Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Oh, bloody hell. I know what this is.” Understanding suddenly dawns on Jack’s face, summoning a loud curse from his lips. He turns to glare at Lee. “Let me guess. You’re dating someone new, and your new beau happens to like cats, yeah?”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Wait. This is about the lord from the ball?”
“Oh, mate. You didn’t.” Jamie tosses his hands up and dumps himself into the armchair. “You couldn’t just buy him some flowers, for fuck’s sake?”
“This is what he does,” Jack explains to me while still glowering at Lee. “Celeste says he’s—what does she call it again?”
“Boyfriend chameleon,” supplies Jamie.
“That’s it. He gets smitten with a bloke and takes on his interests. Last year, he dated a guy who raised poisonous snakes. Before that, it was the semipro extreme sports guy.”
Jamie starts to laugh. “Ah, right. Hey, Lee, whatever happened to that BMX bike you spent two thousand pounds on?”
“Kindly fuck off, Jamie,” Lee says cheerfully.
Oh dear. I swallow a laugh. “It’s good to explore different interests, I guess. But how did we end up with this cat?”
“Yes, Lee, how?” Jack says sarcastically.
Cornered, Lee starts talking very fast. “I admit it was a bit rash. We were in bed last night— ”
Jamie scoffs. “Of course.”
“And Eric said he was flying to France next weekend for a cat show. He’s into pedigrees and certain breeds and the like. He has a whole, I don’t know what you’d call it, stable of show cats. They win money, if you can believe that. It’s massive. And, well, I wanted a trip to Paris. So I might have said I was into cats as well. And then before I knew it, I’d spun an elaborate story about our cat Hugh and spent all day going to every shelter in the city looking for something that could pass for a red mackerel Persian.”
“That’s not a fish, mate. It’s a cat,” Jack barks at him.
Lee rolls his eyes, exasperated. “It’s a kind of cat.”
“Am I mental? A mackerel is a fish, right?”
The boys proceed to go at it again over our fish cat, just as Hugh emerges from under the sofa to jump into my lap. The long-haired ball of fur curls up, tail over its eyes, and makes itself quite at home.
“Jamie,” I hiss. “It worked!”
“Don’t get too attached,” he cautions. “We’re not keeping it.”
“We’re keeping it,” Lee insists.
“Lee, mate,” Jack grumbles. “Let’s be reasonable here.”
The guys are still bickering over Hugh’s fate when the cat and I head upstairs to take a nap before dinner.
29
A FEW DAYS LATER, I’M BACK IN THE LIBRARY. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A long time, I’m working on a paper that isn’t about Josephine or those damned interminable Tulleys, and it’s a nice palate cleanser. Just a standard literary theory and criticism essay I can otherwise do in my sleep.
From my seat near the entrance to the archives and Mr. Baxley’s fortress, I spy him approaching me out of the corner of my eye.
Stiffly, as if afraid to be seen speaking to me, he stands beside the table.
“Was my typing too loud?” I ask with a grin.
“You’ll not be requesting access to the special sections today?”
I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone fail so hard at trying to act casual.
I set my laptop aside. “So you did miss me.”
“Am I to conclude you’ve completed your research then?”
He looks like he’s in pain, like the effort of engaging in human contact is almost too agonizing to endure. I worry for his health if he attempts to keep this up. It’s sort of sweet, though. I had no idea he cared so much.
“Not really, no. Without more clues to chase down, I don’t think there’s anything else in this building that can help me.”
“Is that right?” The mask slips, an expression of concern overtaking his usual scowl of contempt. “That’s unfortunate.”
With my foot, I push out a chair for him to join me.
Several beats tick by.
Just when I’ve given up, Mr. Baxley sits down. While still letting me know with his eyes drifting elsewhere that he’s only half interested in this conversation.
“I was able to find out that Robert and William Tulley were at odds right before the Victoria sinking,” I tell him. “I don’t know about what, but the hidden letter from Josephine about being torn between two men would absolutely be a motive for a falling-out between the brothers. I still have no idea if William was alone when he boarded the ship, as he was added to the passenger list at the last minute. I managed to locate the office where all the records for the Northern Star Line are archived—that’s the shipping company that owned the Victoria. A clerk there is trying to track down any documents related to the ship that haven’t been donated to museums. Maybe those will shed light on whether Josephine was ever on that boat.”