The Queen of Diamonds Read online

  The Queen Of Diamonds

  Part 2 of the Red Dog Conspiracy

  By Patricia Loofbourrow

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given to others. If you would like to share this book please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Available in print at most online retailers

  Copyright 2016 Patricia Loofbourrow

  Cover art copyright 2016 Anita B. Carroll

  Map copyright 2016 Amber Morant

  All rights reserved.

  Other books by Patricia Loofbourrow:

  The Jacq of Spades: Part 1 of the Red Dog Conspiracy

  This is a work of fiction.

  Published by Red Dog Press, LLC

  To Andy, who gave me a chance.

  Table of Contents

  [Map] The City of Bridges

  The Headline

  The Luncheon

  The Regrets

  The Memories

  The Problem

  The Dinner

  The Conversation

  The News

  The Danger

  The Distraction

  The Disguise

  The Investigator

  The Feds

  The Deception

  The Idea

  The Truth

  The Ploy

  The Blackmail

  The Crisis

  The Betrayal

  The Records

  The Ambush

  The Stalemate

  The Liaison

  The Meeting

  The Reality

  The Message

  The Briefcase

  The Train

  The Zeppelin

  The Aftermath

  Appendix

  The Four Families

  Other Players

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Note from the Author

  The City of Bridges

  (not to scale)

  The Headline

  A domed city split by four rivers, an island at its center. In the southeast quadrant, a white mansion stood on 192nd street in a heavy downpour. On the second story, a folded newspaper lay atop a tea-table.

  I sat at the tea-table gazing at the curtain of water formed by the rain as it passed over the eaves. Thunder cracked, whip-like, as lightning flashed. Black clouds hung in the early morning sky.

  Seven days ago, the gentleman investigator Blaze Rainbow and I rescued twelve-year-old David Bryce from his kidnappers. Could I ever forget the sound of blood dripping, the gore splattered on white walls, the screams and moans of dying men?

  This past week in my sickbed, I had ample time to consider this matter. The men I killed had friends, families, people who loved them. Could I have found another way to escape that basement and avoid whatever horrors Frank Pagliacci and Jack Diamond planned for us?

  A coughing fit struck, and when it passed, I drew my robe around me, exhausted. I had been ill ever since I was caught in the storm after delivering little David to his mother. Between sickness and my more womanly troubles of a monthly nature, the past week had been miserable. I lit a cigarette, gulped down honey-lemon tea, and unfolded the newspaper, hoping to find something more pleasant. Then I saw the headline:

  Alcatraz Coup 100th Anniversary Celebration Planned

  Clubbs Host Zeppelin Station Spectacular

  Back home in the Pot, March 1st was a day of mourning. Here, they celebrated.

  The Pot was once the most beautiful part of the city of Bridges. A hundred years ago, Xavier Alcatraz betrayed his king, Polansky Kerr. With the help of the first Acevedo Spadros, he slaughtered my people. Today the Pot lay in ruins, its inhabitants despised. The idea of celebrating their treachery almost made me throw the paper away.

  But then I discovered this article:

  'Miracle Gem' Health Benefits

  A Breakthrough in Modern Medicine

  The esteemed physician Dr. Overs Gocow of London presented a report at the Royal Academy of Science General Conference Tuesday with the results of his research into the spinel gemstone. According to his studies, this jewel provides benefit in various illnesses and a general health improvement to those without malady.

  Dr. Gocow produced a document specifying illnesses treated with each gem color, with recipes for various tonics and elixirs. His document was received with acclaim from the physicians at the conference, who were interested in conducting their own research on the subject.

  Spinel is a naturally appearing gem, dug from the earth near the tonic spring near Agree, at the outpost located in Old Montana. It is thought that the gem's proximity to the tonic spring may contribute to its beneficial properties.

  Being ill myself (and weary of it), I found this article fascinating. If I obtained a gem, perhaps I might avoid illness in the future. Where might I purchase one? I searched for more about these gems, and found this article in the financial section:

  Gemstone Merchants Posting Record Sales

  Trade in the so-called 'miracle' gemstone spinel has been brisk over the past two weeks, with the price of the gems going up weekly. The Bridges Daily editor, Mr. Acol Durak, interviewed the noted Market Center financier Tenace Mitchell:

  AD: What are the future prospects for spinel sales?

  TM: This is the best investment in decades.

  AD: How did you come to this conclusion?

  TM: Any time you have a new product combined with a scientific breakthrough, the opportunity for profit is good. In this case, where the product brings clear health benefits, the price can only go up.

  We in Bridges are fortunate to have leading gemologist Dame Anastasia Louis with us. She obtained license to produce the tonics and elixirs according to Dr. Gocow's specifications to be shipped for sale to the rest of the country.

  AD: So this discovery will bring jobs and commerce to Bridges as well.

  Could this be true? I didn't recall the name Tenace Mitchell, but I had no knowledge of finance. I searched the paper further. In the classifieds, a large advertisement read:

  Louis Gemstones And Fine Jewelry

  Cut, Polished, And Set By

  "The Queen of Diamonds"

  Dame Anastasia Louis, Expert Gemologist

  Featuring "The Miracle Gem"

  15116 Snow, Spadros

  This sounded terribly exciting. Dame Anastasia had been one of my informants for years. Not only that, she lived on our very street. Why had she not once told me of it?

  My lady's maid Amelia Dewey came in. Amelia was short, middle-aged, and plump, with brown eyes and graying black hair. "Ready for me to draw your bath, mum?"

  Being a "grand lady" (as Amelia put it once) was mostly a matter of routine. Wake, tea, newspaper, toast, bath, hair, dress, prayers, breakfast, morning meeting, and so on. Running a home with several dozen servants and supporting my husband in the Business was close to a full time job. Today, though, my husband Tony made it clear my only duty was to make myself presentable for luncheon today. Joseph and Josephine Kerr were invited, and their visit needed to go well.

  The Kerrs and I had once been the closest of friends. And my relationship with Joe had become so much more. But time seemed to have put distance between us, at least for their part. At our last meeting I was drunk, and behaved rudely. This luncheon was our attempt to learn how much damage had been done, and if possible, to make amends before the Queen's Day dinner.

  I stood. "Yes, I'm ready." I felt I
had already survived the worst I might ever face. No matter what happened, I knew I could handle it.

  I was a fool.

  The Luncheon

  I clung to Tony's arm, exhausted from my illness, eager to see Joe and Josie, yet afraid at the same time. I was so rude at our last meeting, yet they didn't dare refuse our invitation. Had I offended my friends past forgiveness?

  But when our butler John Pearson opened the parlor door, I knew something was terribly wrong.

  The parlor itself looked perfectly normal: white paneling, pale blue sofa, white coffee table.

  Josephine Kerr sat, face in her hands, alone. She glanced up as Tony and I entered. Her skin was pink, her curly blond hair plastered around her face, her blue eyes red and full of tears.

  Now, looking back, I'm ashamed to say that all I thought of was Joe. Where was her twin? My heart began pounding at the thought that something might have befallen him.

  I glanced at Tony. He nodded, his blue eyes somber as he turned to go, but Josie said, "Please, Mr. Spadros, stay. I sorely need your counsel."

  Josephine Kerr was a year older than I. As a young girl, she led the High-Low Split, the most notorious (and now only) street gang in the Spadros section of the Pot. The girl who taught me to fight with knives in the streets and alleyways of the worst section of Bridges. The woman groomed to run her grandfather's estate, chosen over her twin brother Joseph.

  Josie never asked anyone for counsel. I'd known Josie since I was born, and I'd never seen her cry before.

  I took Tony's hand to keep mine from shaking, and drew him to sit across from her. "Josie, what's wrong?"

  Her gaze was both horrified and bereft. "Oh, Jacqui," she said, "Joe's been hurt."

  I felt an enormous sense of relief. Hurt. I feared from her demeanor that he had died.

  Tony ran a hand through black hair. "How? What happened?"

  Josie wiped her face with a handkerchief. She took a deep breath, and let it out. Then she spoke, slowly and with hesitation:

  "We were in the Hart countryside, a week ago. The day was ... so ... beautiful! Joe and six of his friends rode beside the carriage on horseback, while I and three of my friends rode inside.

  "You know how Joe is, Jacqui, always sporting. We passed a field, and he told the carriage to stop. It was time for luncheon so I asked if he wanted to eat there. He did, so the ladies and I began taking out the blankets and baskets with the help of our driver.

  "Joe was still a-horse, and challenged the men to race across the field to a thicket. It wasn't far, oh, maybe a hundred yards off. I told him not to, Jacqui, I did. He knew nothing of the field, or of its dangers, but his friends joined in, urging him on, and off they went. I screamed for him to stop, but they raced — full on. I felt terrified for his horse, and I was right: just before the thicket, his horse stepped in a hole and threw him ... at speed."

  I gasped, stomach churning, and Tony squeezed my hand.

  Josie nodded. "He went into the thicket and flew over. But beyond that was an embankment, with a stone wall at its base, and then a terrible far drop."

  I leaned forward. What happened?

  "A stand of trees and bushes lay there. A large branch went through his leg, then he hit the wall at the bottom of the embankment so hard it cracked. The top part of the wall had blood all over it."

  It seemed incomprehensible. He hit a wall?

  Josie shook her head, face in her hands. "He hung ... by his leg ... over a cliff. I still can't believe it. That branch was the only thing which kept him from going into certain death."

  Joe might have died? "A week ago?"

  When Josie spoke, she sounded afraid and defensive. At the time, I felt ashamed: I imagined she thought I blamed her. "It was terrible, Jacqui. A friend spoke to me and I glanced away right as the horse threw him. Then the men began to cry out for help, screaming for a doctor. I felt terrified Joe might be dead. I told the driver to unhitch the horse and go for a doctor, then my friends and I ran across the field to him. He lay in the branches, unmoving, blood dripping from his wounds. The men shouted and wept, distraught at the thought he might be dead.

  "It took us the rest of the day to bring him home. We were far in the countryside. It took two hours for a doctor to arrive. Thank the Floorman the other horses were unhurt, for we had to send for ropes so we could climb down to him. We had to saw the branch with our pocket knives to free him, to bring him safely away from the cliff. After the doctor came, we lowered him to Joe's side so the doctor could remove the branch from his leg. Oh," her voice broke, "I can still recall how Joe screamed as we did so." She wiped tears from her cheeks. "We got a stretcher down to him so we might hoist him up. It took ten men to do so. The horse Joe rode had to be put down, it screamed as much as he did. It was terrible. Its leg ...." She shuddered. "Thank the Dealer Joe's friend had a pistol to release the poor animal from its pain."

  "Oh, Josie." I went to her, holding her as she sobbed in my arms. After she calmed herself, I asked, "How can we help?"

  But Josie didn't seem to hear me. "I came myself, the next day, once the doctor said he would live. I knew you'd want to see him, but they said you weren't home. Didn't they send my card?"

  "They did." I sighed. "I've been ill. I'm sorry. If I would've known it was so serious, I would have come straight-away."

  Josie stared at me. "You're ill? I'm so sorry. I should never have come." She began to rise. "I —"

  "Of course you should have come," Tony said. "You've done everything well. Sit, please. Mrs. Spadros is well now, and feels strong. We should have luncheon together, as we planned. Let's go to the veranda. The sight of the gardens will be relaxing." He paused. "When you feel able to, Miss Kerr, of course."

  She sat staring at her hands. "How did you come to fall ill?"

  Tony smiled. "She went boating with Helen Hart. Can you believe it? All these years the Harts have been estranged from her, then invited to luncheon twice now. They were caught in that rainstorm last week and she's been sick with coughing and fever ever since — until today, of course. What terrible luck."

  Josie stared at me unmoving, and I felt a spike of panic. I hadn't been with Helen Hart that day. Did she know I lied? If so, what would she do?

  But she nodded without expression. "The same day we were in the Hart countryside. The day Joe fell. I saw the storm far off over the city while we waited for help to arrive." She took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

  I took her arm as we went out of the parlor, Tony following behind. Our butler met us in the entryway.

  "Pearson," Tony said, "we'll take luncheon on the veranda."

  "Yes, sir." A middle-aged man with thinning brown hair, John Pearson strode ahead of us. We ambled after him, past the white paneled doors to Tony's library, his study, my study, and the breakfast room.

  Josie said nothing as we walked, which was just as well: my mind was in turmoil. Joe was terribly hurt, for a week now, and I hadn't been there for him.

  Of course the staff gave me her card. But they wouldn't have known to tell me of the situation even if Josie shared it, which she wouldn't have. Josie was a most private woman; she must trust us very much to let her distress show, especially in front of Tony, who she barely knew.

  The sun peeked through the clouds as we passed the breakfast room windows. The twigs in the garden glistened as we turned right, towards the dining hall. The veranda doors were at the left side of the large white hall, halfway down the room. A maid opened the glass-paneled doors for us.

  The air was warm for this February afternoon, and smelled of damp earth. My bird, white with blue-gray markings, chirped at us from its large white cage as we emerged. Amelia's son walked far out in the meadow with our bomb-sniffer dog, Rocket.

  Josie seemed to notice none of this, going straight to the table. Tony pulled her chair out, then pulled out a chair for me to her left. The wide gray roof hadn't let a drop from that morning's storm reach the table, so the chairs were clean and dry.

  Pear
son emerged. Two of his sons brought out a side table. Maids followed with serving platters and tablecloths, and began setting the table. The maids set out large white service plates and tea cups, with a small bowl of rosemary sprigs in the center. The scent of rosemary wafted in the air. I rose to pour the tea, then returned to my seat. Josie continued to stare dully at the table.

  Pearson's daughter Mary came to the table in her maid uniform, black with a spotless white apron, and curtsied. "Smoked ham, roasted new potatoes, baked beans with fat pork."

  Josie nodded. I smiled up at Mary. "Thank you."

  Mary curtsied and began placing filled white luncheon plates edged in black atop the larger ones.

  Tony smiled at me. It was then I realized how nervous I was.

  Josie let out a weary sigh, and sipped her tea.

  We began eating. My bird chirped, another answered.

  "You mentioned that you needed my counsel," Tony said. "How may I help?"

  Josie nodded, not meeting our eyes. "The horse Joe rode was valuable, a beautiful sorrel. It belonged to my grandfather. Mr. Charles Hart gave the grand-sire to him when he first sponsored my grandfather into the Hart lands. My grandfather loved the horse's offspring dearly, as he does Mr. Hart himself." She took a deep breath, let it out. "My grandfather is distraught at the loss, almost as much as with Joe's injuries. But ... we only had the two horses to begin with. We have no way to replace it in a timely manner, and Mr. Hart has done so much for us already ..."

  Tony nodded. "Would it help if I spoke with Mr. Hart —?"

  A spike of fear. What if Tony learned I had never met with Helen Hart? That I lied to him all those times?

  "Or would one of our horses help? Until you can get another."

  Josie brightened. "Oh, Mr. Spadros, a horse would help so much. Just until we can replace it. We're fortunate that his sire still lives. He is our carriage-horse, old, yes, but reliable. We can get a foal from him in the spring, I'm sure."