Ghost Ship: A Port Chatham Mystery (11 page)

Tucking the folder under one arm, she headed back to the small reading table, stopping on her way to snag the binder of newspapers from the weeks before the shipwreck. According to Seavey’s personal papers, Eleanor’s editorial campaign began around then. If Jordan could find the editorial mentioned by Seavey, it might give some clues as to who had been smuggling opium into Port Chatham then, and who might have had a reason to want Seavey out of the way. Then, using Seavey’s and the captain’s papers, she might be able to put the rest of the picture together.

Sitting down, she stacked her reading materials to one side and started sorting through newspaper issues. Minutes later, she had Eleanor’s editorial in hand.

Guarded Secrets

Union Wharf
July 10, 1893

Contraband Floods Our Shores, Ripping
at the Very Fabric of Our Beloved
Port Chatham Society

Opium is a drug many of us may have originally viewed as imbued with a mysterious and sinister beauty, capable of opening the doors to a never-before envisioned, dreamlike paradise. Now it threatens to destroy the very society we depend on as stalwart citizens. Not only does our community lose precious tax dollars from the frequently condoned practice of smuggling this contraband past revenue agents, but the drug itself, addictive in the most horrific sense, slowly and relentlessly destroys its users.

Businessmen well known to all in our town think nothing of increasing their profits through their illicit dealings in this drug. And community leaders turn a blind eye, enamored themselves with the perilous effects of smoking the drug, shielded from view in their own parlors. But as a society, we must stand up to the evil purveyors of this diabolical substance, declaring its import and use outlawed. We must impose stiff fines and jail sentences on those who would flaunt their wares, luring our children into their malodorous smoking dens of iniquity, turning those we love into emaciated, melancholy ghosts who can no longer contribute meaningfully to our town’s prosperity.

We must fight valiantly against the invasion of this devil drug, just as we fought against the invasion of those who introduced the drug to our shores. Let this letter be a warning that this newspaper—indeed, this voice of moral constancy for our community—will not stand mute while local businessmen continue to corrupt and ruin the lives of our citizens.

Standing in the early-morning light on the waterfront docks, Michael Seavey tossed the paper back to Remy. “Dispose of it,” he snapped. “The woman is unhinged, clearly misguided in her beliefs.”

“She grows more dangerous by the day,” the burly bodyguard cautioned.

“To date, she has made no accusations against specific individuals.” Michael slapped his gloves against his pants leg. “Nevertheless, I want to know the minute you hear of any other planned actions on her part.”

Remy’s expression turned sharklike. “You want me to send a message, Boss? I could pay a visit to one of her reporters—”

“No.” Michael hesitated. “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

Dismissing his bodyguard, Michael stood for a moment, regaining his temper and gazing up at the clipper ship he’d recently purchased. After a lengthy stay at the docks in Port Blakely, during which portions of its deck and hold had been completely rebuilt, he’d had it moved to Union Wharf for the finishing touches to the passenger suites. He’d already spent more than he’d intended to refurbish the vessel, but he was pleased with the result. By the time he was finished, he’d own the fastest ship sailing the local waters.

For his passengers, he’d provide the plushest accommodations, the finest opium, the most ornately designed smoking pipes. Just this week, he’d received a shipment of cloisonné enamel boxes and hand-carved jade smoking pipes from the Orient. Yes, overall, his plans had been executed quite smoothly.

A problem remained, however, that he now needed to rectify: Garrett had somehow managed to discover what he was up to. In the event that his partner was foolish enough—or cunning enough—to expose Michael’s plans to the authorities, further precautions were required.

From somewhere belowdecks, Michael could hear the sounds of someone wielding a hammer. “Ahoy! You there!” he shouted.

After a moment, a grizzled head popped over the railing.

“You’d be Grady MacDonough?”

“Yessir. Master ship’s carpenter, sir!”

“Come dockside, and bring the plans with you. We have much to discuss.”

Michael lit a cigar while he waited. The wharf bustled with activity. Sailors emerged from boardinghouses and brothels, stretching and squinting into the sun, eyes unaccustomed to the bright light after a night of debauchery. Tradesmen, dressed in neatly pressed suits, opened shops for the day’s business. Dockworkers unloaded cargo from flatbed wagons drawn by draft horses that pawed the wooden boards underneath their hooves, impatient to move on.

Gazing back toward his hotel, he caught sight of Jesse Canby, walking arm in arm along the boardwalk with a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. He frowned. Devil take it, he couldn’t place her … ah, that was it: Hattie Longren’s sister, the lovely young Charlotte.

As always, with thoughts of Hattie came the familiar rush of grief, followed swiftly by a surge of rage. Avenging her murder had done nothing to ease his distress. He should have been able to cast her forever from his mind, but all attempts to do so had failed. Damn and blast! What
ailed
him?

His gaze sharpened as Charlotte laughed gaily at something Jesse Canby had leaned down to murmur into her ear. It seemed the young Charlotte chose to spend her time with lost souls. In the case of Canby, she would be wise to remain more detached.

Eleanor Canby suddenly emerged from the crowds on the boardwalk, taking hold of Jesse’s arm. Charlotte stepped away, her expression guarded. Though Michael couldn’t hear what Eleanor was saying, it was clear that the older woman spoke with some urgency to Jesse, who shook his head vehemently. He jerked his arm from Eleanor’s grasp, then turned his back on her, holding his hand out to Charlotte. After a wary glance at Eleanor, she took Jesse’s hand, and the pair walked away, leaving Eleanor standing on the boardwalk, shoulders rigid.

MacDonough appeared from down below, bringing Michael’s attention back to the matter at hand. The carpenter scrambled down the rope ladder hung over the side of the ship, a thick roll of plans tucked under one arm.

Michael took them and spread them out, studying them intently. MacDonough waited, shifting from one foot to the other, his expression anxious.

“You’ve begun work on the great cabin, I see.”

“Yessir. We’re ready to install the mirrors and trim.”

“I will expect your very best work for this space. The wall panels should be rosewood, and here”—Michael pointed—“I want you to install a skylight to provide natural light for those who remain in the cabin during the voyage.” He glanced up. “Perhaps you can find an artisan who can provide a work of leaded glass to frame into the skylight? Nothing with color, mind you—I want clear glass to allow the maximum light to shine through.”

The carpenter looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve a friend in the trade whom I think might be just right for the commission.”

“I expect a fair return for my money, but buy me the best, do you understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good.” Michael used his index finger to indicate a particular section of the drawings. “I think it would be best to install a coach roof here over the poop deck, to protect passengers from the harsher weather elements. Something rather whimsical yet tasteful, perhaps with a carved fascia?” He flipped a page to review the details for the stateroom furnishings. “And the settees in all the cabins must be upholstered in the finest velvet. My guests will recline in splendor, not in squalor on filthy bunk beds, as they would in the local opium dens.”

“Of course, sir.”

Michael turned his attention back to the great cabin, carefully keeping his tone casual. “I’d like secret compartments—double walls, if you will—built into the outside hull, accessible here and here.” Again, he pointed on the plans. “There must be no indication that the walls are hollow in these locations—perhaps you can hang decorative mirrors that conceal some kind of invisible doors?”

MacDonough rubbed his chin with a hand sporting chipped and blackened fingernails. “I think it can be done, sir.”

“Don’t
think
, man,” Michael snarled. “Just do it.”

The carpenter flinched, then cleared his throat. “Double-wall construction will add weight, which will drag on the speed of the ship,” he warned.

“Then find a way to compensate for that added weight elsewhere. I will not tolerate any sluggishness.” Michael pinned him with his coldest stare. “You alone will work on these compartments, do you understand? Not a word of this to
anyone
. If rumors of the existence of the secret compartments spread, I will know exactly who was the source.”

“No, sir.” MacDonough paled. “I mean, yes, sir.”

Michael straightened and rolled up the plans. “You’ll be meeting the original deadline, I assume?”

“No problem, sir.”

“Excellent.” Michael’s attention was drawn by the approach of footsteps on the dock.

Mona Starr walked toward them, stopping a few feet away. An imposing woman of middle age, she dressed modestly yet expensively in forest green muslin, carrying a matching silk parasol. Her face was artfully made up, cleverly disguising the ravages of her profession. He inclined his head. “Miss Starr. You’ve picked a fine day to be out for a walk.”

“Yes indeed, Mr. Seavey.”

Though Mona Starr was the proprietor of Port Chatham’s most successful house of ill repute, Michael held only admiration for her. Her girls were treated fairly and given excellent medical care. In addition, Mona was a generous benefactor to the town, donating substantial funds to numerous community projects.

Not, of course, he thought wryly, that Mona’s generosity didn’t pay her back tenfold. Local authorities rarely targeted the Green Light.

She lifted her gaze to admire the ship that towered over them. “She’s beautiful. I trust you’re happy with your renovations?”

“Yes, quite happy. I was just discussing the final appointments with the ship’s carpenter. She’ll be ready for her maiden voyage within weeks.”

“Jesse Canby tells me you plan to offer accommodations for passengers of, shall we say, a particular persuasion.”

“My accommodations will be elegant as well as discreet,” Michael allowed. “I saw Jesse just a bit ago, out walking with Charlotte Walker.”

A slight frown marred Mona’s features. “Hattie Longren’s younger sister, yes. I fear she isn’t taking seriously my advice to steer clear of Jesse.”

“Canby is slowly destroying himself,” Michael acknowledged. “Yet he still possesses the charm and wit to turn a young girl’s head. I’d hate to see her dragged down with him.”

“As would I,” Mona agreed. “Charlotte is well loved by a number of my regular customers; she can have a long and successful career, should she learn to curb her impulsiveness. I fear her sister’s death weighs heavily on her, creating a sadness deep within that she fights against.”

“In that respect, she is in good company,” Seavey murmured, causing Mona to give him a sharp look. He shook off the thought, continuing. “I felt I should mention the liaison between the two, in case you weren’t aware of it. I suspect Canby doesn’t have long now before his decline becomes impossible to conceal. I’d hate for Charlotte to become unnecessarily attached, only to lose yet one more dear friend.”

Mona nodded. “I will see what I can do to persuade her that her friendship comes with certain risks. Unfortunately, barring Jesse from my establishment is probably not wise, but I will do what I can to influence the situation.” She appeared to study her parasol, then gave Michael a thoughtful frown.

“Pray, speak your mind, madam,” he urged.

Michael was aware that Mona had steered well clear of him in the past, considering him extremely dangerous. In the days leading up to Hattie’s murder, when she and Mona had become reluctant allies of a sort, trying to influence events taking place on the waterfront, Mona had even gone so far as to warn Hattie to beware of Michael. Mona’s harsh opinion of him had eased, however, once Charlotte had gone to work at the Green Light and revealed Michael’s role in the events surrounding Hattie’s murder and ensuing investigation.

Mona continued to hesitate, studying him warily. Michael waited, in no hurry to influence her. People believed of him what they would—he’d never found it profitable to attempt to change their minds.

All around them, the noise of the busy wharf ebbed and flowed as dockworkers unloaded ships and placed cargo on wagons. Street vendors hawked their wares to sailors coming ashore; saloons opened their doors in preparation for serving rotgut whiskey to those who couldn’t afford anything better. Whores strolled along the docks in their finery, hoping to relieve the watermen of their wages.

“Very well.” Mona finally nodded, seeming to have reached the conclusion that it was safe to confide in him. “I hesitate to insert myself into your business affairs, but I feel you should know that your man Garrett has recently taken an increased interest in Charlotte. And though all my customers comment on her improving talents in the bedroom, as well as her sweetness and willingness to please, I suspect there’s more to Garrett’s interest than meets the eye.”

Michael frowned. Surely Garrett had no knowledge of Charlotte’s family connections to Hattie. Or of the potential leverage he could apply, given Michael’s attachment to Hattie at one time. “I will look into the matter,” he said at last. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Mona inclined her head, her elaborately coiffed auburn hair shining handsomely in the sunlight. “I suspect we both understand well the advantages of keeping the other informed. There are those who would be pleased to see either of us fail.”

Though her warning was necessarily oblique, he took it to heart. He executed a slight bow. “Pray enjoy the remainder of your outing, Miss Starr. I am glad to have had the pleasure of your company.”

Her pale blue eyes warmed a bit. “Yes, indeed, Mr. Seavey. I intend to do just that.”

As he watched her walk away, Remy appeared silently at his side.

“Inspector Yardley of Customs awaits you in your hotel suite, Boss. He has a matter of some urgency he wishes to discuss.”

The sound of a throat clearing came from behind them. “Sir?”

Michael turned back, impatient. MacDonough stood a few yards away, looking nervous. “What is it, man?”