The Devil's Teeth (Ravenwood Mysteries #5) Page 3

Riot blinked. Both girls were staring up at him. He had stopped walking. Riot gave himself a mental shake. "Have you two ever tried gelato?"

  Sarah perked up at the word.

  "What is gelato?" Jin asked.

  Riot switched directions. "To the Italian quarter, then. We need fortification for tomorrow."

  "What happens tomorrow?" Sarah asked.

  "We're interviewing teachers."

  Sarah groaned. And Riot smiled. From gambler to gunfighter to father. His life had taken another surprising turn.

  6

  The Greek Teacher

  Small talk seemed unsuited to Ravenwood Manor's parlor. The guests whispered words like "foggy" and "uncommonly cold" and their nervous laughter fell hollowly in the room.

  A prim woman, who was gripping her hands tightly, cleared her throat. "Are all the rooms similarly decorated?" she asked.

  Three children sat on a settee. They were as different in color as they were in size and temperament: a dark little boy, a glaring Chinese girl, and a freckled white girl from Tennessee. And then, of course, there was the cat, Watson, who sat in the center of the room, flicking his tail.

  The freckled girl smiled pleasantly. "Not all of the rooms, Miss Hines." Sarah Byrne tapped a bell jar. It contained a shrunken head with a ruby in each eye socket. "This room is splendid for drawing."

  Miss Hines paled, and quickly averted her eyes from the obscene decoration. Sarah didn't think the woman all that much older than herself. Certainly younger than Miss Isobel.

  A second woman, Mrs. Famish, tore her eyes from an anatomy sketch. She was opposite of her name, and although severe, she was at least polite about it. "Do you draw, Miss Byrne?"

  "It's my favorite thing to do."

  "When you're not making doe eyes at Mr. Lotario," Tobias White said under his breath. Sarah discreetly jabbed an elbow in the boy's side.

  A quiet gentleman across the way kept glancing at a stuffed raven by his arm. He smoothed his tie and licked his lips, and then quickly shifted the dead animal a fraction to the right. The base was now aligned with the corner of the table. Sarah liked the bird. Its eyes always seemed to follow her around the room. Although the gentleman wasn't unpleasant to look at, she wasn't so sure about him. For a teacher, he seemed awfully nervous, and he had not yet given his name. No manners at all, her Gramma would have said.

  "This femur here—do you know what these marks are?" a second man standing by the mantel asked. Mr. Patten was not at all like the quiet man. His self-assured voice boomed in the room, and he looked down his nose at the trio on the settee. He had quite a long nose, and ears that made Sarah think of a mouse.

  "Teeth," Sao Jin bit out. "Human teeth. After they ate him, the headhunters of Sumatra painted it as a trophy.

  Watson yawned, displaying an impressive pair of canines.

  "It belonged to that fellow." Tobias nodded towards the shrunken head. His feet swung over the floor, his heels hitting the settee in a bored rhythm. "The owner of this house had his head chopped off. It was done in the dining room over there." He pointed to a set of closed doors. "Grimm, that's my brother, he don't talk, had to pull the panels off the walls to get the blood out."

  Miss Hines raised a handkerchief to her lips.

  "Tobias," Sarah whispered.

  "That is quite enough," Mr. Patten said. "You know what they say about liars, young man."

  "But it's true," Jin said. "There are restless spirits in this house."

  Miss Hines wobbled on her seat.

  Jin looked pleased. She turned her glare on the mousy man. Mr. Patten sniffed, and turned to Miss Hines. "Chinese are superstitious and uneducated," he assured.

  "That's awfully impolite," Sarah said. "Jin is my sister."

  "I am not," Jin growled.

  Sarah looked away from the smaller girl. "There's a piece of paper that says so," she muttered.

  "Yellow does not mix with white," Mr. Patten said.

  Jin smirked. She leaned forward, and turned a teapot so the handle faced the man. Sarah rose, and offered Miss Hines a white-frosted teacake. The woman looked like she might be sick, but manners prevailed and she set the plate in her lap.

  The door to the second parlor opened, and an impeccably dressed gentleman paused on the threshold. His raven hair gleamed, and a wing of white slashed across his temple.

  His dark gaze swept over the room. When his eyes passed over Sarah, the corners briefly creased. Sarah had noticed that he rarely smiled. 'Deadpan' was the word her gramma would have said, and then promptly warned Sarah to keep away from men like him. But Sarah knew better. Atticus Riot smiled with his eyes. It wasn't easy to see—not with his spectacles and his trim beard, but it was a feeling she got when he looked at her. His eyes were warm, and that was good enough for her.

  Riot looked to Tobias. "Will you show Miss Veld out?"

  Tobias hopped to his feet. Riot gave the young woman whom he had just interviewed a polite bow, and turned to the remaining applicants in the room. The numbers had dwindled. Only two men and two women remained.

  "As well as this gentleman here." He nodded to Mr. Patten "And the lady there." Miss Hines looked relieved. She hastily dropped her cake on its plate, offered farewell in a faint voice, and beat Tobias to the front door.

  "Has the position been filled?" Mr. Patten asked.

  Riot didn't answer.

  The gentleman persisted. "I haven't yet interviewed."

  "Good day." Riot gestured towards the exit.

  Mr. Patten gathered himself up to shout, but took one look at the bespectacled man in the doorway and thought better of it. Sarah could practically see hot air cooling around his ears. Mr. Patten pushed past Tobias on his way out.

  Riot looked to the remaining applicants: the young nervous man who hadn't offered a name and Mrs. Famish.

  "Mrs. Famish."

  The stout woman rose and marched into the second parlor. Riot winked at the children, and closed the doors. The subtle, prearranged signals they'd agreed on were proving helpful in weeding out applicants.

  "Mrs. Famish, this is Mrs. Lily White."

  Mrs. Famish didn't hesitate to shake Lily's hand. The women were of the same age, and carried themselves with equal confidence. "My references." Mrs. Famish handed her papers to Riot.

  He took the letter, and waited for both women to be seated before sitting in a chair beside his housekeeper.

  "How long have you lived in the city, Mrs. Famish?" Lily asked. Everything about Lily White was pleasant, from her eyes to her dimples and the gentle way she had of speaking.

  "I live in the east bay. I'm a school teacher in Oakland. But the prospect of a smaller class size, as well as room and board in the city was too much to pass."

  Lily smiled. "How long have you been a teacher?"

  "I've held that position since my husband died, some two years now. Before I married, I was a governess."

  Riot looked up from her references. "It says you speak French and Italian. Fluently?"

  "I do. And I teach the fundamentals: writing, reading, arithmetic, and the social graces."

  "How do you keep discipline?" Lily asked.

  "It depends on the child," Mrs. Famish answered. "I find a good swat with a ruler works for most. Other children respond to a stern word, additional work, or forced idleness in a corner."

  "We'd not allow the children to be struck. At all," Riot said. If striking a child produced results, then Jin would be an angel. And if Mrs. Famish attempted to strike Jin, even for a swat, Riot had little doubt the woman would find a knife in her gut.

  Mrs. Famish gave a nod. "I'll certainly abide by your wishes, but some form of discipline will be needed. We can discuss your preferences at a later time."

  "Are you capable of preparing the children for university?" Riot asked.

  "If you like…" Mrs. Famish hesitated. "Will Miss Sarah be attending university?" She sounded puzzled. "How many students will I be teaching?"

  "There will be at least five," Li
ly said. "My two sons and daughter, and Mr. Riot's daughters."

  "Your daughters, Mr. Riot?" Mrs. Famish asked, putting emphasizes on the plural.

  "Jin and Sarah."

  She leveled the universal school teacher look on Riot. "The Chinese girl?"

  "Yes."

  Mrs. Famish straightened. "I thought Sarah was being silly when she called Jin her sister," she explained. "I don't mind teaching negro children, but by law orientals must be segregated in classrooms. It's illegal to teach white and oriental together. Might I suggest a Chinese school?"

  "You'll be a private tutor, Mrs. Famish," Riot said.

  "The Chinese girl will slow down the other children."

  Lily raised her brows.

  "Doubtful," Riot said crisply. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Famish." He stood, and she followed suit, gathering her handbag.

  Mrs. Famish paused at the door. "Legal consequences aside, I would be willing to instruct her along with the others."

  "We'll do just fine," Lily said.

  Mrs. Famish squared her shoulders. "I'll tell you both plain, because I prefer to be blunt instead of beating around bushes. With your reputations, the race of the children, and restrictive disciplinary rules, I doubt you'll find a qualified teacher."

  "Our reputation?" Riot asked.

  "I'm speaking of your future wife, Mr. Riot. There are few in California who didn't follow the trial in the newspapers. Miss Amsel… well…" She looked at him. "I don't need to go on, I'm sure."

  "Thank you for your honesty," Riot said.

  "And that's all it is. Plain honesty." She extended a hand, and shook both his and Lily's again. It showed a level of professionalism the others had lacked. And she was right. Their reputations were affecting the children. There was the rub.

  "I'll contact you when we've made a decision." Riot opened the door for her. Three sets of eyes look up at him in a picture of innocence. All three looked bored. Too bored.

  Riot searched the room with a sweep of his eyes. There were no new signals indicating their disapproval. Only a nervous young man trying to blend with the furniture.

  "Would you show Mrs. Famish to the door?"

  Tobias flung his arm toward the door with enthusiasm, and when the two were gone, Riot turned to the final applicant. The young man's brown hair was thinning at the top. He looked in danger of going bald before his thirtieth birthday. His eyes seemed too large for his gaunt face, and the thin little mustache clinging to his upper lip did little to soften his features.

  "Mr…?" Riot fished for a name.

  Without answering, the young man bolted for the adjoining parlor, only to stop at the threshold. Riot watched with growing concern as the man stepped past the threshold, stepped back out, and then back inside.

  Sarah and Jin glanced at each other in alarm.

  Riot looked for any telling bulges under the coat or irregularities in the sleeves. There were none that he could see. Riot closed the door and turned to the nervous young man, who had already taken a seat. He wore gloves, and his hands lay flat on his thighs. His gaze was fixed on the window.

  Lily smiled, showing her dimples, but the gesture didn't seem to put him at ease.

  "References, Mr…?" Riot tried again.

  "Nicholas Stratigareas. Everyone calls me Nicholas." He had a soft voice, and he sat with a straight back, in perfect symmetry with the armrests, while his polished shoes were as straight and flat on the floor as could be.

  Riot didn't take his seat. Something was wrong. "You're not here about the teaching position, are you?"

  The man blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"

  Riot shifted, placing himself between Lily and the stranger. "Why are you here?"

  There was a plea in Nicholas’s large eyes. "I need your help, Mr. Riot."

  "I don't interview clients in my home. You'll have to make an appointment with my agency on Market Street."

  "I can't go to your agency."

  "And why is that?"

  Nicholas shifted on the seat. "Because I'm being watched."

  Silence followed the declaration. Riot waited for more, but the young man only kept glancing at the window. It looked out to the side garden, where San Francisco's Silver Mistress was caressing roses and jasmine, stirring lazily and taking her time to make way for the sun. Grimm was crouched in the garden, dead heading the rose bushes and clipping leaves. Miss Lily’s son had a gift with plants and animals. A quiet way about him. But Grimm's manner didn't seem to put Nicholas at ease.

  Lily leaned to the side, to look around Riot. "Who is watching you?" she asked.

  Nicholas’s Adam's apple bulged along his neck. "I don't know."

  Riot took a seat beside Lily. Out of habit he tucked his coat back, but he hadn't brought a revolver to interview teachers. He inclined his head to Lily, and she took his cue.

  "What do these people look like?" she asked. There was concern in her question.

  "I… don't know," Nicholas said.

  "How do you know you're being watched?" she asked gently.

  Nicholas swallowed. "I can feel them watching me."

  The intensity of this pronouncement raised Riot's hackles. "You're in my home, not my agency. I'm going to need more than a feeling, Mr. Nicholas."

  Nicholas glanced out the window. "Faces," he blurted out. "I'm sure of it. I saw faces. I keep my rooms tidy. My shoes were moved… a half inch to the right."

  The more Nicholas talked, the more unbalanced he appeared.

  "Do you have any enemies?" Riot asked.

  Nicholas shook his head.

  "What about jilted women? A jealous husband?"

  Nicholas flushed red. "No, Mr. Riot… I would never…" he stammered "…that is, I'm an honorable man." He glanced apologetically at Riot, but didn't meet his eyes.

  The newspapers had made a racket over Riot's affair with Isobel. One would have had to be living in a hole not to have heard of it. As a gambler, Riot's reputation was already in the gutter, but that didn't matter much at all—a man could still run for President of the United States with a questionable past. Isobel was a different matter. Respectable society viewed her as a woman of the underworld (which amused her no end), while the rest saw her as a local legend.

  Riot waited for Nicholas to expound; he did not. With the thin leather gloves and crisp sleeves, it was hard to read the man. His suit was store bought, but tailored to precise measurements. He wasn't a wealthy man, but clearly concerned about his appearance. Although the suit was worn around the edges, it was well tended. He was fastidious to the extreme. His long neck craned forward, and his shoulders were hunched. Riot had the impression that he spent most the day bent over a table. With the man's hands covered, Riot couldn't tell if he worked as an accountant or factory worker.

  "What is it you do for a living, Mr. Nicholas?"

  "I'm a druggist's apprentice."

  "Has there been any trouble at your pharmacy?"

  "None."

  "Have you recently inherited money?"

  Nicholas shook his head.

  "Have you witnessed a crime?"

  Again, a shake of his head. "No! Nothing at all has happened. The only thing that's changed is I'm being followed."

  "When did it start?" Lily asked.

  "A month ago."

  Lily took a patient breath. "How do you know?"

  "I saw a face in the window of my pharmacy. And then again, later that night, in my home."

  "In your home?" Riot asked.

  "Outside the garden window." He glanced towards the window again. Grimm had moved on from his roses.

  Lily leaned to the side, catching Nicholas’s attention. "What did this face look like?"

  "Obscured. Blurred. It was dark."

  "The skin color was dark?" Lily asked.

  "No… I mean I don't know. The window is tinted."

  "In your home?" she asked.

  "No, at the store where I work."

  "Where do you work?" Riot asked.
<
br />   "Joy's Drugstore on California and Kearney."

  Riot waited, but Nicholas wasn't one to give information away. "Have you seen the face again?"

  Nicholas shuddered. "Here and there. In window reflections, in a crowd, on the streetcar."

  "But you can't describe him?" Riot pressed.

  "I know I'm being followed!" His shout made Lily jump.

  Riot stood. "Mr. Nicholas, I suggest you leave now. Leave your address and I'll send a man around—"

  "It must be you." The intensity in Nicholas’s eyes was alarming. There was desperation in that gaze, and desperation was a close friend to madness.

  "What do you wish of me?" Riot asked.

  Nicholas smoothed his hair three times to compose himself. "I want you to make him stop watching me."

  Riot was on the verge of bodily escorting the man out of his home. But he waited, and watched. Nicholas wasn't threatening—he was terrified. Unfortunately, desperate men were capable of nearly anything.

  "I'll do what I can," Riot said softly. "But not here." He took a step forward, trying to catch his eyes, but Nicholas shied away from his gaze. "You may telephone my agency. You may approach me on the street. You may wire me. But never come here again. Do you understand, Mr. Nicholas?"

  The man licked his lips. "I do, Mr. Riot." Nicholas stood like a spring. "I do apologize. It's only that I need your help."

  "Do you have an address?"

  Nicholas shook his head. "I shouldn't have troubled you. I'm terribly sorry." Before Riot could escort him out, the man headed for the door, and Riot watched as he hurried down the street, head swiveling every which way.

  "Poor soul."

  Riot glanced at Lily, who had followed them onto the front porch. "I'm afraid this sort of thing will only get worse."

  "This sort of thing?" she asked.

  "Petty cases, delusional clients, missing dogs—the price of fame," he said dryly.

  "Did Mr. Ravenwood tolerate such things?"

  The edge of Riot's lip raised as he leaned against a column. "I never could tell. He'd scoff at murder cases, but drop everything for an odd detail as trivial as a missing button."

  "Do you think Mr. Nicholas is in danger?"