The next morning, Amelia came in with my mail and — finally — the newspaper! To my surprise, the front read:

The Bridges Daily

Editor: Mr. Paul Blackberry

Good for him, I thought. I’d known Mr. Blackberry since I was a small girl, back when he was a photographer. Prior to becoming editor, he’d been one of my informants; his position at the Clubb desk gave him access to all kinds of information.

The Spadros Family murdered the former editor, Mr. Acol Durak, after he let articles supporting Anastasia’s fraud and an editorial maligning the Families pass his inspection.

Killing Mr. Durak was so unnecessary, I thought. The man was grieving his wife —

At that instant, I recalled Mr. Blackberry’s words: suicidal, if you ask me.

And I realized Mr. Durak worked with Dame Anastasia and Frank — and perhaps even allowed Mr. Pike’s editorial to pass — in hopes the Families would kill him.

I didn't understand it. Even during my worst days after being sold to the Spadros Family, I never considered taking my own life.

Under Mr. Blackberry’s guidance, the paper had changed little. The purpose of the Bridges Daily was to promote the views of the Families, rather than to provide any real news. However, it devoted a whole section to the inquest — those scheduled to appear that day and a summary of the previous day’s testimony.

The financial news was bleak. Listings for sales of production equipment, buildings, and businesses spanned an entire page. A list of bankruptcy proceedings on the back page left me shocked.

That many speculated on Dame Anastasia’s “miracle” gems?

And we had invited her into our home. In their view, we — everyone at my dinner — were suspected collaborators.

* * *

At breakfast, Tony seemed much happier. He went off to tend to the Business after the morning meeting with the staff, and I went to my study.

I wrote to Jon, informing him we arrived safely. Then I opened Gardena’s note, which was from her Country House:

My dear Mrs. Spadros —

I’m so glad to hear you’re feeling improved. Jon and I will visit as soon as we can. We both are eager to see you again, and —

Oh, dear, I thought. Tony will not be happy to find her here.

I wrote in return:

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Dearest Gardena —

Thank you so kindly for your letter. I hope you and your family are well.

I’m afraid Mr. Spadros is in poor humor at present. It might be best if Jon visited alone.

I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. I remain hopeful that in time my husband’s disposition will improve.

I’m feeling quite well. I miss seeing you and look forward to visiting together in the future.

The clock struck eleven. I put the pen down, gazing out of the window. Tony blamed Gardena for my being at the station because I told him she brought me there.

But what else could I have said? That I went into Clubb quadrant on my own, uninvited, in direct defiance of orders from Roy Spadros?

Roy hadn’t contacted us about any of it. I couldn’t imagine Tony’s father reacting in any other way than fury.

Since I had little control over this, I lit a cigarette, taking a drag, then poured a glass of bourbon from the bottle I kept on my sideboard. It was well past time to plan my investigations.

It seemed unlikely that the perpetrators of this year’s events — robberies, kidnappings, murders, and bombings — plotted and executed these on their own. In my estimation, Frank Pagliacci — while evidently charismatic — was neither skilled nor intelligent enough. Jack Diamond, Jonathan’s mad twin brother — though rich and powerful — wasn’t sane (by all accounts) for long enough. Thus, this team had a leader yet unseen who directed Frank Pagliacci and Jack Diamond to carry out these crimes.

This man had significant personal power to persuade two such men to do his bidding. He had tremendous means to afford to hire so many men to assist them. He needed remarkable mental skill to plan and implement a conspiracy of this magnitude. And we still didn’t know how far the conspiracy went, or even the man’s true motivations.

Whoever their leader was, he frightened me.

Three women assisted these men: the rogue Federal Agent Zia Cashout, Dame Anastasia Louis (now dead), and a black-haired woman named Birdie.

What they’d accomplished so far was to take the name and markings of the Red Dogs children’s street gang, and frame this gang for the crimes. They then accessed the Hart and Spadros Family funds through forged invoices, in order to do ... what?

If bombing the zeppelin was their goal, there would have been ultimatums, declarations of their intentions, or proclamations of who they were and what they accomplished. Yet no one had said anything of the sort, which suggested the bombing was merely a means to an end.

But what did the murder of hundreds gain them?

I lit another cigarette from the stump of the first, then poured another glass of bourbon.

None of the Families had a motive to bomb the zeppelin, especially on the day of the Celebration. In fact, it was an affront, to the Clubbs in particular.

Could this madness be led by a disgruntled aristocrat? An heir of one of the old families who escaped the Pot before the overthrow of the Kerr Dynasty? That seemed an avenue worth investigating, although I wasn’t sure how.

With Anastasia gone, my door to them had closed. Certainly, they were cordial, at least in public. But in the past, whenever I’d called, they’d suddenly be “not at home.”

I suppose inviting a Pot rag into your home — especially a “Family pet,” as one called me — was too much for these women.

I swirled the bourbon in my glass. Not all of the Red Dogs’ purchases using our money had been accounted for. For example, why were they buying black cloth? And what did they buy using the Hart Family’s money?

I wrote letters to my contacts, asking who raised accusation against the Harts that they failed to pay. The sort of merchant targeted would reveal much.

But did they just target the Spadros and Hart Families? No, they tried to blackmail Gardena Diamond as well.

Could this be a Clubb plot?

The Clubbs were known as the spy-masters of Bridges. The Spadros Family had dealt in violence these many years; the Clubbs preferred information. Rumor had it you might secure a better price on your zeppelin ticket — or even fly free — should you share a secret they didn’t already know.

But would Lance Clubb blackmail the woman he’d just asked to court? If so, why?