The Pearl Dagger

by L. A. Chandlar

  We turned down a narrow hallway that contained only one door. It was the room that I remembered, and I certainly had memorized the way back out again. The nurse opened the door and ushered us in. Daphne was definitely not there, but her personal effects were placed around like I remembered, giving the room an unnatural feel of a normal apartment. Frames upon the dresser, a frilly robe tossed artfully across an armchair, a pink coverlet on the bed with lace trimmings. I turned back to the nurse, about to ask a question.

  And the door slammed behind her, the lock banging into place. We were trapped.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I knew it!” I said, exasperated. I broke out in a cold sweat; in a place like this, it was easy to make people just disappear. Fio knew we were coming here, but I’m sure he figured Finn could keep us out of trouble, so he may not have thought about backup. But he’d get us out sooner or later. In here, however, later could be deadly.

  “All right,” said Finn. “Let’s look around before anyone else gets here. We’ll have to come up with an escape plan, but maybe we can find something here to help.”

  “You guys look around, I’ll keep watch,” said Roarke, looking out the small square window in the door. “I can see down the hallway. The nurse is running for help.”

  Finn and I raced around looking at everything. We were on the third floor, and there was a window without any bars on it. I walked over to a dresser and a few framed photos decorated the top. One definitely caught my eye, a photograph of her in a hat with little dyed feathers adorning the band. It was the hat that she wore when she hovered over me when I was recuperating from the accident, the very vision that tormented me in my nightmares. And she was sitting next to someone very interesting . . .

  I opened a drawer and said, “Figures.”

  “What’d you find?” asked Finn, running over.

  “I knew she’d have a feather boa,” I said disgustedly as I pulled out a light pink boa, just the thing I’d imagined her donning the last time as she had lain dramatically across the bed.

  “That’s it?” asked Finn.

  “Actually, no. Look at this.”

  Underneath the boa, and two pairs of extremely frilly underpants, was a slick black box.

  “You know what that is, don’t you?” said Finn ominously.

  I nodded as I took the box into my hands. “I can’t believe it.” I flicked the lock and opened it to find the duplicate silver gun, with the deep red scroll on the handle. The gun that had been part of my dreams for years, the one that my dad found on Rex Ruby when he killed him. And the gun Daphne used to kill Donagan. Now I had both of them, the evil yin and yang guns. I slipped the box into my purse. “Let’s keep looking.”

  In the closet we found many sets of clothes, certainly not the wardrobe of an inmate. We found the typical items in any woman’s bedroom: perfume, many pairs of shoes, coats, and purses. Roarke took a minute to get some pictures of the room. We wouldn’t have enough time to scour every inch.

  “Hmm . . .” I said, tapping my lips with my fist as I took a good overall look at the room. “So this is clearly not a typical patient’s room. She’s made a special arrangement. If this is her residence—and it’s definitely a great place to hide, I’ll give her that—then she has to have a way out of here.”

  Roarke said, “Unless she just has her own key and uses the door. It’s not like these places are regulated yet, and this door is the only one on this hallway. So there could be a separate entrance or stairway. Knowing her as we do now, she’s probably the queen bee around here.”

  “True,” said Finn. “But let’s look for any secret doors or anything. We need all the help we can get.”

  I pushed and knocked on all the walls, all the doorways, both in the room and the bathroom that was attached. We were running out of time. All I knew was we needed to get out. If they had orderlies come at us with drugs to knock us out, they’d need an army of them to take all three of us down, but I’m sure they could manage even if Finn did have a gun.

  “Guys! They’re coming!” yelled Roarke.

  Finn was in the bathroom. “Stand back,” he said. He used his gun to bash out the glass in a small window. Then he took a towel and wrapped it around his gun to break out the remnants of the glass. The only piece of furniture that I could move was a chair, and I wedged that under the handle of the main door to slow them down a bit.

  I ran into the bathroom as Roarke climbed out the window. Finn turned to me. “There’s a tree just outside. We can grab onto a drain right there to reach a heavier branch. I know you’re good at climbing trees, love,” he said with a wink. I did like climbing trees. And I’d take any way of exit at the moment; they almost had the door open.

  “Let’s go!” I said, grabbing his hand. He helped me up to the window and, sure enough, there was a tree nearby. We were far off the ground, but quite honestly, compared to the ledge of Grand Central and dangling off the Queensboro, like I did not too long ago, this was a piece of cake.

  Roarke was almost down and I grabbed the drain in my right hand, then eased a leg outward toward the tree. I got a foot on the branch and pushed off to the tree. “Come on, Finn!” I climbed toward the trunk, then headed down. Finn followed suit, and just as he pushed off to the tree, the door inside crashed open. We raced down the tree and started running to the car. I looked back to see two orderlies and the nurse looking out the window at us.

  “See, Finn?” I said.

  “See what?” he asked.

  “It’s not just Roarke and me that this stuff happens to.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely you and Roarke,” Finn said with a sarcastic snigger. “It was silly of me to think my presence could stop the absurdity.”

  “You got me there,” I said resignedly. “Hey, Roarke, we need to get that film developed on the double.”

  “Will do,” he said as he slammed his door shut and started up the car. “Did you see anything of interest?”

  “Well, the whole affair was certainly of interest, Dudley and Neville. But one photo on her dresser was definitely fascinating. Not only did she have that hat on that I remember her wearing from all those years ago, but she was sitting next to Rex Ruby. And despite her being his daughter-in-law, it did not look like that was their only relationship . . .”

  “Well, now, that makes his reason for choosing her as the heir a little clearer, doesn’t it? I got a few close-up shots of the other photos, too, and the room overall,” said Roarke.

  Finn nodded as he lit a cigarette, took a drag, and handed it to me.

  “I can’t believe I got the other silver gun. I knew it wasn’t gone; I wasn’t even that surprised when Morgan said Daphne killed Donagan with it. It’s like they have a life of their own.” I took a couple thoughtful puffs, my hand shaking just a bit, then handed the cigarette back to Finn. That woman got under my skin like no one else. “I have to decide what to do with them now. Feels like they’re cursed. What’s a good way to get rid of a cursed gun?”

  “That’s a fine question,” said Roarke. “It was already resurrected from the East River once.”

  “It just keeps coming back,” said Finn, flicking the butt of his cigarette out the window.

  I would have to keep the guns for the time being; I couldn’t really dispose of them. A solid safe deposit box was where I’d stash them. We were all bantering, that’s just how we operated, but I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Daphne must have retrieved the gun when Eliza dropped it over the bridge. The only way that could have been done is if she had been watching and waiting. The gun had dropped off onto a shallow area near the banks of the large pillar. It would have disappeared forever, sinking into the muck of the East River, unless someone had been right there, right on site. And if she’d been watching us, just how long had she been in the shadows, observing our every move, patiently waiting to strike?

  CHAPTER 12

  Going back across that wonderful, beautiful bridge into Manhattan was like going home after a long and ar
duous journey. All our shoulders began to lose the tension and we breathed deeply like we’d been holding our breath for a long time.

  “I’ll get the film developed right away,” reiterated Roarke.

  “Great. So we know she’s been a partner with Rex all this time. And it looks like this has been her hideout, at least a hideout. But the other thing we didn’t find was any evidence that she’s been involved with the pinball and gambling racket. Plus, from Morgan’s description, Daphne’s goons don’t seem to be the ones from the deli, the ones who . . .” My voice slowly ebbed as it was so hard to talk about Peter being killed. Those words were like poison, making me not want to utter them.

  Both Roarke and Finn grew still. Finn’s jaw set in grim determination.

  “Right,” said Finn. “But it’s not definitive, so when we head to London, we can search for Daphne herself, for any other clues about her possible involvement with the pinball case, and then any rumblings about a resurgence in the Red Scroll.”

  “Plus, I need to see if I can find out more about my parents’ involvement with them. Maybe Miles will have more information now. And then . . .” I looked at Finn a bit warily, knowing he’d also be facing shadows from his past.

  “Yeah, and then is right,” he said as he shook his head minutely. He looked out the window, at the skyline of Manhattan. His home now. I knew only too well what it was like to head into the unknown, wondering what I would find. I put my hand on his shoulder, remembering that the scariest part of that was not what I discovered about my past and my parents, but what I’d discovered in myself. The fear and the anger that I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.

  I looked out at the East River, heading into the sea. I could just glimpse a large ship going out toward the wild waters of the frigid Atlantic. The ocean that led to Europe, to Finn’s past. I wondered what we would find, and how it would impact us all.

  * * *

  The Queen Mary, or one of the other Cunard Line ships, left New York Harbor and Southampton every single Wednesday. As luck would have it, it was the Queen Mary herself that we would be taking across the Atlantic. Fiorello was able to secure us two tickets and Aunt Evelyn upgraded us to two first-class cabins.

  The Hindenburg would have been faster—only about two to three days, versus the five or six days on the Queen Mary—but it was on its winter schedule currently, only flying to Buenos Aires this time of year. Besides, Finn wasn’t too pleased about taking something like that again. His last flight had been on a military dirigible when he was hurrying back to the States to, well, to find me in a rather tricky predicament. He preferred not to relive that again for quite some time.

  Those five days on the Queen Mary were something I’d never forget. Ocean liners were built for speed. They made them gorgeous and had the best amenities, but still, speed was the key. It was chilly outside, being that it was January, but we spent our days eating and meeting new friends, swimming in the indoor pool, and reading for hours by one of the many fireplaces and cozy spots. In the evenings we saw shows, danced for hours, walked the glorious deck under a glittering blanket of stars, and enjoyed a sweet time of just the two of us.

  One night, Finn and I were dancing to a song by Cole Porter, the large band in their black and white suits, playing their hearts out for the appreciative and more-than-slightly tipsy crowd. I looked up at Finn and despite our lively dancing, his eyes held a closed, far-off look with a touch of brooding.

  When the music slowed to a more sultry number and he drew me in close, I tilted my head to the side and asked, “Are you worried about seeing your family?”

  His eyes shifted to mine and that closed look immediately left, warming and coming to life in the sparkling lights of the effervescent ballroom. In this lighting, his eyes looked like melting chocolate as he smiled at me.

  “Yes, love, I am. They’re an unpredictable lot, to be sure. I think that’s what has me the most cautious. I was never able to understand how they work or why I’m so different,” he said with a contemplative sigh.

  “How are you different?”

  “Well . . . you’ll understand as soon as you meet my mother.” He gave a little eye roll. “And Sean and my dad, well . . . Sean and I used to get along as young boys. But then he became . . . hmm . . . manipulative and he had a merciless quality that always had me on edge. I could never grasp what he was all about and it made me feel off balance, somehow. Out of control. I didn’t feel good about life, about myself, back then. I wasn’t happy. I’d put all my hopes and aspirations into making a life for myself in America. Lane, I’m just not sure what we’re walking into. Some things are just left dead and buried. And I don’t want to go back to that time that was so bleak.”

  I nodded, scrutinizing his face, guessing what was behind his eyes. “So, you aren’t hoping for a reconciliation with any of them?”

  “No.” He paused, a stab of concern hitting his earnest face. “Why, do you think I should?”

  “Hell no!” I blurted. He laughed outright, the pang of unease slipping from his countenance. “No, Finn. I get it. You’ll know what to do when you get there. There are some relationships that are just poisonous. Knowing you like I do, I know beyond a doubt that you’ve given them multiple opportunities to reconcile. And if they’ve remained closed and cold . . . then that’s their loss. You did make a life for yourself in America. A very successful one. It’s sad that they chose to miss out on being a part of your life.”

  He smiled in earnest as he sent me on a vigorous spin, the music swelling and practically lifting us both off the floor as we soaked in the joy of the moment.

  When he pulled me in close again, he said in his gravelly whisper, “You know, love, my grandma Viv told me pretty much the exact same thing. I can’t wait for you to meet her. You two are cut from the same cloth,” he said, eyes sparking with amusement.

  “Well, at least someone in your family has some sense! Come on. Come with me. I have an idea.”

  “Ooh.”

  I nodded to a waiter and we followed him to the bar where he gave me a bottle of champagne. I took Finn by the hand and led him up the stairs toward the bow of the ship to a little find that I’d been hoping to show him.

  We opened the door that led to the deck of the ship, a blast of cold almost knocking us over. I felt my hair slipping from its clips, so I took it down and let it blow wildly about. I snagged two of the heavy blankets that were kept by the door for just such a moment as this, then guided Finn toward the front right, where there was a little inset just big enough for two deck chairs, close together. Because of the way the inset was cut into the ship, it provided a bit of shelter from the wind, but we still had a direct view of the resplendent sky, full of countless stars that were usually hidden from us in New York with all the lights of the city.

  We both sat in the long chairs, tucking in the blankets around our legs. Finn opened the champagne and we drank straight from the bottle. We sat back, side by side, gazing at the heavens, Finn’s hand in mine.

  CHAPTER 13

  As they came into view of his home country, the major shipping port of Southampton rising out of the misty harbor, the old sounds and scents came back to Finn like long-lost friends—at first familiar and welcome, but then fraught with crushed dreams and misunderstanding. The very air felt different from his new home, New York City. It was both comforting and disturbing in equal parts. He already missed his city. He’d fallen in love with it the moment his ship pulled past the Statue of Liberty for the first time. Then came the job he loved, then Lane. He ached to go back. New York was now more a part of him than the country where he was born. His childhood home represented haunting memories. Betrayal. Dismissal. Pain.

  It was in that moment that the dream from the night before came back to him in full force: his bloody hands, the eerie drumbeats, the heavy, clutching guilt. He knew these strange emotions were tied up in tackling the ghosts of his past, mixed together with the thoughts and fears that were brought out from Orson Welle
s’s Voodoo Macbeth.

  The play had a strange pull on Finn, dragging out old memories and old stories, ones that he’d rather keep buried. He took another drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt into the sea as he came to a decision. Just like Lane, he had to face his past. All of it. And then decide how to forge ahead. He nodded smartly and put his hands on the cold railing, feeling the wind and small crystals of mist on his face. Then he let the memories of that aptly named voodoo, of that special night, come back to him. Seeing Voodoo Macbeth for the first time.

  * * *

  He hadn’t been too sure about it.

  They walked over to the theater, its lights blazing. Lane and Florence were chatting away, he and Sam tended to be a bit less talkative, but companionable. Big Sam was most definitely the strong, silent type. That is, until he was dancing or something struck him as funny. Then he laughed a great, booming laugh that shocked those around him and then became contagious, spreading to everyone else. Finn admired him deeply, and they discovered a good working relationship in the NYPD and a solid friendship.

  Shakespeare just wasn’t something Finn was into. Lane loved all things theater, film, and book related. But Shakespeare often felt like it was another language. And a bit boring, truth be told. But Lane said this was a special version of Macbeth and because of her genuine enthusiasm, Finn was game. She said she knew the director; he guessed that it was probably a friend of Aunt Evelyn’s. She had friends in all places, high and low.

  He and Sam talked about work, both of them on the police force for quite a while, so they knew each other’s routines well. When they reached the theater, Lane waved and ran up ahead, receiving a big hug from a young, good-looking guy with dark hair and a vivid smile.

  She flagged Finn over. “Orson. I’d like you to meet Finn Brodie and Sam and Florence Battle. Everyone? Meet Orson Welles, our illustrious director.”

  That was the director? He’d pictured an elderly kind of guy. Finn was pretty sure this kid had to be under twenty-five years old. Welles held out an enthusiastic hand, his eyes lighting up from within. Florence got all bashful, her grin speaking volumes. Sam chuckled his deep laugh and mightily shook Orson’s hand, like a bear shaking a puppy’s paw. Finn shook Orson’s hand and bit back a smile when Orson had flexed his hand first, presumably getting the feeling back after the bear’s firm grip.