“I assume you think you met him last week.” Mr. Tynesdale chuckles. “He’s been following you since his ship docked in Kingston Harbour a month ago from Cuba.”
“How do you know that?” I raise an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, the private detective you hired to tail him.” I shake my head. “Well, sir, you’re mistaken. Your son has been following Allan Coombs and the labor movement, not me. And if you’re unfamiliar with Allan Coombs—” I gesture toward the storefront sign. “Take a look around. These are his offices. He is the leader of the Kingston labor union movement. He and Byron are old acquaintances. That’s who Byron is following, not me.”
He nods at his chauffeur and says, “Bring the car around.” The man walks away. “Your stubbornness is forcing my hand. I will tell you what Byron won’t or can’t say. He’s committed to taking over the family business and will run the Tynesdale Estate and its subsidiaries as they’ve been run for generations, and that will not include union labor.”
“That sounds like wishful thinking on your part,” I say. “Tell me, are you afraid of your son?”
“I won’t allow him to give up his inheritance to satisfy his guilt.”
“Why would he feel guilty? Maybe shame for his association with your sugar plantation, but not guilt.”
I see a flash of sadness in the man’s gaze, but it vanishes as he squares his shoulders and his car pulls up to the curb.
“You should ask Byron about your fiancé,” he says. “The young man who died in the Tynesdale sugarcane field a decade ago. It was the same year my wife passed away. I’m sure Byron mentioned his mother, but likely nothing about your beloved. I believe his name was Marvin Banks. As I said, ask Byron.”
CHAPTER 19
OTHELLA
The SSTalamancaat Sea, Day Two
The knock on my stateroom door sounds like gunfire. I jump out of my berth and, for a moment, can’t remember where I am. Then I think of Jerry—the smell of the sea, salt, and fish. I glance out the porthole. Blue water stretches to infinity. I am on board the SSTalamanca, sailing to Kingston, Jamaica.
The banging on the door hasn’t stopped. “I’m coming! I’m coming! Wait, don’t tear the house down.”
After slipping on my robe, I fasten the belt around my waist, wipe the sleep from my eyes, and open the door. Robbie rushes past me. I close the door after he enters. “Excuse me, Mr. Barnes. You’re in my room, and I’m not properly dressed.” I’m teasing, but Robbie isn’t in the mood for jokes.
“A stowaway fell overboard and drowned. A sailor saw him splash into the ocean, but they couldn’t save him.”
I walk to the table next to my bed, pick up the water pitcher, and pour myself a drink. I gulp down a swallow, taking my time as I decide what to tell Robbie and what to keep to myself. “Do you think it might have been Jerry?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Have you been in yourstateroom all night?” He suddenly covers his mouth with his fist, as if the words came out unconsciously. “I didn’t mean to imply …”
Robbie’s rambling no longer grates. Lately, I find it mostly endearing, and I’m starting to appreciate his wit and kindness. But right now, I need him to get to the point. “Why don’t you ask me the question you want answered?”
“Did you find Jerry Merriweather?”
“I fought with him and pushed him, and he fell over the railing.” I speak bluntly. I figure that dead is dead, and what killed a man versus what might have killed him doesn’t matter much.
“He tried to hurt you and you fought back,” Robbie says.
“Yes. That’s what happened,” I respond. “It took all my strength, but I managed to push him off me.” I walk up to Robbie and want him to look me in the eyes. “As you said, the crewman said the stowaway fell into the sea.”
Robbie blinks but doesn’t turn away from me.
“Are you mad at me?” I squeeze his shoulder.
“Are you sure no one saw you with him?”
“I’m positive.”
“Then I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”
“I didn’t have a choice. You believe me, right?”
“It was you or him,” Robbie says confidently.
I smile at him. “Pinky swear.”
