“According to your file, you cornered quite a few criminals. The official count in the few years you worked for Pinkertons was close to twenty men.”
Riot didn’t say anything. He wagered the count was much higher.
“Does that trouble your conscience?” Liam asked.
“I don’t much care for bullies. Of any sort.”
“Have you ever wondered if you’re the bully?” It was said in a reflective tone, as if Liam was asking himself that question.
“Not while I was with Ravenwood Agency.”
“Things changed when Allan Pinkerton died,” Liam admitted.
“Things changed when his detective agency was on the verge of bankruptcy,” Riot corrected. “Allan Pinkerton needed money, so he cozied up to railroad barons and mining magnates.”
“I hear your agency is in the same situation.”
There was no denying it. “What’s this really about, Mr. Taft?”
“Just thought I’d chat. It can get tedious in here.”
Liam left, and Riot sat and shuffled and thought. He had little else to do.
18
The Trouble With Twins
Isobel stopped abruptly and stared, equal parts appalled and impressed. The last time she’d seen the office, nearly a month ago, the brick had been scorched by dynamite and the windows boarded up. The door hadn’t even been functioning.
Now the door was repaired, painted black with gold accents, and the brick whitewashed. It looked like someone had transplanted a residence from Belgravia to the Barbary Coast. The building was an oddity on the otherwise dingy street.
Lotario usually had a better sense of aesthetics. She paused at that thought. Well, maybe not. He leaned towards the flamboyant.
The glass windows were tinted and gleaming, with gold letters swirling across the front: Ravenwood Detective Agency.
How much had this cost her twin?
“Dear God,” she said to the man at her side.
Tim chuckled. “If A.J. survives jail, his heart will surely stop when he sees this.”
“Did you approve?” she asked in shock.
Tim gave a puff of his pipe. “I sold my share. It’s none of my business anymore.”
“How much did you sell it for?”
“A dollar.”
“You’re either insane or brilliant. I suppose time will tell.”
“Don’t have much faith in your twin?”
“Oh, I have faith. It’s just that Ari has a short attention span and is prone to extravagance.” She gestured at the opulent building.
A bell jingled as Isobel stepped into a transformed entryway. Sleek wood paneling, papered walls, electric lights, and leather armchairs. For a moment, she feared Lotario had turned the office into a brothel. Or perhaps a gambling den, she thought, eyeing the reinforced doors branching off the small lobby.
Men and women sat in chairs. All colors and shapes, and varying degrees of grooming.
A chipper girl smiled from behind a bank-style counter. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tim. Mrs. Riot. May I take your hat and coat?”
Isobel stared at her. The girl couldn’t be over sixteen. “It’s Miss Amsel. Have we met?” Isobel asked.
The girl thrust her hand over the counter. “Daisy Reed. And we have not, but you look enough like Mr. Amsel that I put two and two together.”
Hammering was coming from the top floor and all sides. What else was Lotario building?
“He’s reinforcing the walls with plated iron,” Tim whispered. “Some doors, too.”
Lotario certainly wasn’t taking any chances.
“Are all these people here to hire us for cases?” Isobel asked.
“No, ma’am. They’re interviewing for positions.”
Isobel swallowed down her worry. “Where is my twin?”
“He’s interviewing an applicant now.” One look at Isobel’s face, and Daisy swallowed and gestured to a side door. “The last door down the hallway, Miss Amsel.”
Isobel walked through the door into an unfinished hallway that was lined with more doors. The saloon was unrecognizable. Had the old agency been large enough for all this? Isobel poked her head through one of the doors into what appeared to be an interviewing room. Comfortable chairs (velvet, good God) and a small tea table.
A telephone rang from the depths of the office. Isobel located the source in a room with no door. Several desks and a wall of filing cabinets sat in the room, along with Matthew Smith, who was hunched over a desk writing a report.
The man who answered the telephone had his boots on a desk and sported a curling mustache. He spoke with a British accent mixed with a hint of Caribbean and wore a white summer suit that complimented his light brown skin.
Matthew quickly shot to his feet. “Mrs… Miss Isobel.”
“What do you think of all this?”
“I welcome the help.” It was true. Matthew looked run ragged. After Riot’s fight with Monty and the Ella Spencer case, she and Riot had left to recover without a thought for the agency. “How is Mr. Riot?” he asked.
“Hopefully he’s getting plenty of rest.”
Isobel left Tim with Matthew to confront her twin. She found him in the door at the end of the hallway. Lotario Amsel was dressed like a businessman. But he couldn’t resist a little flair. His tie and handkerchief were a startling electric blue that contrasted with his somber suit. His blondish hair was slicked back, and he sported a pair of pince-nez perched primly on his nose.
A short, weasel-like man stood with a cap in hand. He was staring at a garish woman wrapped in scarves, who appeared to think she was on some sort of display pedestal. A rat was perched on her shoulder.
“Well, if it isn’t the diva herself. Gone and run off again ‘ave you,” Miss Lucky Off snickered.
“I’m back to torment you, crone.”
The woman cackled and flipped her grey hair.
“And interrupt our interview,” Lotario said.
“Don’t mind me.” Isobel dragged a chair beside the desk and sat to study the weasel-like man.
Lotario leaned over to stage whisper in her ear. “He’s applying to be a detective.”
Isobel bit back a comment. The hiring should be left up to Riot, not her twin. But now wasn’t the time to argue, and that was precisely the reason he’d chosen to tell her now. She’d give him hell as soon as everyone left.
“Excuse the interruption, Mr. Thatcher. Proceed.” Lotario waved a languid hand.
“Yes, sir.” Thatcher turned his cap over in his hands as he studied Miss Off, who acted like she was modeling the latest Parisian fashion instead of a plethora of scarves and frills. Isobel thought the woman must be aiming for a gypsy fortuneteller at a traveling circus.
“I’d put her age at… seventy.”
Miss Off glared.
“And at about five feet four inches. Maybe a weight of two hundred pounds.”
“You’re a bastard, that’s what you are. Blind as a bat, too,” Miss Off seethed.
“Profession…” Thatcher hesitated at this. “Spiritualist. Heavy into drink. Probably gin. And smokes like a train engine.”
Miss Off crossed her arms, which exposed an alarming amount of cleavage.
“Anything else?” Lotario asked.
“She’s disagreeable.”
“Thank you. That will be all for now. Make sure you leave your contact information with Miss Reed.” Lotario gave the man a dismissive wave. “Miss Off will escort you out.”
“Oh, I’ll lead him right to hell, I will. Saying such things about me.” Miss Off grabbed the man’s arm and started a proper tongue lashing as they left down the hallway.
Isobel shut the door on her tirade, and Lotario picked up a receiver. “Daisy, please hold the next interview.”
Isobel raised a brow. “An interoffice telephone?”
Lotario leaned back, massaging his temples. “Not you too, Bel. I’ve been inundated with people stating the painfully obvious all morning.”
; “I wasn’t stating the obvious; I was making a subtle jab at your innate laziness.”
He looked pleased by her insult. She perched on the side of the desk to better look down at her twin.
“Yelling down a hallway is so unprofessional—” He stopped at the look in her eyes, the edge of his lip twitching upwards. “I feel a storm coming.”
“You haven’t run any of this by Riot,” she bit out.
“I’m part owner.”
“Thirty percent.”
“Actually, Tim put you in debt. I paid off the agency’s debt, so until Atticus pays me back… I own it. I’m your boss, Bel. And I don’t have to put up with your disapproval.”
“It’s not just that. You’re stretching yourself financially, Ari. How can you afford to hire all these people?”
Lotario clucked his tongue. “You have no sense for business, and Atticus has even less. One must spend money to make money. It’s the most basic rule of business. Atticus and Tim treated this agency like an afterthought and a lending bank. It’s a small wonder Monty didn’t try to kill him sooner. Atticus was hemorrhaging funds.”
“And you aren’t?”
“I’m investing.”
“You’ve taken over Riot’s business. This is his life.”
“You are his life.”
Isobel faltered. She couldn’t argue with that, and her twin knew it. “Yes, but he’ll want to interview any new agents himself.”
“Atticus hired someone who tried to kill him,” Lotario pointed out.
“Ravenwood hired Monty.”
“And Atticus kept him on, even after the man constantly insulted you. I will have none of that.”
“I would’ve been furious if he’d fired Monty because of me.”
“Yes, well. Now I’ve taken that little issue out of both your hands.” Lotario spread his own hands. “I can’t wait for his leisure, Bel. Atticus shouldn’t have gotten himself beaten to a pulp and charged with murder.”
“That is unfair.”
Lotario mirrored the look on her face. “Do you have any issues with the people I’ve hired?”
She was on the verge of saying Miss Off, but caught herself. Riot had hired the crazed woman.
“I don’t know any of them, but that receptionist you have in the waiting room looks like she’s sixteen. We deal with rough sorts, Ari. I certainly wouldn’t allow Sarah to work here.”
“What about Jin?”
“No,” she blurted. Jin would likely stab someone on her first day, but Isobel kept that part to herself.
“I’m disappointed in you.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“Daisy is our age.”
“I don’t think so.”
“All right, perhaps a few years younger,” he admitted. “She was the resident virgin at a brothel, and she’s looking to start a new life. If you think she can’t handle herself around rough men, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“Are all your hires ex-prostitutes?”
“If you’re referring to Garrett… no. But he could sell a flask of paraffin to a man in a burning house. Never buy anything from him.”
“Riot likes to know the people he works with.”
“Like Monty?” He batted his lashes. But when she only gave him a blank look in return, he explained. “Prostitutes are observant by nature. We have to be to survive. And I’m only hiring people I trust. I would think you’d have more faith in me.”
“I do, Ari. It’s only this is Riot’s agency, and he has no say in how it’s being run.”
Lotario steepled his fingers to study her over their tips. “Why do you insist on calling Atticus by his surname? It’s so… stuffy.”
“Are you familiar with the definition of riot when it pertains to ‘a riot of color’?”
“Yes. An impressively large or varied display of something,” Lotario recited.
Isobel glanced at her fingernails.
“Must you gloat, sister dear?”
“I know how it irritates you.”
Lotario leaned forward and took her hands in his. “Don’t worry about the money. I have my accountant helping, too. She used to run a profitable brothel. And the press that you and Atticus generate has tripled our caseload.”
“With only Tim and Matt to handle the cases? No wonder Matt looks exhausted.”
Lotario got an impish look in his eyes. She knew that was never a good thing. “And me.”
“You’ve been investigating cases?”
Lotario inclined his chin towards a stack of files. “All solved.”
She eyed the caseload. “Impossible.”
“Have you ever heard of an armchair detective?”
“You solved them all. From here?”
Lotario smiled like a cat. “It’s been quite diverting.”
Isobel shot to her feet. “You can’t solve crimes from an office, Ari. What if your deductions are wrong?”
“They’re not,” he challenged.
A small growl rose from the back of her throat.
“You and I have played at it often enough,” he purred. “I’m only putting my talents to practical use. Besides, Matthew tells me you did the same on one of his cases. He’s delicious, by the way. Do you think he prefers men?”
Isobel would not be diverted. “Yes, but then Matt confirmed my deductions.”
“Was that a yes to my question?”
“No.”
“No, he doesn’t?”
“Ari,” she warned.
“You’re never any fun anymore.”
“My husband is in jail.”
“He’s being held on suspicion. It’s probably the best place for him. And don’t worry, I’m having Matt confirm my deductions. While he’s not the brightest, he is sweet. And handsome in a footballer sort of way.”
Her hackles lowered, somewhat. “How are the interviews going?”
“Horrid. Most wouldn’t spot a wolf disguised as a sheep in their own bedroom.”
“I may have some names.”
“Do write them down.”
“I will, and then I need to borrow Matt.”
“Atticus hasn’t been in jail for two days yet, and you’re already casting your net for another catch?”
“I’m liable to hit you, Ari.”
“Oh, but I make such a racket.”
“And you’ll sulk for a month.”
“Or I’ll just decorate the agency like a bordello.”
“It’s nearly there.”
Lotario pretended to gape. “How could you possibly guess my backup plan if the detective agency should fail?”
She glared. Mainly because she wasn’t entirely sure her twin was joking. “At least this would be a high-class brothel. I was at the Nymphia on Wednesday.”
Lotario grimaced. “Appalling. The ladies are treated like cattle, and the decor is a disaster.”
Isobel wasn’t entirely sure which was worse in her twin’s mind.
He narrowed his eyes “Your husband was arrested on suspicion of murder and you went to a cow-yard? Are you feeling well? Aside from irritable.”
“The police came to the house with a warrant yesterday. I don’t want to think about the state of our rooms.”
“Did they find anything?”
“They took every firearm in the house and left a disaster.”
“Farnon telephoned me,” Lotario said with a sigh. “And he’s reporting to mother.”
“And to you, apparently,” she said.
“He told me you aren’t to go near the investigation.”
“Yes, I know. Farnon made sure to keep me occupied with legal matters after the raid. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Clean your room?” he quipped. “Where are you taking my sweet detective?”
“I’m headed to the city morgue. I need to ask Sims if he’s found out anything about Monty.”
“We just went over this—you’re supposed to stay away from the investigation.”
“Asking Sims
about a body is not interfering.”
“Why did you go to the Nymphia?”
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“I’m trying to keep my nosy twin away from an investigation that could put my delicious brother-in-law in a hangman’s noose.”
Isobel felt sick at the thought.
Lotario placed a hand over hers. “There are other fish in the sea. If it comes to that.”
She shot him a glare, but let herself be distracted.
“I played consulting detective to the police for an afternoon. A man was found dead in the Nymphia during a raid.”
“Do tell.”
Before she could start, one of the telephones on the desk rang. The interoffice one. Lotario picked it up. “Yes?”
Isobel rolled her eyes. She preferred Miss Off’s crass ‘Ahoy there!’
Lotario’s brows shot up. “I see. Escort the lady to the interview room. Miss Amsel will be there momentarily.”
“I will?” Isobel asked when he clicked the lever.
“You’ve been requested.”
“Someone likely lost their dog,” she snapped.
Lotario waggled his brows. “But did it bark in the night?”
“I’m not being dragged into another case while Riot is in jail for murder.” Isobel started gathering her things.
“A pity.” Lotario rested his chin on a hand. “A mysterious woman draped in a mourning veil has asked to speak with you. She claims you came highly recommended by an Inspector Coleman.”
Isobel paused, her mind racing with possibilities. Damn her curiosity.
19
Woman in Black
Annoyed with herself, Isobel stalked down the hallway and into the interview room without ceremony. It was just as Lotario had said. A figure draped in mourning black stood in the room, ignoring the chair as well as the tea and cakes. Slim hands worried at a white silk handkerchief.
White, pristine, with a familiar black border.
Isobel stepped to the side to let Lotario enter. The sight of her twin caught the woman’s attention. “Lotario?” she asked in surprise.
Lotario paused, his hand still on the doorknob. He hadn’t counted on someone knowing his name. When the woman lifted her veil, he paled.
Beyond the Pale Page 10