by the front windows.
“That looks like an African fertility god, even though it’s missin’ the obvious appendage,” Captain Blackwolf offered. “I’ve seen ones like that in the New Orleans Voodoo shops. It’s said to give the bearer an insatiable appetite. Forgive me for saying so, ma’am.”
“Nick had that without Voodoo.”
“What difference does the decor make anyway?” Arron asked. “This room is odd all around, and that portrait is right creepy.”
“It doesn’t really make a difference, just working it out,” I said, scanning the room again. “Getting a feel for the place. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it. He was entertaining, as I can smell a hint of perfume”—and that unmistakable scent of sex—“but that’s not unusual for Nick.”
“There’s nothing here,” Arron said. “The blood suggests foul play, but, as you pointed out, Lord York, there ain’t enough for it to have been a fatal wound. Not much more than a bad cut, I’d say.”
“It looks angry,” Avalon said, moving closer to the gargoyle. “Like it’s in a rage or terror.”
“Agreed. There is nothing here,” I said, ignoring Avalon. Her fascination with technology and history was tiresome. “This is a waste of time. I don’t doubt good ol’ Nick just went on holiday with his lady friend and forgot to tell his mum. Nothing more. You’ll see. He’ll be back in time for your cruise, no doubt, ready for new adventures.”
“There’s blood here,” Avalon said. She had lifted the statue and beneath it was a ring of dried blood, shaped as the outline of the statue. Yet, it was darker than blood, even dried blood. It was black. “Murder weapon?”
“Perhaps, although I’d doubt it. Again, not enough blood. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot.”
“The murderer could’ve caught the rest of the blood in something. Let’s have a look in the kitchen,” she suggested, setting the not-so-fertile god back down on the desk.
“I’m sure the police looked everywhere.”
“They didn’t find the blood beneath the statue, did they?”
“That’s a good point, Miss Bainbridge. How could they have missed that?”
“Call me Avalon, please. Yes, rather odd that they would’ve missed it. Perhaps there wasn’t this blood when they were here.”
I scoffed. “Coppers are incompetent, of course, so it’s not that much of a shock, now is it?”
We reached the kitchen, and everything seemed in place. I was becoming quite bored with this game.
“Indeed, Arthur, but are they quite that incompetent? There’s something strange about that blood. It is rather too dark for blood, don’t you think? Perhaps we should take the statue with us. Have a bit of it analyzed.” Avalon gave the appearance of closely examining every surface, trying to find a trace of blood or of the black stuff, but I heard her sniffing, discovering the extent of her heightened senses. I could tell as soon as we entered there was no fresh blood here.
“I’m not so sure, Miss Ba—Avalon, if it turns out he was murdered, you don’t want to be in possession of the murder weapon.”
“Certainly not. Thank you, Arron. Nothing out of sorts here. I think we must speak with Mr. McFerret after all, and, if we can, the constable in charge of this investigation.”
“Mr. McFerret will be on the cruise tomorrow night, so you’ll have the chance to talk to him then.”
Avalon and Arron faced each other, excited at the prospect of the mystery, and that same roar erupted in my gut, so I moved in between them, pulling Avalon close to my side. “Yes, indeed. That’s exactly what we shall do.”
§
“I think we’ll walk for a bit, Thomas. Just take the carriage home.”
“Yes, M’Lord.” He bowed and climbed on the carriage as Avalon and I headed in the opposite direction toward the main street, parting ways with Mr. Blackwolf as well. A compressed air tram rolled by, spewing black smoke into the air above
“That looks like an African fertility god, even though it’s missin’ the obvious appendage,” Captain Blackwolf offered. “I’ve seen ones like that in the New Orleans Voodoo shops. It’s said to give the bearer an insatiable appetite. Forgive me for saying so, ma’am.”
“Nick had that without Voodoo.”
“What difference does the decor make anyway?” Arron asked. “This room is odd all around, and that portrait is right creepy.”
“It doesn’t really make a difference, just working it out,” I said, scanning the room again. “Getting a feel for the place. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it. He was entertaining, as I can smell a hint of perfume”—and that unmistakable scent of sex—“but that’s not unusual for Nick.”
“There’s nothing here,” Arron said. “The blood suggests foul play, but, as you pointed out, Lord York, there ain’t enough for it to have been a fatal wound. Not much more than a bad cut, I’d say.”
“It looks angry,” Avalon said, moving closer to the gargoyle. “Like it’s in a rage or terror.”
“Agreed. There is nothing here,” I said, ignoring Avalon. Her fascination with technology and history was tiresome. “This is a waste of time. I don’t doubt good ol’ Nick just went on holiday with his lady friend and forgot to tell his mum. Nothing more. You’ll see. He’ll be back in time for your cruise, no doubt, ready for new adventures.”
“There’s blood here,” Avalon said. She had lifted the statue and beneath it was a ring of dried blood, shaped as the outline of the statue. Yet, it was darker than blood, even dried blood. It was black. “Murder weapon?”
“Perhaps, although I’d doubt it. Again, not enough blood. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot.”
“The murderer could’ve caught the rest of the blood in something. Let’s have a look in the kitchen,” she suggested, setting the not-so-fertile god back down on the desk.
“I’m sure the police looked everywhere.”
“They didn’t find the blood beneath the statue, did they?”
“That’s a good point, Miss Bainbridge. How could they have missed that?”
“Call me Avalon, please. Yes, rather odd that they would’ve missed it. Perhaps there wasn’t this blood when they were here.”
I scoffed. “Coppers are incompetent, of course, so it’s not that much of a shock, now is it?”
We reached the kitchen, and everything seemed in place. I was becoming quite bored with this game.
“Indeed, Arthur, but are they quite that incompetent? There’s something strange about that blood. It is rather too dark for blood, don’t you think? Perhaps we should take the statue with us. Have a bit of it analyzed.” Avalon gave the appearance of closely examining every surface, trying to find a trace of blood or of the black stuff, but I heard her sniffing, discovering the extent of her heightened senses. I could tell as soon as we entered there was no fresh blood here.
“I’m not so sure, Miss Ba—Avalon, if it turns out he was murdered, you don’t want to be in possession of the murder weapon.”
“Certainly not. Thank you, Arron. Nothing out of sorts here. I think we must speak with Mr. McFerret after all, and, if we can, the constable in charge of this investigation.”
“Mr. McFerret will be on the cruise tomorrow night, so you’ll have the chance to talk to him then.”
Avalon and Arron faced each other, excited at the prospect of the mystery, and that same roar erupted in my gut, so I moved in between them, pulling Avalon close to my side. “Yes, indeed. That’s exactly what we shall do.”
§
“I think we’ll walk for a bit, Thomas. Just take the carriage home.”
“Yes, M’Lord.” He bowed and climbed on the carriage as Avalon and I headed in the opposite direction toward the main street, parting ways with Mr. Blackwolf as well. A compressed air tram rolled by, spewing black smoke into the air above
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