A Bitter Draught (Ravenwood Mysteries #2)

Two Queens

Thursday, February 15th, 1900

TWO QUEENS STARED at the gambler from his hand. The women were blonde, pale, and buxom. It wasn't his preferred deck. These two cards had a vapid expression that made him ache for a sharper set of eyes.

"You're bluffing," a voice said.

Atticus Riot looked from the irksome women in his hand to the young man sitting across the table. Bart Martins was a confident fellow, slim and dapper, with an easy smile that had charmed his way into the expensive suit he wore. His tongue was smoother, and he had made ample use of it throughout the night, goading and boasting with every hand. Five players had begun the night. One had dropped out, two had gone bust, and Riot and Martins remained.

In reply, Riot carefully set down his cards, removed his wire-rimmed spectacles, and polished the glass with a silk handkerchief. As Riot did so, he nodded towards the impressive pot: bills, large and small, and a cufflink. The latter was Martins' contribution to the pot, a gaudy decoration with a gold spade in the polished center. No proper gentleman would wear such a thing.

Martins smiled. "I know you're bluffing, and just to prove it, I'll raise." The swell pushed the remainder of his money into the pool.

Riot put on his spectacles and looked at his opponent. "I'm afraid that won't do."

"Six hours without a word, and now he speaks," the swell announced to the room. But his admirers were slumped on a bench in the corner, snoring.

The gambler said nothing more.

Martins would not be intimidated. He unclipped his pocket watch, dangled it in front of Riot's eyes, and set it on the table with a smirk. The gold chain curled around the mound of cash.

Riot leaned forward, his hand pausing over the gold. "May I?" When the swell nodded, he picked up the pocket watch, checking its make and worth. The latch gave smoothly, and Riot read the inscription on the inside of the cover:

To my beloved —Your Rose forever

Riot clicked the watch shut and replaced it with care. "There's an art to bluffing, Martins." The taciturn man's voice was deep and unhurried, and it roused the dozing audience. The women stirred from where they slumped and the men looked up from their whiskey. "The key is to be sure, and now I am. You see, when you bluff, you can't care whether you win or lose, and you, my young sharp, have a lot to lose, as did the man you stole that from."

"That's my Rose," Martins said.

"You're the one whose bluffing." Riot backed his words with his own pocket watch, sliding it towards the pool. "I call."

Martins laid down his hand triumphantly. A row of spades challenged—a Flush.

Riot frowned at his vapid queens. "Your Rose belonged to another man—a worthy man who never harmed a hair on her head." He slowly rearranged his cards. "I know three things for certain: the first being that Mrs. Cottrill was taking her husband's time piece to a watchmaker's shop to repair on the day that she was brutally murdered."

"Fine," the swell smiled pure charm. "You caught me. I won the watch in a poker game—as I'm about to win yours. I am sorely grieved for the woman."

Riot ignored the swell's claim, reaching into his pocket. "Second, that I am an honest man, and that watch is worth more than my contribution; therefore, let me add something more to the pool." He withdrew a cufflink from his waistcoat pocket, a gaudily decorated one with a gold spade in the center of black that matched the one in the pot. Martins' right eye twitched. "You lost one of your cufflinks. I found it in a grate, in the very alley where you assaulted and strangled Mrs. Cottrill."