Page 75 of Too Sinful to Deny
“Bothwick,” one of the hands called. But Evan was already on his way over. “Is it true Red ain’t coming back?”
“We heard he was steering the big ship in the sky,” said another.
“Dead, rather,” put in a third. “As a doornail.”
Evan stared at the gaggle of water dogs, suddenly conscious of how a man could be driven to bang his head against the forecastle until he passed out. He hadn’t required clarification for “big ship in the sky.” What he required, right about now, was a quiet place to go and think. And perhaps a tall glass of whiskey.
He leaned against the mainmast and resigned himself to finishing this conversation sober.
“Red’s dead?” he asked. “Says who?”
“His sister.”
“She got it from that other girl. Samson, or something.”
“Stanford, you numbskull.”
Evan snapped up straight. “Stanton?”
A chorus of nods. This was making less sense by the second.
“Miss Stanton told Miss Grey that Red wouldn’t be coming home, on account of being dead?” he demanded, trying to put the pieces together in a coherent fashion.
“That’s right,” the jack called Jimmy agreed. “Told her to go forth and carry on without him, she did.”
Evan stared at them. “But how would Miss Stanton know he was dead? How would she know Red in the first place?”
“That’s what we’re askingyou,mate.”
“She even called him by both his names, she did. Looked ’arriet dead in the eye and said, ‘Now, yer brother Joshua—well, there’s them that call him Red, now, ain’t there. Any case, he’s a right cold one, he is. Reckon he won’t be coming home.’ Clear as that.”
Evan blinked. He’d forgotten Red’s name wasn’t really Red—if Evan had ever known the man’s given name to begin with. While he doubted he’d just been treated to a precise accounting of the dialogue, if Miss Stanton had been in possession of such an intimate detail as the pirate’s Christian name, that would make her... well, suspicious. At best.
What if that simpleton Forrester wasn’t the one Evan should be worrying about? What if someone far more pernicious—someone actuallyclever—was keeping him under her watchful eye for reasons he couldn’t begin to guess?
The captain strode aboard, giving Evan no chance to reason it through.
Time to work.
Up went the anchor and the sails. Out went the booms and the bowsprit. Around spun the tiller. And they were at sea. At last. Waves crashed against the hull. The ship groaned and wheezed as the keel tilted drunkenly with the raging currents. Water splashed aboard. Men cheered.
Eventually the ocean calmed, and the crew relaxed. A few went below deck in search of whiskey. Evan chose to stay where he was, portside, staring toward the invisible horizon. A dozen stars braved the blackness of the night. Cold wind tugged at his hair, chapped his lips. The familiar scent of saltwater rose and fell with the waves lapping at the side of the ship.
Hedidbelieve in the gods of the sea. How could he not?
Purposeful footsteps indicated the captain’s approach. Evan turned.
“Captain.”
“Bothwick.”
A strange silence stretched between them. The captain regarded Evan with his cool blue gaze, drew in on a fat cigar, and seemed well inclined to just let the silence continue.
He wasn’t going to mention the missing shipmates, Evan suddenly realized. The crew was right. The captain had to know Timothy was dead—it had happened right on this ship, andsomebodyremoved his brother’s body. The captain knew, was looking Evan straight in the eye, and wasn’t going to say a word.
Which meant Red wasn’t “missing,” either. He could only be dead.
Nobody’d had the slightest clue... except, apparently, Miss Stanton. Come to think of it, all of this—whateverthiswas—started happening the same night she appeared at Ollie’s house. Coincidence? Perhaps Timothy was right not to believe in such things.
