“I CAN’T BELIEVE he’s gone.” Jake stood at the window of the observation deck as the airship rose above London. The Thames snaked below them, but the smoky air obscured London’s best-known landmarks. Nicki laid a hand on his arm, her violet eyes searching his.

“I’m so sorry, Jake.”

Jake glanced away. Nicki was his mother’s niece, daughter to Jake’s eldest aunt, and right now, seeing her was a painful reminder of what his mother must be enduring. He swallowed hard.

Rick pressed a glass of scotch into Jake’s hand. “Drink this. You’ve had a hell of a day.”

The hum of the airship’s engines filled the silence. The Allegheny Princess was the largest airship of the company’s fleet, designed for transatlantic trips and named after one of the three rivers of New Pittsburgh. Its pilot, Cullan Adair, was the best in the skies. The Allegheny Princess was outfitted as comfortably as any luxury ocean liner, but its passengers were an exclusive few, the family and operatives of Brand and Desmet.

Jake pushed away from the railing and crossed to one of the leather chairs in the airship’s lounge. He dropped heavily into the seat, still numb with shock.

“How can George be certain Uncle Thomas was murdered?” Nicki asked as she sipped a gin and tonic.

Rick grimaced. “Considering our afternoon, and the fact that we were nearly all gunned down, it doesn’t seem that outlandish, does it?” He swirled the cognac in his glass. “The real questions are: why were we attacked, who gave the orders, and is there any connection to our most recent acquisition?”

Jake looked down at the amber liquid in his glass. “Father was always afraid something like this would happen. Moving priceless antiques. It’s too much of a temptation.”

“I have a feeling that this time, it’s different,” Rick replied. “That attack in London was too planned, and had way too many men, for the usual profiteers. Andreas paid a small fortune for that urn, but I’m wondering if the attack wasn’t about something else, something he and your father were mixed up in, and someone thinks we know too much.”

“When we don’t know anything at all,” Nicki said with a sigh. She settled back in her chair.

Andreas Thalberg, their client, was a man of many secrets. Jake was certain Thomas Desmet had known why the urn was so important, and when Jake returned to New Pittsburgh, he intended to find out.

“Andreas warned us that it was going to be a dangerous buy,” Rick said, leaning back in his armchair. “Apparently, the urn caught the eye of some collectors who are used to getting what they want by any means.”

“He’s sent us on dangerous purchases before, and no one got murdered,” Jake grumbled. “We always expect an ambush. And we’ve run into obsessive collectors before, but no one’s ever dared to make such an open attack.” He looked at Rick. “I think we should assume that this isn’t over. That means New Pittsburgh isn’t a safe haven from whoever—or whatever—is after us.”

“Did Andreas give you any hint about what’s so important about the damn urn?” Nicki demanded. Nicki’s American-born mother, Jake’s aunt, had married a wealthy French textile manufacturer. Although raised in Paris and educated at an exclusive Parisian finishing school, Nicki was, Jake thought affectionately, completely American at heart.

“The London trip came up unexpectedly,” Jake said, taking a sip of his scotch and letting it burn down his throat. It did nothing to numb his grief. “Cullan barely had time to get the airship ready before we had to leave.” He smiled sadly at Nicki. “I don’t think George expected you to be joining us for the return trip.”

Nicki shrugged. “Ah well. Probably a good thing, given what’s happened. Aunt Catherine will need an extra hand. I’ll send a telegraph to let my family know about the change in plans.”

Jake sighed. “I can’t even imagine how Mother’s taking all this.”

“Your mother is one of the strongest, smartest women I know,” Rick replied. “She’ll get through this. We’ll make certain of it.”

“Back to Andreas,” Jake said, steering the conversation toward safer territory. He felt his control wavering, and he had no desire to break down in front of his friends. Jake shifted, maneuvering to get comfortable in his chair. At just shy of six feet tall, Jake Desmet was a few inches shorter than Rick, with a lean, athletic build. Jake’s wavy brown hair framed pleasantly angular features and intensely blue eyes that he suspected were his best feature. “What was so important about the urn that we had to scramble to get to London so quickly?”

Rick sat stiffly, his tension clear in his posture. “Father didn’t have time for a thorough briefing. Andreas was quite agitated and didn’t share more than that the whereabouts of the urn had just been discovered, and it had to be brought to him as soon as possible.”

Like Jake, Rick was in his mid-twenties, with golden blond hair and pale blue eyes, and a muscled build honed on Eton’s cricket fields. Rick and Jake had grown up together in New Pittsburgh, a result of their fathers’ partnership. Like Thomas Desmet, George Brand was an Englishman who had emigrated to America to expand his fortune, and, together, the two men had succeeded. But where Thomas had come up the hard way and fully embraced the raw vitality of his adopted country, George and his wife never gave up their English home and connections. Hence George’s insistence on sending their only son to school in England, and their dismay when Rick later demanded to return to the States.

“How bad does something have to be to worry a vampire-warlock?” Nicki asked.

“Witch,” Jake corrected absently. “He prefers to be called a witch.”

Nicki made a face. “He’s scary powerful, whatever you call him. Exactly what scares him?”

Rick tossed off the last of his cognac, but from the look in his eyes, it did little to blunt the loss they both felt. “I don’t know—and that scares me.”

“Sorry I couldn’t join you before this.”

Startled by the voice, Jake turned to see Cullan Adair standing in the doorway to the lounge.

“Don’t take this wrong, Cullan, but if you’re down here, who’s piloting the ship?” Rick asked.

Cullan grinned. “Tommy’s got the controls.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You’re letting your automaton pilot the Princess?”

“He’s the best there is—trained him myself,” Cullan replied. He chuckled at their concern. “Don’t worry. Mueller’s up there with him.” Eric Mueller, Cullan’s first mate, was nearly as renowned a pilot as Cullan himself.

“Sorry about your dad,” Cullan said, crossing to join the trio. “Harold let us know and told us about the change in plans before you reached the warehouse.” He glanced toward Nicki and smiled. “Glad to see you with us, Miss LeClercq. A rose among thorns, as it were.”

Cullan Adair’s black Irish good looks and his quick wit had won him many a lady’s favor—and many a husband’s enduring enmity. He winked at Nicki, who grinned and gave him a broad wink in return. It was a game they had played for years, and Jake was almost certain there was nothing to it beyond good-natured flirting. Then again, with Cullan, nothing was ever guaranteed.

“We’ll stop in Long Island to refuel, then on to New Pittsburgh,” Cullan said. “Given the bit of trouble you had back in London, I thought it best to wait until we’re nearly there to telegraph the port crew about our arrival—just in case.”

“Good idea,” Rick replied. “Since we don’t know who’s after us.”

Cullan regarded his three passengers, and Jake guessed that they looked the worse for wear, after their chase. “Your bags are in your cabins,” he said. “You’ve still got a couple of hours until dinner. Why not get some rest, freshen up? By then, we should be well over the Atlantic.”

“Captain Adair.” The voice sounded over the airship’s speaking tube. “You’d better get up here. We’ve got company.”

Cullan’s smile vanished. “You might want to hang on,” he said. “This could get bumpy.”

Cullan sprinted for the bridge, while Jake and the others ran to the lounge’s observation windows. Through the clouds, they could make out dark shapes, too big to be anything but pursuing craft.

“There!” Nicki cried, pointing. Jake caught a glimpse of a one-man dirigible, much smaller than the Allegheny Princess. Instead of a passenger compartment under the dirigible’s balloon, the smaller craft had what appeared to be a gunner’s seat. A second later, fire flashed from the pilot’s underslung mount.

“What the hell was that?” Rick strained to see what was going on.

“Looks like a Gatling gun to me,” Jake observed.

Rick ran to the other side of the lounge. “There are two more on this side, closing fast.”

“I see one... no, two more behind this one,” Nicki reported.

Jake frowned. “Those can’t possibly have the range to follow us across the Atlantic. It’s suicide for them to come after us. Their ships can’t carry Tesla cells powerful enough to fuel them that far.”

“They don’t have to,” Rick replied, his voice cold. “Not if they can dock with that.” Jake and Nicki turned in time to glimpse a full-sized airship that was easily as big as the Allegheny Princess, partially hidden by the clouds.

The Princess lurched, and Jake nearly lost his footing, saving himself by grabbing the railing that ran along the windows. A bullet cracked against one of the windows, sparking against the aluminum frame. “Damn,” Jake muttered. “That’s too close for comfort.”

“Get down!” Rick ordered as he pulled Nicki to the floor and Jake dropped. A shot embedded itself in the thick glass. New Pittsburgh was well known for its glass industry, supplying fine housewares that were the envy of the world. But the city’s captains of industry invested in more practical products, like the bulletproof glass that had become all the rage since the Braddock riots a few years earlier.

Rick found himself tangled in Nicki’s skirts as she turned and gave one of her dazzling smiles. “Rick… really you shouldn’t have.”

“Nicki! I…” Rick blustered as his face turned bright red. Fortunately he was saved by a lurch of the ship.

The hiss of steam and the hum of gears grew louder as the Princess pulled ahead, and Jake guessed Cullan was attempting to draw their pursuers out over the Atlantic, where there would be more room to maneuver, and fewer prying eyes. The deck beneath them began to vibrate, and from below, they could hear the whirr of cables and the clank of metal.

“What’s Cullan doing?” Nicki shouted above the din. She had braced herself behind one of the large leather chairs, which were bolted to the floor. Rick and Jake had done the same, trying to avoid sliding across the lounge as the airship banked and turned.

“Just a guess, but I’m betting he’s launching those,” Rick said, pointing toward the windows. “Damn it, Adam… holding out on me again! I helped with the specs for those and he never told me he put them into production!”

Several brass and aluminum saucers hovered outside the windows. Gears and pulleys covered them like sinews, and Jake could make out the rounded domes of aluminum-shielded balloons. Each was as wide as the passenger compartment of a carriage, but only a few feet high, and slung under every one of the contraptions was the unmistakable barrel of a Gatling gun.

The saucers opened fire on their pursuers, pushing the attacking mini-dirigibles farther away as Cullan banked the Princess hard to port, and Jake felt the engines rev, picking up speed. What he dared glimpse from the windows looked like lightning sparking in the clouds as the smaller craft battled each other. With a brilliant flare, one of the small dirigibles burst into flames and dropped from the sky.

“They’re gaining on us!” Rick yelped. The ship banked, and Rick began to slide across the floor until he caught hold of the leg of a table.

“It feels like Cullan’s pulled out all the stops,” Jake replied, holding on to avoid a similar slide. Nicki shot Jake a cavalier grin that seemed to suggest she was enjoying the adventure.

“Don’t—I repeat, do not—tell your mother about this,” Jake warned Nicki, imagining his aunt’s reaction.

“Not a chance,” Nicki replied with a wicked smile. “This is too much fun. Isn’t it Rick?”

The sound of gunfire made all three of them duck before Rick could think of a response. Jake raised his head warily. One of the brass and aluminum drones had taken a hit and smashed against a large window pane. The bulletproof windows did not shatter, and the damaged drone was lodged in the reinforced glass for a moment before wiggling lose and wobbling off to rejoin the fight.

“Quite a firefight out there,” Rick observed at the flashes of light beyond the windows.

Jake dared a glance over the railing, and paled. “That’s not from the Gatlings,” he murmured. “Cullan’s steered us right into a lightning storm!”

“Is he daft?” Rick scrambled to join Jake by the window. The dark clouds and white streaks confirmed Jake’s conclusion. “If we get hit by one of those, we’ll go down just as surely as we’d have from the Gatling fire.”

Pieces of one of the unlucky mini-dirigibles peppered the observation windows like aluminum hail. Bursts of lightning lit the sky like the flashes of a photographer’s phosphorous lamp as they flattened themselves against the deck.

The whirr of the engine was drowned out by the sound of an explosion that lit up the sky, and the Allegheny Princess bobbed like cork on a wild sea. Jake felt his stomach lurch, threatening to send back his lunch. White light illuminated the lounge and the Princess began to drop so rapidly Jake thought he might come off the floor. Anything loose in the lounge, from their cocktail napkins to their forgotten glasses, became airborne. Jake was grateful that the furniture had been bolted to the deck, or they might have been bludgeoned with tables and chairs.

“Are we hit?” From the expression on Nicki’s face, it was clear that their situation had suddenly ceased to be a game.

Cold fear seized Jake’s heart. Please don’t let my mother lose Father and me on the same day, he thought. He braced himself for impact as the airship fell, wondering how he would die: in the cold North Atlantic waters, or engulfed in flames.

Before he could decide, the Princess slowed its descent, and in a few more heartbeats, leveled out, reducing its speed to a sane pace.

“This is your captain speaking,” Cullan’s voice echoed from the speaking tube. “In case you weren’t sure, we’re still alive. I’ll be down as soon as we get the last of this storm behind us.” He paused. “And if you’ve been airsick, do try to mop up after yourselves.”

Jake gave Nicki a hand, hauling her to her feet in an effective, if not decorous, way. Rick climbed to stand beside the table, and looked out over the wrecked lounge. One of the observation windows was cracked, a clouded mass of splinters held in place by the special bulletproof coating. Several of the panes on the port side bore scratches and nicks where the exploding mini-dirigibles had peppered them. Through the remaining windows, Jake could see the clouds growing lighter.

Henderson, the steward, ran into the lounge and looked around in a near-panic. “Sir, is everyone well? Anyone hurt or injured?”

Jake dusted off his jacket. He managed an encouraging smile, although he doubted that it fooled Henderson, who had been with them for years. “No, everyone’s fine. Just a little clean-up for later. Thank you.”

Henderson glanced around the ruined cabin and raised an eyebrow, but merely nodded in response. “Very well, sir. Ring if you need anything.” He left almost as quickly as he had arrived.

Nicki sank into one of the armchairs. Her hands grasped the arm rests as if she was not quite ready to believe their ordeal was over. “We made it!” Now that they were safe, her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Jake was peering out the port side while Rick scanned the starboard skies. “I’ll hand it to Cullan,” Rick said. “He shook off our uninvited guests.”

Jake gazed down at the gray water that rolled far beneath them. “If that big bang was the mothership, then I doubt any of the mini-craft could have made it back to land, even if the drones didn’t knock them out. I’m guessing Cullan had us too far over the ocean by then for them to turn back.”

A hard glint lit Rick’s eyes. “All the better. Let whoever sent them wonder.”

Jake collapsed into a chair. “But why? If it’s the urn they want, they’re remarkably persistent. And if it’s related to Father’s murder, then why are they after us? Whoever sent that airship after us has resources, and I’m betting we haven’t seen the last of them.”

“Maybe they don’t want the urn,” Nicki replied, staring at the ruined window. “Maybe they just wanted to make sure that we don’t make it back to New Pittsburgh.”

That sobering thought left them silently weighing the repercussions, until the door flew open and Cullan stepped inside, wearing an ear-to-ear grin. “Mighty fine flying, if I do say so myself!”

“You nearly killed us!” Nicki retorted.

Cullan feigned a hurt look. “Did our maneuvering scare you?”

“Out of a year of my life!” Nicki replied, then grinned. “But it’ll make an amazing story someday for my grandchildren.”

Jake and Rick congratulated Cullan with hearty backslapping, and Nicki favored him with a kiss on the cheek. Cullan was playing the daredevil, but Jake knew him well enough to see that the battle had given the pilot a run for his money.

“Any casualties?” Jake asked. It was exactly what his father would have done, worrying about the crew over the hardware.

Cullan shook his head. “Nothing worse than some bruises and cuts. Mueller’s got a nice shiner from where he rapped himself on a speaking tube. It could have been worse.”

“What were those... things you launched? The hovering metal disks with the guns?” Jake asked.

Cullan leaned against a walnut-paneled pillar and crossed his arms. “Another illicit invention, courtesy of Adam Farber and Tesla-Westinghouse labs. With some input from you as well, I hear,” Cullan said, giving Rick a grin.

“Just another mechanical nightmare Adam and I cooked up in his lab,” Rick replied. “Didn’t even tell me they were ready,” he muttered, still annoyed.

Cullan shook his head. “The real beauty of it is, those things don’t need pilots. Whoever was after us had men in their mini-dirigibles; I’m quite certain of it. Made for nasty business. Farber’s flying automatons let us even the score without putting any of our crew at risk.”

“How did you make sure they were shooting in the right direction?” Jake asked. “They’re too small to have a difference engine aboard.”

Cullan laughed. “I don’t think even Adam Farber would try putting a difference engine into one of those things—although,” he mused, “it might not be a bad idea. I’ll have to mention that next time I see him, if Rick doesn’t beat me to it.”

“Actually, it’s ingenious,” Rick jumped in. “Adam’s been toying with the idea of a radio telegraph—a telegraph that can transmit through thin air, without wires. Cullan can control the disks from the bridge, with Adam’s new contraption. He said it sends Morse code signals through aetheric waves.”

“Adam’s been burning the midnight oil again.” Cullan shook his head. “That boy is brilliant. I’m glad he’s on our side.”

Cullan glanced around the lounge, seeming to notice the damage for the first time. “Damn,” he muttered, then his gaze slid sideways to Nicki. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Those windows cost a small fortune apiece. On top of losing a couple of the drones, this is shaping up to be an expensive flight.”

The fact that they could have ended up as flaming debris in the Atlantic went unsaid, but Jake could see the knowledge in his friends’ eyes. “What about Long Island?” Focusing on the details of the trip kept Jake from dwelling on what awaited them when they arrived.

“We’ll use the beacon when we get close enough for a visual signal,” Cullan replied. “With luck, whoever our ‘friends’ were who sent the other airship won’t also have men on the ground in Long Island waiting for us; but if they do, we’ll handle it.”

Prior to being in the employ of Brand and Desmet, Cullan Adair had been a supply pilot for the U.S. Army’s airship corps, with a flair for side dealings that had earned him a questionable discharge, dealings he described as being a ‘naval redistribution specialist’. Today’s flight, Jake knew, was not Cullan’s first close call.

“I don’t know about the two of you,” Rick said, “But I’m all in. I think I’ll go back to my cabin and clean up before dinner—and maybe get my stomach out of my throat,” he said with a sideways glance at Cullan.

“Go ahead,” Cullan replied. “I dare say the galley is going to need some time to pull itself back together after that ride. We might not get more than tea and sandwiches, depending on how much the cook got bounced around. And we’ve got to make sure we didn’t miss any holes from all those bullets flying. That would make our trip real short.”

Rick paused by Jake and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m here for you Jake… and we’ll get through this, just like we always do.”

Jake could only nod in response. He turned to Nicki and lent her his arm as they followed Rick down the narrow passageway to the airship’s sleeping quarters. The Allegheny Princess was outfitted like a small cruise ship, with the ability to sleep a large number of guests comfortably in addition to the crew. Jake saw Nicki to her quarters, and she threw her arms around him in a fierce hug.

“If you need to talk, I’m here to listen,” she said.

“I can’t—not yet,” Jake said, feeling his throat tighten. “Later. But thanks.” Nicki nodded and disappeared into her cabin.

Jake feared the wild ride might have tossed the contents of his cabin around the room, but he was pleased to see the clasps on his drawers and cabinets had done their job. He tried to lie down, but he was too restless. After putting his things in order, Jake crossed the hall to his father’s private cabin.

The first thing that struck Jake was the faint smell of his father’s cologne. The cabin bore the unmistakable mark of Thomas Desmet’s presence. The built-in furnishings were finished in the dark wood Thomas favored, and the paintings on the walls were of England and Scotland. Jake was quite certain that the cabinet held his father’s favorite after-dinner brandy, and that the desk held a supply of monogrammed stationery.

Jake sank into the tufted leather of the desk chair and opened the desk drawer. His father had taken the airship up to New York just the week before, had sat in this chair, working on ledgers and correspondence. There was a loose square of paper, the kind his father liked to carry in a shirt pocket for making notes. On it was a list of names, written in his father’s handwriting: Nocnitsa, Nowak, Dabrowski, Jasinski, Kozlowski, Bajek, Chomicki, Kubiak, Radwanski, Alekanovo, Marcin.

Curiosity won out over grief. Jake took the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Who knows how long it’s been in the drawer? Jake thought. It could have nothing to do with this job—or his murder. But just in case, he decided that he would show it to George, and maybe to Andreas. Someone had killed Thomas Desmet and been willing to stop at nothing to kill them. As soon as he got back to New Pittsburgh, it was time to figure out why.

Alone for the first time since he had received the news of his father’s death, Jake covered his face with his hands. He was glad that the cabins were nearly soundproof, muffling his sobs, though he was certain his friends would not begrudge him his mourning. Thomas Desmet had been a good father, a family man. His marriage to Catherine had been a love match, and even after decades, the affection between the two was obvious. Quiet and unassuming, content to work in the background, Thomas’s genius lay in his ability to see opportunities others overlooked and build a network of sources unrivaled by competitors. Where Rick often butted heads with George, Jake and Thomas usually got along. Life—and business—without him was unthinkable.

I’ve got to be strong for Mother, Jake told himself, shaking with the effort to slow his shuddering breaths. I’m going to be the one she’ll need to rely on. Henry’s got the empathy of a rhinoceros, so he won’t be any good helping Mother pull things together. And besides, George and Henry will be focused on the business. Henry, Jake’s officious older brother, ran the New York office.

Oh dear Lord, if this means Henry is going to move back to New Pittsburgh, maybe I should have just let those assassins put me out of my misery. Jake sighed. Henry won’t want to travel—or get shot at. He’ll still need me for acquisition trips. Mother won’t let him fire me, and I won’t strangle him for her sake.

Jake sat in Thomas’s cabin for a long while, unwilling to let go of the last vestige of his father’s presence. Finally, he pulled himself together enough to return to his own cabin. He splashed cold water on his face to hide the tears, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyes were red, and even the polite fiction of a smile did not reach his gaze. Jake felt disoriented, as if he had failed to wake from a bad dream. The smothering loss and grief would only get worse when he arrived home and Thomas’s death became undeniably real.

Jake drew in another ragged breath. I have some time to think, time to figure out what to do next. And I’ll need every moment of it.

At top speed, it would take three days to cross the Atlantic, if weather was on their side. Once they arrived in New Pittsburgh, there would be the funeral, and after that, business issues would have to be handled. Grief was a luxury that would have to wait until vengeance and justice were served.

Jake’s thoughts strayed to the attack in London. The wild carriage chase and desperate aerial pursuit made it clear that someone had a big stake in either killing Jake and his friends or acquiring the urn by whatever means necessary. Neither reason made any sense to Jake. We’ve hunted down priceless relics from all over the world, and no one’s sent this much firepower after us before. There’s something we’re missing, something we don’t know. And until we figure it out, we are sitting ducks.

Jake felt as if he had aged a decade in a few hours. He doubted that either sleep or scotch would give him a reprieve. Mother is probably beside herself with grief, he thought. And Henry will make it in from New York before I can get there. That can only make things worse. Henry was five years older and insufferably by-the-book. No matter that I’m twenty-six years old, Jake thought. Henry will treat me like I’m still in knickers. The business will go on. That was a good thing, though the thought was tinged with sorrow. George could run Brand and Desmet single-handedly. But it was more likely that Thomas Desmet had left his share of the business to his eldest son.

Bloody hell. Do I want to work for Henry? He’s such a martinet. Maybe I can get George to assign me to the London office.

He took another deep breath and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Time to prioritize. The first challenge was to get home alive, and then, assuming he succeeded, the next was to find a murderer. Scuffles with Henry could wait.

A tentative knock sounded at his door. “Jake? It’s me, Nicki. Please let me in.”

Jake opened the door and his cousin stood before him, a look of concern on her face. She swept past him without a by-your-leave and sat down in the chair by the desk. “First things first,” she said, and withdrew a silver flask from somewhere within her voluminous skirts.

“Drink this.” Nicki thrust the flask at Jake. He unscrewed the cap and complied, knocking back a mouthful and letting it burn down his throat. He capped the flask and tried to hand it back to her, but Nicki waved him off.

“Keep it. At least until we get back to New Pittsburgh. You need it more than I do.” She winked at him. “And I’ve got another one in my trunk.

“You know Rick is really hurting for you too,” she added. “He just doesn’t have a clue what to say. So expect to do a lot of manly drinking over the next couple days.” She sat up primly and placed both palms on her knees. “Now. Talk to me.”

Jake sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Nicki gave him her craftiest smile, the look that had launched one ill-advised adventure after another in their childhood. “Come on, Jakey. No secrets. Remember? We pinky-swore.”

Jake was forced into a half-smile. “No one has called me ‘Jakey’ since I stopped wearing knickers. And we pinky-swore when we were eight.”

Nicki raised her chin. “A pinky-swear is forever. Everyone knows that. Now—spill.”

Jake slumped onto his bunk. “I guess I haven’t quite let it all sink in yet.” His voice lacked its usual gusto. “I just can’t imagine going back to New Pittsburgh and Father not being there. Not ever being there again.” Despite himself, his voice broke.

Nicki came over to sit next to him and draped an arm around his shoulder. “Do you remember the time Uncle Thomas caught us digging up maman’s rosebushes?”

Jake chuckled sadly. “And he listened without even cracking a smile when we showed him the treasure map we had ‘found’ and why we had to dig up the ‘gold’ to rescue the Prince.”

“He might have been willing to hear us out to find out where Rick was,” Nicki said. “Since he got stuck being the Prince and we left him tied up all day in the garden shed pretending to sleep.”

“It wasn’t all day,” Jake countered. “Just all morning. And you’re the one who said he had to be a sleeping prince to be rescued.”

“He got to be the hero the time before,” Nicki sniffed. “And you were the pirate. Besides, I did ‘kiss’ him awake and we shared our cookies with him. Even if we were sent to our rooms for the afternoon.”

“Yeah, it was worth it for the look on Rick’s face. You’re the only one who can stun him speechless. Father thought it was hysterical. But that’s just it.” Jake took another nip from the flask. “Father is—was—so reasonable. So level-headed. He and Mother are such a good team. And he even takes Henry in stride.” He shook his head and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t even use the past tense to describe him. I don’t want to admit he’s gone.”

“Tell me a good story. Any story.”

Jake sighed. “Do you remember the time Rick and I borrowed the carriage to set off fireworks down along the river, and the horses got loose?”

Nicki chuckled. “How could I forget? Especially when the horses bolted after the fireworks all went off at once because you weren’t too good at that sort of thing, and the harbor patrol thought it was a signal flare from a sinking barge and a couple of vagrants thought it was the river pirates, and by the time your father got there you and Rick were hunkered down in a shoot-out between the homeless guys and the patrol, and they were both looking for a missing boat that didn’t exist.”

“We were grounded for a long time,” Jake said wistfully. “But you know, even when he was giving us a talking-to about that, I had the feeling that, secretly, Father thought it was a grand romp.” He fell silent, lost in memories.

Nicki regarded him sympathetically for a moment, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Do you remember when your dog Spratt got hit by a wagon?” she asked. Jake nodded.

“Your father never faulted you or Rick—or any of us—for crying about it,” Nicki recalled quietly. “He told you that feeling sad meant we really loved Spratt, and it was okay to miss him.”

“I remember,” Jake said in a muffled voice.

“And do you remember how your father came home early from the office, and he helped us hold a proper funeral, and then he made us each talk about our favorite memories of Spratt? And then he told us that was what really mattered, those memories, and never forgetting him,” she said, giving Jake a gentle nudge in the ribs.

When he said nothing, she continued. “I know there’s a big difference between Spratt and your father. But Uncle Thomas was right about the memories. We’ll get to the bottom of the murder, Jake, I promise you,” Nicki swore. “But your father is more than his murder. Remember all of that, not just the end.” She met his gaze. “And believe me—we will find the people who did this and make them pay. Count on it.”