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  When I finished, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for so long I wondered whether he’d forgotten I was sitting across from him. I could tell Achilles was tired. He had just returned from a quick trip related to his detective work. His already tan skin looked to be a richer brown after days spent in the sun. He certainly stood out amongst the pale color palette of London. Light-skinned people, gray skies, pale stones. Though, Achilles didn’t need any help standing out. His thin mustache gave him an air of mystery and the cane he carried, which I knew to hide a thin blade in the bottom, was an eye-catcher. He really was a handsome man. Except for that mustache. I would have shaved the mustache myself if I thought I could have done it before he’d realize.

  “Well,” I finally said, interrupting his thoughts. “What do you think I should do about the murder the sender mentioned?”

  His mouth twisted to the side, the mustache twisting with it. “Nothing,” he said firmly.

  “Nothing?” I asked. “We have been warned about a possible murder and you want to do nothing about it?”

  He shook his head. “I want you to do nothing about it. I want to investigate the sender of this message and see what information can be found.”

  “We have no clues with which to begin a search,” I said. “We have no reason to believe any information can be found. Am I really supposed to sit by while an innocent person is murdered?”

  “First, I have ways of finding things out,” Achilles said, winking at me. “It is my job to solve the impossible. Second, we do not know the intended victim is innocent. You make too many assumptions, Mademoiselle, and I worry they will put you in danger.”

  “My life is not the one that was threatened,” I reminded him. I did not like feeling as though I needed protecting. I’d found my way out of more than my fair share of life or death scrapes. Though, now that I was thinking about it, Achilles had helped me escape the first scrape and my cousin Edward had helped me escape the second. I shook my head, pushing the thought aside so I could focus on the matter at hand.

  “This message could be a prank. If it is, there is no need to worry yourself about it or alarm the public. If it is not a prank, however,” Achilles said, holding one finger in the air, “Then the person who sent you the package is obviously a criminal or has criminal ties. I know of no other way in which someone can be aware of an impending murder. In which case, accepting the challenge will only put you in danger.”

  “So, whether the person is a criminal or not, you do not want me to involve myself?” I asked for clarification.

  “It is dangerous, Rose. I know you have had brushes with danger and murderers in the past and come away unharmed, but at some point, your luck will run out. And I, for one, do not wish to see any harm befall you.”

  I took a sip of my tea and returned the cup to the saucer. “Are you saying you are fond of me, Monsieur Prideaux?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up at him.

  Achilles looked suddenly nervous. He fidgeted in his seat, shifting from side to side, and then ran a finger along the length of his mustache. “It is my job to solve crimes. Should you die, I would no doubt be called upon to find your killer, and I have enough work to keep me busy as it is.”

  I grabbed my cream sweater from the back of the chair and slipped it on over my mauve buttoned blouse. “If I do find myself murdered, I’ll do my best to schedule it for when your calendar isn’t so full,” I teased.

  Achilles stood up and walked me towards his front door. “I certainly appreciate that, Mademoiselle Rose. Though, you should know that finding your murderer would be my top priority regardless of my schedule.”

  I was already on the steps, but I turned back to see him smiling at me. I wondered for the briefest of seconds whether this hadn’t been the detective’s attempt at flirting, but then he quickly warned me not to do anything with the information in the letter and slammed the door, killing the thought.

  END OF EXCERPT

  About the Author

  Blythe Baker is a thirty-something bottle redhead from the South Central part of the country. When she’s not slinging words and creating new worlds and characters, she’s acting as chauffeur to her children and head groomer to her household of beloved pets.

  Blythe enjoys long walks with her dog on sweaty days, grubbing in her flower garden, cooking, and ruthlessly de-cluttering her overcrowded home. She also likes binge-watching mystery shows on TV and burying herself in books about murder.

  To learn more about Blythe, visit her website and sign up for her newsletter at www.blythebaker.com