lady."
She met his gaze in the mirror. There were no words. Isobel grabbed a chemise that had likely belonged to Mr. Cottrill's deceased wife, and dropped it over her head. "I think it high time we go on the offensive."
"Agreed."
Feeling renewed, and brimming with determination, she dressed and left the bathroom.
Mr. Cottrill was waiting. "I have a spare bedroom if you need, Miss, erm…"
"It's probably best you don't know my name. And you've been so kind that I'd rather not give a false one." She gripped his hand. "Thank you."
"It's no trouble."
Riot polished his spectacles on a handkerchief. "Do you happen to have a spare revolver? I'll return it as soon as I'm able." On the surface, he was calm, but Isobel felt rather than observed an undercurrent of tension. If the Pagan Lady had been targeted, what of Ravenwood Manor?
With a revolver settled in Riot's coat pocket, they stepped out into the silver light of a new day. San Francisco was awake, her streets bustling with the early morning rush of men and women hurrying about their business.
They hopped on the rails of a crowded cable car, and as they were pulled up California, she kept a covert eye on their fellow travelers. Were they being followed, even now?
They disembarked, and walked the few blocks to Ravenwood Manor. Riot's brisk pace finished warming her bones, and as they neared, he let out a long breath—the sprawling home sat on its hill as arrogantly as they had left it.
They walked up the side lane to find Jin and Tobias checking their aging stand. Tobias charged them. "Are you just now getting home, Mr. Riot? Anything happen? You look a bit rough."
Jin stood silently, watching.
"All quiet here?" Riot asked, looking to Jin.
"Not with these two rascals," a voice came from the carriage house. Tim walked out with a pitchfork in hand. When he caught sight of them, he stopped, bushy brows shooting upwards. "Long night?"
"We could use some breakfast," Riot answered.
Drawn by currents of warmth, Isobel stumbled through the grocer's door. She stopped, and sighed with relief. An orange cat warmed himself in front of the stove.
"Watson," she breathed. He flicked his tail.
"He was cold and miserable when he arrived," Lily said. She pulled a tray of scones from the wood-burning oven, and turned to greet the new arrivals. She took one look at Isobel and Riot, and ordered them to sit.
Isobel didn't argue. Hot coffee and oatmeal appeared. They ate in silence. A plate of eggs and bacon later, Isobel surfaced. Riot was telling Tim, and therefore the entire family, what had happened. Grimm stared at the tabletop, listening, while his mother betrayed her concern by refilling their coffee every few sips. When the story was finished, Tobias darted out of the kitchen without a word.
Jin looked to Isobel, eyes burning and fists clenched in knots.
"Whatever tongue lashing you're about to deliver, I'm not in the mood," Isobel warned.
The girl clamped her lips together and looked away.
"I certainly wouldn't mind if Mr. Payne and Mr. Meekins returned," Lily said. "They might be rough around the edges, but they're fine gentlemen. I'd feel much safer."
Tim grunted in agreement. "You read my mind. I'll send a message and get the pair here within the hour."
"I'd appreciate that, Mr. Tim. Let them know I have a maintenance man coming from the gas company, though. I'd hate for them to rough him up."
Tim glanced at the ancient stove in the kitchen. "I was wondering why you were using that old thing. You need me to fix something?"
"That's why I have someone from the gas company coming. You're busy enough as it is with all this," Lily said. Tim loved to tinker. Unfortunately, his efforts weren't always successful. Whenever gas and electricity were involved, Lily tried to steer the old man clear of it.
"What about your boat?" Tim asked Isobel.
"Whoever tried to kill us knew we were aboard. They're probably lingering around the wharf to watch the police fish out our bodies."
"They'll know us on sight," Riot said. "To say nothing of the police. I'd rather keep you away from their scrutiny."
Isobel stared into her coffee mug in thought. Her position was precarious. Her "death" had its complications. But she doubted this afterlife of hers would last much longer.
When she remained silent, Riot looked to Tim. "Send Smith and Monty to take care of it. Have them keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. And see if there's something left to salvage."
Isobel frowned. A small hand stole over hers. "We will fix her, Captain." The soft voice made Isobel blink. As fast as the touch came, Jin snatched her hand away, color rising in her cheeks, as she fidgeted with the frayed bracelet around her wrist.
Isobel reached over, and squeezed the girl's hand. "Most everything can be mended," she agreed.
Riot pushed back his chair, and stood. "Thank you kindly, Miss Lily."
"What next, A.J.?" Tim asked.
"I have a number of calls to make." Riot replied. His voice was hard, and his eyes dark. Isobel was glad he was on her side. But man plans and God laughs. Racing footsteps signaled Tobias' return. The kitchen door flew open with such a force that it slammed against the wall. Lily gathered herself up to reprimand her son, but he cut her short with a rush of panicked words.
"I checked the newspaper to see if the shipwreck was in there, and…it's Sarah, I'm sure of it!" The boy thrust the Morning Call at Riot. He shook it open, and Isobel rushed to his side. She sucked in a breath, and Riot sat down, hard.
29
Husk
Even now, as Atticus sleeps in his chair, I sign my death warrant. A small price to ensure his safety. I only hope he does not react foolishly. —Z.R. Journal Excerpt
SAN FRANCISCANS LOVE A good fire. Much to the gathered crowd's delight, number forty-three Salmon Street had gone up in flames. The windows bled char, and its innards were splattered all over the cobblestones.
The honor of 'first water' had belonged to Truck Co. No 2. Its steam engine sat in the narrow street amid remnants of broken champagne bottles that had fueled the firefighters' efforts. It was a wonder the fire hadn't spread to neighboring houses.
Atticus Riot pushed past the last line of gawkers, and went straight for the gaping doorway. He made it up the first step before a fireman caught his arm.
"You can't go in there."
"A girl lives inside. Sarah Byrne. Where is she?" His voice was hoarse, his body rigid, waiting to receive a blow that he couldn't hope to withstand.
"Is she a relation of yours?"
"Of a sort."
The firefighter glanced at his crew—a swarm of brawny, red-shirted men with leather helmets. A steady rhythm of axes and splintering wood echoed in the narrow lane.
"Capt'n Gabe!"
A fireman standing near the steam engine trotted over. He had a long mustache, soft jaw, and compassionate eyes.
"This gentleman knows the occupants."
Those eyes turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry to report there was a death."
"A death?" he croaked.
Isobel gripped Riot's shoulder.
"An adult male was inside."
"What about a girl?"
C
aptain Gabe glanced at the burnt-out singlestick. "We're still clearing out wreckage."
Riot made to slip past, but a firefighter with an axe appeared in the doorway. "It's not safe in here."
Riot relaxed, and warning bells went off in Isobel's head. She knew that stance.
"Please," Isobel cut in. "We're detectives." She produced a card. "This is Atticus Riot, he was helping the girl. We need to know if she was inside." The last thing they needed was to pick a fight with an entire fire brigade.
"I knew her uncle. I can identify his body," Riot added.
The fire captain smoothed his mustache, and studied the card. "I've read about you, and that girl you rescued. Gabriel Woods."
Riot shook hands. "I'd be obliged if you would escort us inside."
"It's not safe," the captain repeated the warning.
"I need to know if Sarah is in there."
"My men are taking care of it."
"Do you know what started the fire?" Isobel asked. It was an odd feeling, having their roles reversed. Although usually calm on the surface, passion ran through Riot's bones. He was all heart, and that heart had taken over. Isobel well knew what he was capable of.
Gabriel considered the question, glanced at the card again, and jerked his head at the axeman. "Come with me."
Water dripped from every surface, and sinuous lines of smoke hissed from charred wood. Isobel pressed a handkerchief to her nose as they picked their way through the wreckage. Riot stopped in the hallway, and looked upwards. She followed his gaze. A patch of gray sky shone through a hole in the second floor, the attic, and finally the roof. Ash drifted in the silver light.
Riot tore his gaze from Sarah's attic room. He looked down at the wreckage, and nudged a pile of debris with his foot.
"The fire was caused by a gas explosion from the stove," Gabriel said.
Riot picked up the remains of a sketchbook. Half of it was burnt, the other soaked. He peeled the papers apart. A sketched eye stared from one page. He peeled back another piece, and the page crumbled in his hands.
"I'd like to see what you make of it. This way."
The fire captain turned towards the kitchen, but Riot had other plans. Without warning, he flew up the stairway. Gabriel cursed, and quickly followed. Wood cracked and soot rained down on Isobel's head. She cringed, and followed at a cautious pace, catching up to the men at the attic door. Bare black bones of wood were exposed.
"Mr. Riot, I can't have you up here. You can see it won't hold. The more stomping about we do, the more chance it'll all come down."
"This was her room."
Gabriel wiped his face with a handkerchief. "We haven't found her body." The sentence was clipped. The word 'yet' wanted saying.
A muscle in Riot's jaw flexed. She knew what he was thinking. There was a possibility that fire had rendered Sarah's bones to ash. But if no trace of her was discovered, the question would remain: where was Sarah Byrne?
✥
Isobel and Riot stood over a charred corpse. Not much remained of Lee Walker, but he smelled like roasted pork.
The corpse was curled in a fetal position. His head had taken the brunt of the abuse. Skull shattered, the covering of flesh had been stripped away by fire, leaving a greasy sheen to the bone. His chest and thighs were also burned down to the bone. Isobel suspected the bits of black char by his shriveled hands were his fingers.
"We found him under the cabinet."
The cabinet was a charred husk surrounded by broken pottery. Isobel glanced at the worst area of the kitchen—the stove. While Riot was bent over examining the corpse, she picked her way through debris and stopped in front of a blasted area. Isobel frowned, and turned. An explosion. The table, chairs, and windows had been blown outwards. She hurried to the scorched wall where the cabinet had stood.
"Do you recall how the cabinet was positioned?" she asked.
Riot had his magnifying glass aimed at the corpse's skull. "Against the wall," he answered without looking up.
"And yet it fell forward, into the center of the room? Why wasn't it blown towards the hallway like everything else?"
Gabriel looked pleased. "You're a sharp lad. Suspicious, isn't it?"
Riot tucked away his magnifying glass. "This appears to be Lee Walker. I hope you're planning on requesting a postmortem?"
"I am."
Riot nodded. "What do you make of his skull?"
"The blast must have sent him flying and he knocked his head. Or maybe the smoke got to him and he fell." Gabriel scratched the back of his neck in thought. His gaze swept over the kitchen, envisioning the burst pattern. "Maybe the blast didn't move the cabinet, but it caught on fire. As it burned, it might have fallen on the corpse. Fire burns the tissue from a skull quickly. When bones get brittle, they shatter. It's like poking at logs in a fire. They break apart and burn brighter."
"But that doesn't explain why the cabinet fell forward," Isobel said.
"No, it doesn't," Gabriel agreed.
"It doesn't what?" a voice asked.
Isobel pressed her lips together. She knew that voice. A moment later, Inspector Geary strolled in, crushing everything underfoot. Thick brows, heavy jowls, and a neck resting on an expansive chest. He looked like a gargoyle. And he walked like one.
"If it isn't Atticus Riot." Geary planted himself over the corpse, and Riot stepped back, tucking away his magnifying glass. But his gaze wasn't on the Inspector, it was on the man who followed. The newly appointed coroner had a hunched posture, reminding Isobel of a penguin in an expensive suit.
"Coroner Weston," Riot greeted.
"I see we have an audience. Who let them in?"
Gabriel cleared his throat. "I did, sir."
Weston glanced towards the stove. "Why?"
"To identify the body. They're detectives—"
"But not police."
"No, but I wanted a second opinion."
"Why is that?"
"The cabinet, sir. I think it fell before the explosion."
Weston looked at the cabinet, and made a notation in his notebook. He took his time writing, and when he was done, he looked at Riot for the first time. "Weren't you recently tried for murder at one of my inquests?"
"Self-defense," Riot answered.
Gabriel glanced at Riot, and shifted.
"You were fortunate, Mr. Riot. Very fortunate that I agreed with the jury's verdict." The threat was clear. Isobel could well imagine the series of telegrams that Alex Kingston had dispatched last night.
"I should think the Fire Captain's opinion would be of more interest in this current situation."
"Gawd." Inspector Geary spat. "Are you always a smart-mouthed little prick, Riot?"
"I'm afraid so. Idiocy isn't in my nature."
Weston ignored the two men. He walked around the wreckage, taking notes.
"I'm requesting a postmortem, Coroner," Gabriel said.
"Noted." He scratched a pen across a death certificate. "Do we know the name of the deceased?"
"Mr. Riot identified him as Lee Walker," Gabriel answered.
Isobel had a habit of reading over shoulders. "Accidental death?" she blurted out.
Weston half turned, and arched a brow. She shut her mouth immediately, and resisted the urge to pull her cap lower. Had Alex already told every official in San Francisco that his dead wife was alive and masquerading as a man?
"Look here, I don't like the look of this," Gabriel said, distracting the coroner.
"I'm afraid I disagree with your opinion. My office is swamped. I don't need more investigations into something that is clearly an unfortunate accident. Inspector Geary, bring the dead wagon."
The gargoyle snickered, and stomped outside to summon his men.
"There, uhm…" Gabriel cleared his throat. "There may be a girl in here. We're still looking. It's the deceased's niece."
"She's not here?"
"We're still searching the rubble. Sometimes fire can…" Gabriel gave an apologetic glance to Riot. "…re
duce a body to teeth."
Coroner Weston straightened. "Perhaps she tired of her uncle, pushed the cabinet over on him while he ate, and set the stove on fire to cover up a murder?" His voice was mocking, but his eyes were not. The penguin had fangs. And he showed his teeth to Riot. "Leave well enough alone, Mr. Riot. You can never be sure which way a jury will lean." He signed the death certificate with a flourish.
"Captain, I don't tolerate civilians mucking around a body. Get them out of here."
Gabriel chewed on the inside of his cheeks. A rambunctious nature gleamed in the firefighter's eyes, but he nodded. "This way."
Fresh, foggy air cleared her head. Gabriel stopped by his steam engine, and took off his hat. "I'll have my men comb every inch of that house, Mr. Riot. If that girl of yours was unfortunate enough to be inside, we'll recover her. But if she was in there, I think we would have found something by now. I read the newspapers, and I'll be honest, that uncle didn't sound like much of one. Maybe they quarreled, and she ran away. Any idea where she might have gone?"
"I have a few ideas." His voice was opposite of reassuring. It sounded like a cocking hammer to her ears.
✥
Tim leaned against a hack, puffing on his pipe, and Grimm stood by, soothing the horse. When Tim caught sight of Riot and Isobel, he perked up. "Sarah?"
"They haven't found her inside yet."
Isobel glanced at Riot. His eyes were as hard as his voice. Cool, calm, and dangerous. "Lee Walker is dead," she added. "We don't think the fire was an accident."
"Hum," Tim said around his pipe stem. "Easy enough to arrange a gas leak and a stove explosion." With every word, a puff of smoke left his lips. "Was it Kingston or Gray?"
Riot looked back towards the congested lane. "Sarah told me her uncle cut a deal with Kingston to settle out of court. Both parties seemed happy with the arrangement. But the third party, Parker Gray, may not have been happy about it."
"Has news of the settlement reached the papers?" Isobel hadn't had time to read of late.
Tim scratched his bald pate "Not that I saw."
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 20