Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (9 page)

With that knowledge firmly in mind, I still had no idea how to proceed as I turned the key to our room and opened the door.

Shay glided into the living room, trailing her hand against the wainscoting as she moved. Despite the vigorous dancing, the brisk sea breeze that had tousled her hair, and the trek into the ship’s depths to discover a dead man, she looked as beautiful as ever. Her dress dipped low on her back, teasing me as it hugged her in all the right places. She paused at the door to her bedroom.

I followed her in and glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty, or close enough not to make a difference. “So…what time do you think we should rise in the morning?”

Shay shrugged. “Six-thirty or thereabouts, if we wish to eat and look presentable.”

If.
The eating I was fond of. The presentation less so.

I took a step toward the far wall and peered into my bedroom. I’d taken the quarters on the left and Shay those on the right. My bag sat on the bed where Steck had left it—one of them anyway. My garment bag still lay on the floor of the living room by the coffee table.

Perhaps in response to my motion, Steele spoke. “Daggers?”

I looked up. “Yes?”

Shay hadn’t moved from the frame of her door. She’d averted her eyes to the floor and drawn her hair over her right shoulder, exposing the full of her neck. She did that thing with her lips again, where she sucked on her bottom one before letting it out.

“I…” She lifted her head, drawing her gaze slowly across the floor, past the coffee table and the garment bag. She paused and blinked.

My heart thumped heavy in my chest. “Yes?”

“I…think someone’s been in our room.”

It wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear, but I knew better than to doubt her observational prowess. “How do you know?”

“Your garment bag. It’s been moved.”

Instinct took over. I reached for Daisy, despite her absence, before darting into my bedroom to check for intruders. With that completed, I rushed to Shay’s room to do the same. Once I’d satisfied myself in regards to our safety, I returned to the living room.

“Check your things,” I told Shay. “See if anything’s missing.”

I opened my garment bag. I’d placed my suit back into it following my change. The jacket, slacks, shoes, leather belt, and thin tie were all there, even the cufflinks, though I couldn’t tell if anything had been moved—mostly because I hadn’t paid attention as I stuffed it in. I was, however, glad I’d left my badge back at the precinct on Steck’s insistence. If someone
had
gone through my things, my identity would’ve been revealed.

“I don’t suppose it was Steck who dropped by,” called Shay as I moved back to my bedroom.

“Don’t you think he would’ve mentioned it if he had?” I said. “Besides, he doesn’t have a key to our room.”

I went through the second bag on my bed, and while I couldn’t remember every last piece of peacockery Steck had made me bring along, neither could I spot anything blatantly missing or out of place.

When done with my search, I zipped the bag up and crossed over to the suite’s exit. I snapped the deadbolt into place, put the additional safety bar in, and headed back to the living room.

Shay stood there having finished her own inspection, hands clasped before her. “I didn’t find anything missing. You?”

I shook my head.

“Thoughts?” said Shay.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’d be comfortable wagering it was one of our fellow poker competitors or their underlings who broke in, but beyond that? I suppose it could’ve been Lumpty, but the timing might’ve been difficult. What do you think?”

“What I think is we’re not the only ones expecting hijinks,” said Steele. “I’d bet several of our competitors heard the same rumors Steck did. They’re looking for evidence that’ll reveal who’s going to pull the con, and I’d wager Lumpty found it. Either that, or he got a little too close for comfort.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But what did he find?”

Shay shrugged. “Think we’ll be safe here tonight?”

“I locked the door and put the latch bar in, but I’ll tuck a chair under the doorknob just in case.”

Shay nodded and glanced at the clock. “We should probably hit the hay. We’ll have an early morning.”

“Yeah. We should. There’ll be plenty of time to mull over this tomorrow.”

Shay turned toward her room, but she paused at the edge. “Daggers?”

“Yes?”

She glanced at me and shot me a shy smile. “I had a nice time tonight.”

I smiled back. “So did I. Although I could’ve done without the murder and the breaking and entering.”

“Likewise. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Shay stepped into her room and closed the door, and I retreated to my own quarters. I stripped my shoes and coat off and lay on my bed face up. The mattress welcomed me with arms of purest down, far more comfortable than my own slab of concrete at home. Nonetheless, I suspected I’d have a hard time sleeping. I had far too much on my mind.

Very little of it had anything to do with police work.

13

I stifled a yawn as Shay and I stood at the entrance to the restaurant on the promenade deck, waiting for the host to return.

“You going to make it there, princess?” Shay, wearing a svelte burgundy cocktail dress that ended at her knees, smirked at me.

“Waking up this early should be criminal,” I said. “At the very least, I suspect it’s unhealthy.”

“That goes against conventional wisdom.”

“Yeah, well conventional wisdom also says bloodletting prevents disease and that regular applications of mercury ointments cures syphilis.”

“Point taken,” said Shay. “But it’s not as if we had much choice.”

“No kidding. This outfit took forever to get into.” I gestured at my getup, a deep navy suit with a faint tartan design. It hadn’t actually been that time consuming to don, but combined with a shower and a shave, the process had necessitated an early start.

“Now you know my pain,” said Shay.

“What are you talking about?” I said. “As if you wear evening gowns and put your hair in an updo on a regular basis.”

“I put a fair bit more effort into my appearance than you do.”

“Something I thought you enjoyed,” I said.

“To an extent,” said Shay. “What I don’t like is the expectation that I
always
be so presentable.”

I stroked my chin. “Have I given you that idea? Honestly, if you want to get a little slovenly every now and then, it won’t bother me in the least.”

“I didn’t mean you personally,” said Shay. “It’s more a cultural thing. Don’t worry about it. It’s one of the many societal injustices I hope to one day overturn.”

The host returned, a clean-cut gentleman of early middle age. “Apologies, sir. Madam. A table for two?”

“Something in a corner if you can,” I said. “My lady and I have private matters to discuss.”

The host nodded and waved for us to follow. As he led us through a dining room full of the clatter of knives and forks, spirited chatter, and the clacking of teeth, I noticed a few familiar faces. Verona sat at the bar by herself, enjoying what appeared to be a liquid breakfast and ignoring the ill effects it might have on her later. Ghorza lounged in a chair at a centrally-located table looking decidedly worse for wear. She moved sluggishly and wore a feathered hat and shaded glasses to guard against the early morning glare. Of Jimmy, I saw not a trace. Neither did I spot Johann and his men. I wondered if he’d figured out what had happened to Lumpty, and if so, how he’d react.

I did spot Theo, however, in the far corner. He shared a table with a surly looking dwarf wearing a smooth brown vest over a crisp orange dress shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A golden chain, the tail of a pocket watch, hung from his breast pocket to his belt. A large scar trailed from his eye to his chin, obvious even underneath the thick shock of his beard.

I elbowed Shay softly. “Orrin?”

“Can’t imagine there are too many other scarred dwarves in first class,” said Steele. “Especially those who would suffer Theo’s company.”

Suffer was right. Orrin didn’t seem to be enjoying the gnome’s chatty nature, as I’m sure Theo was well aware. Apparently he hadn’t lied when he said he liked to bombard his opponents with verbal horse droppings.

“Sir. Madam. Your table.” The host pulled out a chair for Shay.

We thanked him and seated ourselves. Within seconds, a pert waitress arrived to take drink orders. I gave her instructions to bring coffee and tea, as well as an assortment of eggs, cured meats, fruit, and biscuits. I knew better than to think her prompt arrival would be a harbinger of her ongoing attentiveness, and we had time constraints to keep abreast of.

I eyed our competitors casually, but none seemed to have their eyes trained in our direction. I turned to Shay. “I don’t suppose you can overhear any of their conversations.”

“In this din?” she said. “Not a chance.”

“Good,” I said. “Your hearing’s better than mine, and I figured if you couldn’t hear any of them, it was probably safe to talk.”

“What about?”

“The possibility of us sharing a dining room with a killer.”

Shay smiled. “Oh, so just your regular light breakfast conversation, then.”

“For us, anyway.”

“And you don’t think we should wait for Steck to bring us his additional input?” said Shay. “Like the testimony of the bartenders, waiters, and waitresses from last night’s mixer?”

“You know I’m not a thumb twiddler,” I said. “I theorize regardless of how little evidence I have. But given our and everyone else’s presence at the mixer last night, I think we can narrow the field a bit even without their eyewitness accounts.”

“Disagreed.”

“Oh really?” I said. “And how do you figure that?”

“We left our room for the mixer at seven, which means we arrived about ten after. We spent maybe an hour there, but Johann and his men left roughly twenty minutes before we did, putting their departure at a quarter to eight. We then moved to the ballroom and danced. Total time elapsed, half an hour. Then we moved to the ship’s exterior and spent approximately another twenty minutes there before James found us. That gives us an hour and ten minutes from Lumpty’s departure to the point at which we found him dead. We were isolated from everyone else for the latter fifty minutes of that—plenty of time for anyone, including those we left at the mixer, to follow Lumpty to the luggage compartment and murder him.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Where were you hiding a watch last night? That dress didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.”

Shay blushed, but only slightly. “I have a good internal clock.”

“Okay. I trust you,” I said. “Sounds about right to my own estimations, anyway. But if you’re right, that means we can’t narrow our pool of suspects at all.”

“We can’t. Steck can. Give him time. He’ll come through.”

“I hate it when you bat my arguments down with sound logic,” I said. “But if we can’t do anything until Steck interviews the staff, what am I supposed to do to occupy my overactive thinking cap?”

“How about putting it to use on the task at hand?” said Shay. “Namely studying your opponents. In addition to a murder to solve, we still have a poker tournament to win and a con-man to catch.”

“Right. Gambling.” I glanced at the opposition again. “Still think we have a chance to win?”

“Are you kidding?” said Shay. “Somebody was stupid enough to kill a man. They might’ve had the upper hand coming in, but these folks are playing on our home court now.”

I smiled. I appreciated Shay’s attitude even if I lacked her confidence—if it was that. Could be she was already practicing her bluffs.

The waitress returned with our meals. I began to scarf down eggs, sliced sausage, and fruit salad with little regard for decorum, but I hadn’t put my jaw to the grindstone for more than a minute when I noticed Ghorza stand and head for the exit. Theo and Orrin noticed her and followed.

I gave Shay a nod and spoke between bites. “Something’s afoot.”

“Yeah,” she said. “The tournament’s about to start. We need to hurry.”

I looked around the room, but I couldn’t spot a clock anywhere. Apparently, Shay hadn’t lied about her internal timekeeper. Hopefully, she’d use it to keep us from being late.

14

An escort led us through the casino proper, past craps tables and roulette wheels already busy with patrons, to the high stakes poker room that would become our immediate home. It had all the usual trappings of a casino—beige on cream paisley rugs, lots of artificial light, and velvet drapes hung over solid walls, because windows would only give patrons an excuse to stand up and leave—but it had been outfitted in ways the common rooms hadn’t. Round tables with three high-backed stools apiece dotted the corners of the room, and on the side, a bartender with a black vest and bowtie staffed a bar with at least a hundred bottles of expensive liquors set into the wall behind him. A delicate crystal chandelier hung from the center of the space, and underneath it was a green felt-topped poker table that had never felt the touch of an elbow upon its unblemished edge.

Of course, to call it a
private
room was definitely a misnomer. Above us, a second floor gallery allowed spectators to peer upon the gladiators below. The space was mostly barren at the moment, but I had no doubt that as the action on the table thickened, so would the crowds. Our poker tournament was intended as a draw, after all, and the casino’s operators would be remiss in their duties if they didn’t take the opportunity to sell drinks to onlookers and take side bets on our performances.

A quick glance around the room revealed we weren’t the last of the players to arrive, though we were close. Orrin, Theo, and Jimmy were there, as was Ghorza with Vlad and Johann with Humpty and Dumpty. The textile mill owner didn’t look pleased, but then again, he hadn’t before one of his men had gone missing. He must’ve suspected Lumpty’s death. Why else wouldn’t the man have reported back to him following whatever task Johann had set upon him?

In addition to the known commodities, I noticed a lone woman in the corner at one of the round tables. She was slight and of middling height, with raven dark hair cut in a pageboy, the bangs of which reached to just over her eyes—not that you could see them. Like Ghorza, she wore darkened spectacles, but with wide lenses rimmed in white. Rather than a dress, she wore a black turtleneck sweater and matching pleated slacks. She nursed a glass of clear liquid between her hands, probably water unless she preferred her vodka straight.