Uncharted Waters (Ravenwood Mysteries #6)

by Sabrina Flynn

  “How come Sarah has to go to school while Jin is living it up at a resort?” Tobias asked, standing right at the edge of the railing to look down. Riot stifled an urge to grab the boy. Although Riot tolerated heights well enough, he had never been comfortable. And when a child was involved, well that made him downright queasy. Riot focused on the view. It was extraordinary. All of San Francisco was laid at their feet with the ocean on three sides.

  “So, how come we have to be taught by Miss Dupree?”

  “Because Jin had the sense to run away,” Riot replied without thinking.

  “Are you telling me to run away?”

  “Only stating a fact.”

  Below, Tim and Grimm were brushing down the horses, and a trio of small yipping dogs ran circles in a neighbor’s yard. Maybe this was the perfect place for Jin. High enough above the city that she’d never feel trapped again. Especially with a rope ladder.

  Riot turned to find Tobias staring thoughtfully at his forearm, where a worn dragon tattoo spiraled along the skin.

  “I’m not sure Jin is enjoying her respite,” Riot said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because Bel is teaching her.”

  Tobias made a face.

  “Not keen on that either?

  “My ma would warn me to keep my lips sealed, sir.”

  “Smart lad.”

  “Where’d you get that tattoo?”

  “In Shanghai. It’s a maritime tradition.”

  “You were a sailor?”

  “No, I was young and dumb.”

  Riot climbed back down into the attic, and Tobias dropped down after him. The boy was springy. “Still not right she’s getting out of cleaning her own room,” Tobias said.

  “You’re getting paid,” Riot pointed out.

  “My ma made me put that Lady Liberty coin in the bank,” Tobias said, kicking at a box. “Well, she’s the bank.”

  Riot stroked his beard in contemplation. “We’ll make a new deal. I’ll pay you with a bag of candy.”

  Tobias’ eyes went wide. “It’s a deal.” He grabbed Riot’s hand and shook.

  “Tobias! That’s pure dumb,” Sarah said.

  “My ma ain’t gonna let me touch my own money till I’m all grown. I’d rather eat candy now.”

  Sarah opened her mouth, and then closed it. The logic was infallible.

  Riot dragged a crate away from the wall. “You lost your chance,” he murmured to Sarah.

  “For what?”

  “Ask for his wages and buy the bag of candy yourself,” he said for her ears alone.

  A light turned on in her eyes. “Say, Tobias. I’ll buy you two bags of candy if you hand over your wages to me.”

  “You think I’m an idiot? You’ll give me the old, cheap stuff that the sweet shop is about to toss.”

  “And Atticus won’t?” she returned.

  Tobias glanced at Riot. “He’s honest. Not double-dealing like you.”

  “I’m nearly a saint,” Riot said, jamming a crowbar under the lid. Nails squealed as he applied pressure, and he thought he heard Sarah say, “Charm the devil himself.”

  Dust filled the attic, and the lid fell to the planks with a slam. They coughed and sneezed, and all eyes peered curiously into the crate. Books. More books.

  Sarah picked up a book and dusted it off. She wrinkled her nose. “Landscape Gardening?” Not something one would expect from the legendary Zephaniah Ravenwood.

  Tobias hoisted himself to look into the crate. “How come we’re unpacking everything when we aim to clear it all out?”

  A good question. Riot had no answer. It was more of a compulsion. A need to sort the last of Ravenwood’s belongings himself.

  “When my gramma died, I did the same,” Sarah whispered, opening the book in her hands. “I think it was like saying goodbye.”

  Tobias heaved out a metal contraption from under a pile of books. “Did your gramma keep bear traps too?”

  Riot quickly took the thing from Tobias. Why on earth had Ravenwood kept a trap that had been used for murder? With what appeared to be dried blood still on the teeth. Riot tried not to think of the grisly body that had been caught in the jaws, and he certainly didn’t enlighten the children on its history.

  “This is why we’re sorting things first. I’m not keen on dumping weapons with the scavengers and ragpickers. I need to disarm the attic.”

  “Amen,” Sarah said. “You want Jin sleeping up here with something like that on hand, Tobias?”

  Tobias’s eyes turned to saucers. “Oh, heck no.” The boy started gathering everything from fire pokers and hatpins to pencils, and dumping them into an empty chest that he dubbed the “armory.”

  Four hours later a bedraggled trio carried the last of Ravenwood’s earthly belongings to a basement storage room. A quarter of belongings would go to scavengers and half would go to pawnshops, while the armory found an eternal resting place in the basement. Riot made sure to lock the door, and pocket the key.

  “Thank you for your help,” Riot said to the children as they trudged back up the stairs.

  “I’ll give the attic a good sweep,” Sarah said.

  “We can tackle that tomorrow,” he offered.

  “And paint and wallpaper? A rug would be nice. What color do you reckon Jin likes?” Sarah asked.

  “Crazy,” Tobias said.

  “That’s not a color,” Sarah said.

  “We’ll let Miss Lily decide on that,” Riot said.

  “Decide on what?” Miss Lily stood in the entryway, removing hat and gloves. Riot hurried over to help her with her coat.

  “Thank you, Mr. Riot. Now what am I being volunteered for?”

  “We were discussing decorating the attic for Jin. I was hoping for your input,” Riot said.

  “I wager it’s the only room she’s ever had. I’d suggest whitewashing the wood and buying some basic furniture. Leave the rest to her.”

  “I never got to do that,” Tobias said. “I’m stuck with all sorts of flowers.”

  “Well, you can whitewash Jin’s room tomorrow to get a taste of what it’s like,” Lily said to her son. “And don’t think you’re getting out of school.”

  “I’ll help you,” Sarah said. “I’ve painted before.”

  “Mr. Riot, can I speak with you after you’ve had a chance to settle?”

  “Now will do.”

  Miss Lily took a breath and showed him into the greenhouse, where his dusty clothes wouldn’t make a mess. She didn’t sit in one of the garden chairs, so he waited.

  “If we’re to be partners, I won’t stand on ceremony. Sit if you like.”

  Miss Lily appeared troubled, so Riot remained standing.

  “It’s about your offer of partnership, and that gold.”

  “I didn’t win that gold at the tables,” he assured her.

  Lily shook her head. “Tobias filled my ear with how you came by it. I don’t doubt your word.” She looked him square in the eye. “I’d never doubt that.”

  Riot nodded slowly. He thought gambling was the source of her unease. Clearly he had been wrong. He took a chair and sat, hoping it would put her at ease.

  Lily straightened her cuffs, and took a breath. “Over the past few weeks, I’ve been watching the stock market and speaking with a number of associates about possible investments. I’ve narrowed down three proposals for our investment. But mind you, none of them are without risk.”

  “Investing is always a gamble.”

  “I’m glad you understand that,” Lily said, inclining her head. “The first is mundane: railway, ferry, and mining prospects. The telephone companies too.”

  “Already heavily invested in.”

  She nodded. “But traditional. The second isn’t.”

  “I’m not a traditional man, Miss Lily.”

  “This borders on eccentric. For a white gentleman, at any rate.”

  Riot waited.

  “I have a friend, a chemist from Hampton University. Miss Vivian Le
igh. And she’s… we are looking for investors for a hair product company.”

  Riot stared, and then tilted his head. “Aren’t there plenty of companies that sell that sort of thing?”

  “Hair products for white folks. Not for negroes.” Lily took a seat, and patted her hair. Her black hair was piled into a stylish Gibson Girl arrangement that he had seen on numerous women.

  “I don’t follow, Miss Lily. Why can’t negroes use the same products?”

  “Everyone has different textures. Some Irish have curly hair. Blonde women have very fine hair. Spanish have thicker hair. Some hair is oily, and other hair is dry. But the products on the market are harsh and ruinous for hair like mine. And that’s common for folks of my color.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. Riot hadn’t given women’s hair of any type much thought. There was Bel’s, of course, but she tended to chop it off and dye it on a whim. He didn’t much care what she did with her hair, as long she was happy doing it.

  “I understand if you aren’t interested in such a venture—”

  “Do you think there’s a market for it?” he interrupted.

  “I do.”

  “Then that’s good enough for me.”

  Lily looked relieved. “To be honest, I thought you’d laugh at the idea. Most gentlemen would scoff at putting their money into hair products, let alone products for negroes.”

  “I’m making you a partner, Miss Lily. I don’t make deals with people I find comical. I make them with people I trust. You mentioned a third option?”

  “I received a tip about San Francisco Gas and Electric Company. They’re set to take the city and buy out the competition. If it happens, their stocks will soar.”

  “Do you trust this source?”

  “On this subject, I do. It’s Mrs. Mary Ellen Pleasant.”

  “I’ve heard of her.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard a lot. Some of it’s true, but most of it isn’t.”

  Riot cracked a rueful smile. “Sounds like my memoir.”

  Mary Ellen Pleasant had been a force to be reckoned with a decade or two ago. Rumors abounded, and the newspapers liked to spin wild tales about the woman. If Riot were to pick threads from the rumors, it’d be that she was a shrewd business woman who made a young clerk by the name of Thomas Bell wealthy. And that she had used a network of housemaids and cooks to eavesdrop on business men. But if newspapers could be trusted, the Bell family and Mrs. Pleasant had recently had a falling out, leaving Mrs. Pleasant near to penniless.

  “Mrs. Pleasant’s name is in ruins, but that doesn’t mean she stopped being a shrewd investor.”

  “With the help of her chain of informants?”

  Lily only smiled. “You don’t take issue with Mr. Tim’s friends.”

  “I don’t. But then he reports to me. My only concern is what this information has cost you, Miss Lily.”

  Lily arched a brow. “I’m half in this with you, Mr. Riot. It’s in my best interest to succeed. Don’t you worry about that. But she did warn me not to trust you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Mrs. Pleasant was ruined when Thomas Bell died. She used him as a front to carry out business in his name. Something she couldn’t freely do as a negro woman. The trouble was, she didn’t have her name on things. As soon as he died, and people learned she was the real power behind the Bell’s wealth. Well… she became a target.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have proper papers drawn up, Miss Lily.”

  Lily shook her head. “There’s the crux. I can’t have my name anywhere on this money. I can’t keep a bank account. I can’t own property. I can’t have anything given to me in a will. And my face most definitely cannot appear in a newspaper.”

  Riot let her words settle. Her breath had come quicker as she’d spoken, and she held herself stiffly. But underneath, he sensed she was cracking.

  Riot leaned forward. “Miss Lily,” he said softly. “Who’s after you?”

  Her lips only formed a tight line.

  “I told you about my half-sister because you told me it seemed like something you ought to know. I think the same applies here,” he said.

  Lily shook her head. “Trust me. It’s not the same. All you need to know is that one day you may find me and mine gone. I’ll keep my share of the money in your safe, if that’s agreeable. And I’ll take it when we leave.”

  The thought of Ravenwood Manor without the White family disturbed him. He started to argue, but she held up a hand.

  “I wouldn’t do so out of any willingness, or ill feelings against you or your household. I hope that day never comes, Mr. Riot, but with my luck, it will. And the less you know the better.”

  Riot held her eyes, curiosity burning in his mind. Did this business have something to do with Grimm and his selective muteness? Was she protecting her son? But Riot didn’t press her. Some things were better left buried, and he hoped it stayed that way. “I think Mrs. Pleasant is right to be distrustful. That’s putting a lot of faith in me. Question is… do you trust me with that sort of arrangement?” He held out a hand.

  But instead of a simple shake, Lily placed her hand in his. “I do, Mr. Riot.” She squeezed it, and then let go.

  “Then invest our hard-earned gold,” he said. “I like the hair product venture. Ravenwood would have had an apoplectic seizure knowing his money was tied up in women’s hair products. Take what’s left and put it in the electric company.”

  Lily nodded. “I was going to suggest that very thing.”

  “But, Miss Lily. If I ever wake up to find your family gone, you can be assured I’ll not let it rest.”

  “I wish you would, Mr. Riot. You may not like what you stir up.”

  He gave her a small smile. “That’s never stopped me before.”

  They rose, and he opened the greenhouse door for her. “Miss Lily?”

  She paused. “Yes?”

  “I forgot all about that safe. Is there anything of Ravenwood’s in there, aside from his money?”

  “There’s a wooden box in the back.”

  “What’s in the box?” Riot asked.

  “I don’t know. There’s no keyhole or lid.”

  A lone man sat in the library of Ravenwood Manor, hunched and snoring with an electric-blue book on his expansive gut. The glass on the table beside him looked more like whiskey than water.

  Riot had seen the boarder only in passing. A Mr. Dougal? No, that was another boarder with a laugh like a canon boom. This was… Did it matter? Riot wondered how many boarders Ravenwood Manor had.

  Riot sat down in an armchair opposite, and took out his deck of cards. He squared his favored deck, and then began to shuffle. A flurry of cards passed from hand to hand with methodical rhythm. He had been thrown into one thing after another since arriving in San Francisco’s port, and hadn’t thought about checking Ravenwood’s safe. He had forgotten it even existed.

  Riot watched the man across from him with piercing eyes. He increased the range and speed of his shuffling, and eventually the frenetic pace disturbed the peace.

  The boarder’s eyes flew open. Riot nodded to the man. Hughes. That was the name: Harry Hughes. Riot was rather glad he had been able to choose his own name. What if he had ended up as an Andy Apple?

  “Oh, er… Mr. Riot. I was just reading.”

  “I come here for the quiet too,” Riot said, his voice low and his gaze steady. The cards never faltered.

  Hughes shifted, looking around uncomfortably. “Yes, yes, I’ll leave you to it, then.” He stood hastily, his book sliding to the floor.

  “No need,” Riot said easily.

  “I should find my bed. Perhaps we can have a drink sometime.”

  Riot inclined his head, and the man swayed from the library. He waited for the door to close, and squared his deck, tucking it away. He plucked up the forgotten book: Hints to Lady Travellers. Unexpected. Keeping an ear cocked towards the door, Riot restored the book to its resting place, and turned to another bookcase. />
  He ran a finger along the titles until he found A Treatise on Safe Cracking and Locks. Ravenwood did like his little jokes. Riot pulled the book, and a soft click indicated a latch was triggered. The bookcase swung outward, shelves and all. A heavy iron safe sat squarely in the center.

  Riot turned the dial. 07. 23. 44. Right, left, and right. The numbers had always made him curious. Were they random? Or a date? Ravenwood was born in 1822, so it wasn’t his birthdate. But was it someone else's? Riot wrenched the handle and the safe cracked open. A neat pile of gold coins and cash sat inside, along with an emerald necklace.

  Riot carefully shifted the piles, and reached all the way into the back, where a wooden box was lost in shadow. Riot dragged it out and closed the safe, sliding the bookshelf back in place. He sat down and set the decorative box on his lap. Edelweiss blossoms were carved on the top. Miss Lily had been correct. There was no discernible lid or lock.

  Riot closed his eyes, and explored the contours of the wood with his fingertips. Lock picking and cards required a sensitivity that Riot had honed over the years. He nudged a carving to the side, and pulled at another segment of wood. A key fell into his palm. Riot slid the pieces back in place, and turned the box around. With both hands he pressed at the main part of the box. A slot opened, and he inserted the key and turned it. Click.

  Ravenwood had been a vexing puzzle of a man, and Riot had been so irritated with him that emotion had squashed his curiosity. He hadn’t wanted to delve into Ravenwood’s past, nor had Ravenwood wanted him to. The secretive man had valued his privacy.

  Riot opened the lid and stared at the contents for a long minute. This was private. Most definitely private. Riot shut the box and considered. Did he have a right to invade a dead man’s secrets?

  Was this an invasion of privacy, or was it closure?

  I leave a son, the words written in Ravenwood’s journal came unbidden. They were burned into Riot’s mind’s eye, a voice from the grave granting him permission. Riot opened the box again.

  He reached inside, and picked out a framed picture. It was a painted portrait of a woman—a handsome woman with curly red hair piled high on her head. There was intelligence in those eyes. A lock of vibrant red hair tied with a green bow lay next to it. He touched the hair, and then quickly drew back. A lock of hair signified intimacy—it wasn’t given lightly to a gentleman of that era.