A is For Arson: A Langley & Porter Mystery (FIRST FIVE CHAPTERS)

1 Ablaze

The everyday monotony of my labor ordinarily allowed for time in which my eyes could wander. Though in this small space behind my father's bookshop, there was nothing more to view than the familiar tomes and the machinery used to print and bind them.

I observed my younger sister Liza employing the final embellishments upon a new edition before glancing back to my own work and stifling a yawn. The air within the workshop was always stiff and warm, especially so on a muggy London summer day like today.

My fingers worked nimbly at the seams, sewing the pages together as my eyes roved over the colorful artistry contained within. A book of modern art. That was the newest project that plagued us. My father had promised a veritable library of them to some rich fellow from the northwest region of London and we were on a deadline. For that reason, Liza and I had hardly slept a wink in over eighteen hours now if the clock above the press were to be believed. That fact, paired with the heat, did well to practically incapacitate us with exhaustion.

"Did you read the papers this morning?" my sister asked out of the blue. I glanced over to find that she was not looking my way. She was still working away, crafting the elegant swirling pattern which adorned so many of our family's books and was a design all her own.

"I never do," I reminded her, going along with her attempt at conversation as a method, I imagined, of keeping herself awake. "Anything interesting?"

"Some rich toff got his valuable artwork stolen."

"Pity."

I watched my little sister yawn as a clatter sounded from the room directly in front of us. Liza's eyes slid from the door to me and I could see the question there.

I rose to my feet, brushing my hands against my skirts as I did. I gave her a nod to indicate that I would see that everything was alright, doing my best to ensure her of my certainty that it was, and then I headed for the door. I entered the hallway beyond, only slightly less stifling than the workshop I had left behind, and walked swiftly to the door that led out into my father's shop. I hesitated at the threshold.

Liza and I were to remain unseen. That had always been a house rule. We were women, after all, and we did not want to offend a purchasing man's sensibilities by attempting to sell anything to him. For that reason, our skill had always been in binding and embellishment rather than salesmanship.

Another clatter from beyond the closed door spurred my feet onward and I, forgetting my propriety in the face of the strange commotion, turned the knob gently and pushed the panel open.

On the other side was my father, still standing behind his long oak counter. But a man I did not recognize, the largest, most terrifying man I had ever seen, leaned over that counter and hoisted my father completely off of his feet by his collar. I gasped before I could think better of it. The man's face snapped in my direction. He had a long, white scar over his left eye and his wicked smile widened to a toothless grin at the sight of me. He nodded a head in my direction and I saw his companion for the first time. Much smaller and lankier but no less terrifying, the man stepped out from the shadows and crossed the room in three long strides to reach me.

I turned to flee but he caught my wrist and pinned me against the wall next to the door. With lightning speed, he pulled a knife from some hidden place on his person and held it deftly at my throat. His face was inches from mine, expression carved into a sneer. I could smell the ale on his breath.

"Don't hurt her!" my father screamed. I could see him and the other man just beyond my captor's left ear. My father was still in the air, held by his collar, but his eyes were on me. I could see the utter terror within them as his round face reddened and he begged the man who held him. "Please. Don't hurt my daughter. I will do anything you ask of me. Anything. Please."