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Mephistopheles rubbed his brow. “Jealousy. It means ill will of the people surrounding you.”
“It makes sense, given her letter,” Thomas said.
“Letter?” I moved to Thomas’s side and noticed a square of paper in his hand. He glanced over and handed me the note while Uncle moved around the tank, taking in the details. I quickly scanned the paper, pulse galloping as I read the hurried script.
I reread the letter, brows drawn together. “Which girl is she speaking of?”
“That’s the question of the hour, Wadsworth.” Thomas lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps she’s discussing something that occurred off the boat. In fact”—he pointed to the second line—“I guarantee that whatever this refers to happened before any of them boarded this craft. I believe this is our murderer’s motive.”
Understanding dawned bright as the sunrise. “All we have to do is figure out who this refers to and then we’ll have our murderer.”
Mephistopheles sidled up to my other side and snorted. “Oh, is that all? That shouldn’t be difficult in the slightest.”
Thomas eyed him in a way that had me already shaking my head. “Perhaps not to someone such as yourself,” he said. “However, someone with a bit more wit and intelligence can make connections. Observe.” Thomas gently took the letter back and cleared his throat. “‘While she might have been pretty for a street wretch…’ Based on this line, one, with a semi-intelligent slant, might deduce that the ‘girl’ in question worked a profession that would be below Lady Crenshaw’s station, but not so low as to prevent them from interacting. W
hich leads one to consider a few possibilities.”
“You’re unbearable,” Mephistopheles muttered.
I smiled. “He’s only just beginning.”
Thomas ignored the commentary and ticked off probable jobs on his fingers. “Selling food. Selling trinkets. Selling ribbons or silks. Given Lady Crenshaw’s status, I doubt she’d be the one doing any shopping for food supply. It would be too far beneath her. That task would be left to the kitchen staff. Next, I cannot picture her buying a trinket that didn’t come from a more ‘suitable’ shop. Exempli gratia, she would not bother with anything that didn’t cost a significant coin to boast about with the ladies at her weekly tea. Flowers, ribbons, or silks might be the key. It would show her wealth and ability to spend money on frivolous things.”
Mephistopheles shook his head. “You’re quite smart, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” Thomas said. “Is that supposed to be insulting? Whatever will you comment on next; the golden flecks in my eyes? The sharpness of my jaw?”
“The extraordinary size of your ego?”
An impish grin slowly spread across Thomas’s face. “It’s not the only prodigious thing I can boast about.”
“Ignoring that sentiment, you’re saying if this were a story, you’d be the hero, correct?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thomas said, appearing truly offended. “I’m dark and mysterious. And as likely to kiss or kill you on a whim. Does that sound heroic to you? Not many heroes are good-looking masterminds. I, however, have harnessed my dark talents for the greater good.”
“Ah. I understand now.” Mephistopheles’s lips twitched. “You’re a lunatic.”
“I prefer ‘unpredictable.’ It’s got a nicer ring to it.”
I cleared my throat. “Honestly, you’re both infantile. Can we please focus on the poor woman in the tank?”
Blessedly, Jian, Houdini, and Andreas picked that moment to come backstage. Each of them blanched at the sight of the corpse but, to their immense credit, managed to tear their gazes away and not be sick. I noticed Anishaa huddling just behind the curtain with Sebastián and Cassie, on their faces matching expressions of shock and terror.
Harry gave Mephistopheles a steady look. “Everyone’s talkin’ about layin’ low until New York, then leavin’ for good.”
The ringmaster’s face set into a grim expression. He seemed almost resigned to the fact that his dreams were beyond salvaging. Something tugged deep within my center, longing to fix this whole situation. Before Mephistopheles could comment, I stepped forward.
“We’re close to solving the murders,” I said, raising my voice so they’d hear, hoping I sounded much more confident about that fact than I felt. “We’ve already discovered the profession of the girl Lady Crenshaw described in her letter. It shouldn’t take too much longer to connect more pieces.”
I glanced at each performer, then flicked my gaze to Mephistopheles. It was hard to discern anything for certain behind his mask, but I could have sworn I saw gratitude in his eyes.
“The show must go on,” I said. “It’s what you all do. Give the passengers a bit of hope and distraction—they need it, and you—more than ever. Let’s make the finale something worth remembering.”
THIRTY-FOUR
SPECTACULAR SUSPECT
FIRST-CLASS PROMENADE
