I couldn’t bring myself to touch the vile note again. Mitchell T. Baylarian was not a name I recognized, but I had a strong suspicion the sender often went by a different name: The Night Gentleman.
Gaige snatched the note from the table and read it aloud. All the color had drained from his face by the time he reached the last word.
“Frack me!” my partner exclaimed. “You don’t…this can’t be…is this from him?”
I must have started hyperventilating, because the next thing I knew, Gaige was forcing my head between my knees and urging me to breathe slowly.
That was when Cyrus returned. He might have asked if I was okay. He might have said a bomb just detonated on the street in front of the townhouse. My head was spinning too much to be sure of anything in that moment.
“Baylarian has to be Lachlan Shepard, right?” Gaige was saying when I finally felt well enough to sit up straight.
Cyrus had the note in his hand and a grim expression on his face. “It’s possible they are one and the same,” he admitted. “I’ll have the alchemists look into him. If Baylarian is a real person, they’ll find him.”
My boss sat in the chair next to me, scooting it closer to mine until our knees were touching. “Are you okay, Stassi?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, waving off his concern. “I’m sorry, I overreacted. It’s just, well, I wasn’t expecting that.” I gestured towards the note in Cyrus’s hand.
“You have every right to be upset,” Cyrus soothed.
“He’s right, Stassi,” Gaige chimed in. “This whackjob has singled you out.”
Emerald daggers shot from Cyrus’s eyes. Gaige flinched.
“We don’t know that Baylarian is the Night Gentleman,” my boss stated firmly.
I stared at him doubtfully.
Cyrus held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s see what the alchemists find on him, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
Cyrus stood. “Your travel documents should be ready by now, I’ll pick them up while I’m down there. Stassi, why don’t you shower and get dressed for the day? The alchemists have located Lachlan Shepard at the Ritz hotel. I want to pay him a visit, perhaps you can join me?”
“Wait. So, Shepard is using his real name? Then who is this Baylarian guy? And which one of them is the Night Gentleman? I’m so confused,” Gaige grumbled.
“Lachlan Shepard is registered at the Ritz—that is all I know right now,” Cyrus replied calmly. “Hopefully I’ll know more after visiting the hotel.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said.
Cyrus smiled down at me fondly. “Good. I’ll be back within the hour. Is that enough time for you to get ready?”
“I can make it work.”
I remained seated at the dining room table, staring numbly at the flowers, long after Cyrus left. Gaige, loyal as a Labrador, stayed with me.
“I’m gonna get rid of these,” he proclaimed, reaching for the flowers.
I held up my hand. “No, not yet. We should probably have them tested for poison and stuff.”
My partner snatched his hand back. “Right. Good point.” He studied me thoughtfully.
“Stop, please,” I begged. “I’m really okay.”
But I wasn’t. Far from it. That letter had been addressed to me. Like Gaige said, the whackjob had singled me out. Why? Why me?
“If you say so,” Gaige hedged, clearly not falling for my ruse.
“I promise, Gaige. It’s locked up, swear.”
Gaige grinned, though I could tell he was still concerned. “It better be. Because I’m thinking a little late night B&E is in order. After Stein’s party, of course. I need my partner on top of her game.”
“Shakespeare and Company?” I guessed.
“It’s like we share a brain.”
“Scary.”
By the time I showered and dressed for the day, Cyrus had returned. He and Gaige were talking in the living room when I descended the stairs. And Ines was with them. Goodie.
“There was one slight issue with timing,” she was saying. “The Queen Mary was the most recent ship to arrive in London from Baltimore, and it pulled into the harbor on Monday, March 2nd. The first murder occurred on March 5th, which would have given Gaige enough time to reach Paris and commit the crime. We created fare receipts for the ship, just with a different arrival date: March 24th. By the time that inspector is able to nullify your story, your run will be complete and you’ll be back home.” Her smile was tight and strained. “Then you have your boat-train tickets, from London to Paris, arriving on March 26th. Those are legitimate and will standup to scrutiny.”
“Cyrus, do you think we should keep going with this run?” Gaige asked. “A lot has gone wrong.”
“A lot has gone right, too,” I interjected, joining the others in the living room.
All three turned skeptical eyes toward me.
“Since when did you become the love child of Sammy Sunshine and Rita Rainbow?” Gaige deadpanned.
“Funny,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I’m just saying that we’ve made a lot of progress in a very short time. We’ve already met the target. We’ve figured out a place where Rosenthal possibly kept a section of Blue’s Canyon. We’ve been invited to one of Gertrude Stein’s salon parties. We’re making friends. I think we have a good shot of completing this run in a much shorter timeframe than we anticipated.”
The Founder wrinkled his tanned forehead as he considered my position.
It was weird. For some reason, I was fighting to continue the run, when I wasn’t even sure I wanted to stay. I was conflicted, torn between a desire to return to the safety of the island, where crazies didn’t send me ghoulish poems, and the hope that I would find a clue as to who I was if I stayed.
“Stassi’s right,” Cyrus declared. “You two have made impressive progress. For now, you should continue, as long as it does not cast any additional doubt on Gaige. We’ll see how it plays out over the next couple of days with Lachlan Shepard, Mitchell T. Baylarian, the Night Gentleman, and whatever else inevitably goes wrong.” He winked. “And if things get worse, it’s straight back to the island for you, and I’ll bring in a cleanup crew. You two feel okay with that?”
“Yes, sir,” Gaige and I said in unison.
Ines cleared her throat loudly to draw the attention her way. “I spoke to Andre this morning, he phoned to see how things went last night. When I told him about Gaige’s treatment by the police, Andre was beside himself. It seems you made quite an impression on him last night.”
When no one commented on this, Ines continued hesitantly.
“On Saturdays, Andre, Ezra, and Ernest box at this little gym not far from here. Andre wanted me to ask if you would care to join them.”
“Awesome,” Gaige replied enthusiastically.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe you should lay low for a little while, until you aren’t the chief suspect in a string of murders,” I said. “Not to mention that you have to visit the police station, or Charles will be held accountable.”
“It is a wonderful idea,” Ines argued, as if I’d offended her. “Gaige will visit the station and attend to this line-up business beforehand. Spending time with the menfolk during their masculine pursuits will give him a chance to bond with Andre, and the other two will find him fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” I echoed doubtfully.
“Oh yes, dear. The macabre is very compelling.”
Cyrus studied Ines, his expression unreadable. If I had to guess, he was weighing her frivolity. I half-expected him to issue some reprimand about her carefree attitude in the midst of several crises, but Cyrus passed over the alchemist in favor of Gaige.
“Gaige, I need you to be honest with me here,” our boss said. “Do I need to come down to the stationhouse with you?”
“No, sir,” Gaige replied decisively. “The only reasons they have to be suspicious of me will be simple enough to clear up, I can handle thi
s. I will present our new travel receipts to prove I was not here when the killings began. Then the audience member who spoke to the killer will quickly confirm I wasn’t the one he spoke to, and that will be that.”
Cyrus seemed to appreciate Gaige’s confidence. Evidently, a runner being suspected of murder wasn’t quite as high of a priority as a runner going rogue.
“Very well, then,” Cyrus declared. “Stassi and I should be off to the Ritz. Let’s all hope Shepard is there, and at least one mystery will be solved.”
With our plan in place, Ines left to contact Jacque to let him know Gaige would need to be driven to the station shortly. Gaige followed her to scour the customs closet, in need of whatever passed for workout clothes in the 1920s.
The alchemists had more than one vehicle and more than one driver, but Cyrus insisted on taking a taxi to the Ritz Hotel. He was the boss for a reason, so I didn’t protest.
“The Ritz is an odd choice,” I mused, just loud enough for Cyrus and not the driver to hear me. “Isn’t it a little upscale for a runner going off-grid?”
Not that I was complaining. In fact, I was genuinely curious to see the lavish hotel where fashion maven Coco Chanel kept a suite.
“It definitely is,” Cyrus agreed. “He should have picked something low-key and out of the way. That’s what I’d have done if I were him.”
The Ritz did not disappoint. As soon as we pulled to a stop in front of the entrance, I knew the hotel was every bit as opulent as I’d imagined. A bellhop wearing an adorable black and gold uniform, complete with top hat, held open the door of our vehicle. His twin did the same with the majestic doors leading inside. My eye was immediately drawn to the crystal chandelier hanging high above the lobby, sparkling brightly in a way no photograph could ever capture. Though I tried not to gape at my surroundings, I felt stuck in a perpetual state of awe.
Unlike me, Cyrus seemed entirely unaffected by the setting. In his defense, he’d probably been there before. Or maybe tracking down a rogue runner simply took precedence over gawking at the elegant surroundings. Whatever the reason, my boss strode purposefully across the marble floors, straight to the hotel’s reception desk. He spoke to the female standing behind it in fluent French. The woman seemed to melt a little when he fixed her with his piercing green gaze.
He showed the manipulated photograph of Lachlan Shepard to the receptionist.
“This is my son, Lachlan,” Cyrus told her, emphasizing the missing runner’s name in an attempt to garner sympathy. “I was told he’s staying here. Is it too much to ask for his room number?”
“It is against the hotel’s policies to give out personal information about our guests,” she told Cyrus regretfully. Leaning over, she rested her ample chest on the marble countertop. “But…I can see how concerned you are for your son.”
“Terribly concerned,” Cyrus insisted, also leaning in slightly. “My son is delicate, even a little unstable at times. He left home without his medication. His cousin and I have been so worried.”
My fictitious family is growing by the day, I thought, realizing this meant I was to be Cyrus’s niece for the foreseeable future. The new hereditary ties would prove fortuitous, should Gaige’s legal troubles continue. Posing as our uncle would give Cyrus reason to involve himself in any future interrogations or proceedings.
If only I could choose my real parents so easily.
“I understand,” the woman said, nodding. “If you will wait one moment, I will check our records, Mr. Shepard.”
“Thank you,” Cyrus said, reaching across the divide to squeeze her hand.
The attendant walked to the other end of the counter and began flipping through a ledger. Cyrus tucked the picture of Lachlan back inside his leather portfolio.
“Laying it on thick,” I teased in a low voice.
Cyrus shrugged. “I may be old, Stassi, but I am not dead. I do know how to flirt, when necessary.”
My boss was unarguably good-looking for an older guy, but it was still an awkward exchange. Thankfully, the attendant returned a moment later with a brass key in one hand.
“Your son is indeed a guest here,” she told Cyrus, hazel eyes darting back and forth as if worried about being overhead. “He rented a suite and paid in advance for one month. It appears he is scheduled to remain for another week.”
One month? Odd. Lachlan’s syndicate knew he was missing because he hadn’t returned on time for work. Planning to stay after his leave ended didn’t make any sense, unless Lachlan never intended to go back.
The receptionist handed Cyrus the key. “Suite 1408. I can show you the way, if you like?”
“That is a kind offer, but I think it best for his cousin and I to check on him alone,” Cyrus began, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We cannot be certain what state my son will be in, I would not want to expose you to anything untoward.”
Clearly disappointed that she wouldn’t be spending the next ten minutes chatting up my boss, the woman forced a smile. “Of course, Mr. Shepard. Just return the key when you are through.”
She pointed us towards the elevators. Cyrus and I set off in search of the missing runner.
The door to suite 1408 had a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging from the handle when we arrived.
“Let me go in first, Stassi,” Cyrus said, holding up a hand to force me back. He passed me the portfolio. “Hold on to this for me, will you?”
I clutched the leather dossier to my chest and watched as my boss withdrew a very small, very 25th century revolver from inside his sport coat.
“Is that really necessary?” I whispered loudly and a tad frantically.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said Shepard might need medical attention. Bane has been worried about him for while now. He’d thought Lachlan’s hectic running schedule might be too much and had hoped the time off would be good for him. Then he learned that this wasn’t the guy’s first illicit jump. Shepard routinely free jumps, apparently. Too many of those can lead to an illness much worse than time sickness.”
“Like a crazy person kind of sickness?” I squeaked.
Cyrus lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. “Just stay out here until I make sure it’s safe.”
I swallowed hard and took several steps back from the door, nodding my acquiescence.
Cyrus slipped the key into the lock and pushed open the door. Gun barrel first, he entered the room like a trained enforcer.
I chewed my thumbnail, anxiously waiting for my boss to give me the all-clear. The twenty seconds that followed felt more like twenty hours, though every moment without gunfire steadied my nerves just a little bit more.
“He’s not here.” Cyrus popped his head into the hallway, holstered his gun, and waved me inside the suite.
I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Molly was right; being a runner is for the birds.
Suite 1408 was made up of one bedroom and a sitting area. A very modern, very out-of-place suitcase and matching duffel bag were sitting by the front door. Perfectly fluffed throw pillows were arranged strategically in the corners of the brocade sofas, and several Paris guidebooks were open on the coffee table. A wet bar in the main room boasted bottles of gin, vodka, and scotch.
The door to the adjoining bedroom was slightly ajar. Through the opening, I could see a queen-sized bed that was immaculately made. Given the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, I was guessing that Lachlan hadn’t slept in the room the night before. In fact, we had no way of knowing the last time he had.
“Why don’t you look through the closet? I’ll take the bathroom,” Cyrus said.
From an interior pocket of his coat, my boss produced two pairs of latex gloves and several vacu-seal bags similar to the artifact pouches. He handed me one pair of gloves and three of the bags.
Cyrus reached inside his coat again, this time withdrawing a rectangular tin the length of his palm. He removed the lid to reveal a white, waxy substance. I watched with fascination as my
boss pressed the hotel room key into the wax.
“Did you just copy that key?” I asked.
“Technically, I made an impression of the key,” he replied with a wry smile. “The alchemists can make a duplicate from that. It’s a crude method of reproduction, but an extremely effective one. Now we can come back, if need be.” He pocketed the tin and the key. “Let’s do a thorough search this go-round, that way we can avoid a second trip.”
“Of course. But what exactly am I looking for again?” I asked, placing the portfolio on the coffee table so that I could pull on the gloves.
“Anything that might tell us where this guy is now or where he’s been.”
Following orders, I walked into the bedroom and found the closet. Period-appropriate men’s clothing hung from wooden hangers, the garments divided into shirts and pants, and arranged by color.
“Can you say ‘obsessive compulsive’?” I muttered, thumbing through the clothes.
I searched the pockets of everything, hoping for a receipt or ticket stub. The search yielded only a gum wrapper and a 1971 U.S. penny. Just to be safe, I placed both in a plastic pouch to show Cyrus.
Something about the clothing struck me as odd. It looked right for the period, and yet something was bothering me.
They’re not reproductions, I realized. So Lachlan hadn’t brought the clothes with him. It was slightly surprising, since he wouldn’t have been able to borrow from our customs station without drawing unwanted questions. I wasn’t sure if this was a real clue or not, but made a mental note to inform Cyrus.
On the floor of the closet, I found a laundry bag with the Ritz logo embroidered on the front. Inside were three pairs of crumpled wool pants, a cream sweater vest, two white undershirts with sweat stains, and several pairs of men’s underwear.
“Oh, gross!” I exclaimed, dropping the bag as though it had teeth.
Alarmed, Cyrus rushed into the bedroom. “What? Did you find something?”
“Dirty unmentionables,” I groaned, pointing towards the laundry bag.
Cyrus narrowed his gaze, confused. It took him a minute, but realization finally dawned. “Oh, you mean underpants? Anything else?”