Page 65 of Sirens
Darby thumbed a salt flake she’d missed and flicked it over her shoulder. “Such as, being seen talking in public for more than ten seconds is tantamount to foreplay.”
“Uh huh,” Maggie said, mentally reviewing every run-in she and McGarvey had had since she arrived.
“Also, if you’re seen entering a building together, someone is definitely going to assume it’s to fuck.”
Had Darby delivered her second pronouncement a moment sooner, she’d be wearing the watery Sprite Maggie had been nursing. “I see,” she said.
“And if you ever want to keep something a secret, under no circumstances are you to involve Myrtle Le Grande. I love the woman, but freight trains are subtler.”
Fuckingnowshe told her. Because if everything had gone according to the plan they’d worked out, Myrtle would have been a significant part of McGarvey’s afternoon.
Maggie cleared her throat. “Gabe certainly seemed to think she was capable of keeping a secret.”
“Please.” Darby snorted. “Gabe’s idea of a secret is something that you have to threaten people with bodily violence not to disclose.”
Maggie’s shoulders suddenly felt heavy, the heart beneath them equally leaden. At least she’d elected to make her earlier sojourn back to the Palace Hotel with Vee instead of Myrtle.
“Speaking of secrets, please thank Ethan for me,” she said, eager to change the subject. “Those letters he had you bring me from the Townsend family’s personal archive were more helpful than you know.”
Darby’s eyes brightened. “So the note he sent with them made sense to you?”
“No, his note was fucking vague and obtuse.” Maggie laughed. “But I was able to do a lot of interpreting based on context.”
“He’s a subtle bastard,” Darby said dreamily, staring into her glass as if the ruggedly handsome sheriff’s face may be haunting the bottom of it. “So…did you find anything?”
“Did I find anything?” Maggie echoed, giving Darby a sly grin. “I foundeverything.”
Darby raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”
Maggie took a deep breath, her mind racing as she recalled the moment everything clicked into place. She remembered sitting at her kitchen table, the worn parchment spread out before her, the faint scent of aged ink filling her nostrils. Her body buzzing as her eyes moved over the looping, elaborate script.
She had read the letter, written in overblown Victorian English by none other than Ethan’s great-great-great-grandfather, Everett Townsend. The recipient? One Reginald Stewart.
The body…exceedingly odd.
At first.
My Most Esteemed Compatriot,
It is with heavy heart that I’m afraid I must write to you of a matter which I fear you might find upsetting. You will recall our previous arrangement, wherein I found myself in need of an agile and dedicated mouser to address the rat infestation which the Midnight Mariner was beset with. At such a time as I did confide in you, you were kind enough to give into my keeping a certain Scottish Fold you’d adopted from a shipyard in Glasgow. Well, I regret to inform you that, far from the agile and enterprising creature you presented her to be, she proved to be a significant nuisance to both the ship and its passengers. Not only was she utterly uninterested in reducing the number of rats onboard, but myself and several other members of the crew began tosuspect that this willful creature was actually assisting the diseased rodents in their escape. It was for this reason that I found it necessary to bind the beast and fling it overboard in a burlap sack, where I could be assured she would not bedevil either of us any further. As our fortunes are so intimately linked in this respect, I know I may be assured of your gratitude for resolving so noisome an impediment to our combined venture. Pray, good sir, if I may be so bold, a financial contribution to our enterprise would be a most welcome demonstration of your continued faith in our shared endeavor. Though I doubt if any significant resources will be willingly allocated to recovering one missing pussy, all things considered.
Sincerely and entirely yours,
Timmothy Scott Stewart
P.S. Should you be searching for the means by which your late pussy so stealthily provided her intended prey a means of escape, I’d recommend you conduct a thorough search of her typical haunts. It seems she was somewhat more resourceful than either of us realized.
Darby nodded, listening intently.
“I mean, subtle, Great-Grandaddy Townsend was not,” Maggie said, coming to the end of her summary.
“Fucking right?” Darby asked, shaking her head. “So you think it was really the old Mayor Stewart and Grandaddy Townsend who were into the human trafficking?”
“Certainly seems that way to me. And if Madame Katz somehow found out and was using the tunnels to the Palace Hotel to help them escape, that would be more than enough motive for those two to want to make her disappear.”
Darby heaved a disgusted sigh. “Fucking men.”
“Tell me about it,” Maggie agreed. “This town has more drama than a telenovela.”
