The Night Is Filled with Wonder by Kristel Gibson

Author:Kristel Gibson
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Published: 2015-09-23T18:30:00+00:00

IN THE DARK, Pauline slept in her room, citing the lateness of the hour as reason to stay put for the night. Not saying the real reason—she didn’t want to stay in a hotel, to wake Oliver at this hour of the night and ask to sleep on his sofa, to head out into the cold. No, she’d stay. Find excuses. Never leave. You and me, kitten, she’d said to Clara when they met, and resolved that night to stick together.

Reluctantly, Tommy slept on the couch with Spooky perched on the sofa arm, keeping vigil over him through the night. One more day, Plum, that’s it, he’d said. A pounding in his chest when he did. He’d been putting it together, calculating and thinking. The odds very grim indeed.

Clara lay in the middle of her bed, staring up to the ceiling, waiting for the people around her to fall asleep—needing to insure the secrecy of her mission. She’d written the whole thing out in her notebook—filling page after page with swirls and lines and dots. Coding the message to herself. Seeing the gaps of information, raising more questions, drawing a bridge between pieces that hadn’t been there before.

Like Eva and her connection to whoever was behind this. Eva, the messenger. Eva with her supposition about power, how it was built from money, love, or fear.

Krauss’s discomfort and outward dislike of Tommy. His instruction to gather information, sending her into the unknown.

Peabody’s not knowing that Rick was dead.

The case full of opium and the word on the manifest. Again. Across what? she wrote and underlined it.

Tommy’s hostility about finding the book safes. The look on his face when she told him about Rick, like he would have killed him himself.

Now, the need to figure out who was behind the opium. Was it also the same person who killed Rick?

Was the mastermind the watcher? she wondered, then scratched it away. Maybe. Probably not. An instinct telling her, something awakening in her gut.

Where was the watcher? Perhaps the threat was only imagined after all. No, she thought. There’d been a shift. A change. He wasn’t across the street anymore. What was it? What caused it? The crate? The trip to Brooklyn? Tommy? She didn’t know. Had no sense of the answer, her gut quiet on this one.

So who was behind all this? Someone powerful, she imagined. In a dark underground den. Sitting on a pile of gold coins like a pirate or a potentate. A cutlass on his belt, an enormous belly hanging over his pasha’s silk pajamas. A diamond embedded in his front tooth, a gold loop pierced through his ear. Untouchable. Unknown. Mysterious. Omnipotent.

Did he have a secret? she wondered. Everyone has a secret Krauss reminded her. Something to keep hidden. Bury deep down. Her own, for instance. Then thought of Tommy. A man full of secrets. He’d tell you one thing only to keep you from asking another. He’d plant one image in your mind and never answer the ten questions it created.

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