Free The Blue Diamond (The Razor's Edge Book 1) by P.S. Bartlett Page B

be it from me to
pretend anything…Madame.”

 
 
    Chapter
Eight

 
    “How hard can it be to find
a woman with snow-white hair in Jamaica?” Miranda asked while Cass picked at
the meal of chicken and rice that she had turned down only an hour before. They
chose the Shark Skin to begin their search since most, if not all, of
Carbonale’s crew patronized the pub. Asking questions was frowned upon by
pirates under any circumstances, but they had to take the risk. In the pirate
realm, the act of being “frowned upon” translated to risking your life.
    “Wigs, Miranda?”
    “Aye, wigs. Forgot about
those, but that may narrow it down at least, right?”
    “I can’t just sit here and
eat this slop while Ivory is out there suffering God knows what kind of torture
or pain. Who knows what agony she may be facing at this very moment, while we
sit here discussing hair color and inhaling cheap pipe smoke and filthy pirate
stench.”
    “I’ll get back to work on
ol’ Sandy over there, and you and Willy can figure out how you’re going to find
your own answers.” Miranda winked and slid from her seat to join Sandy as he
waved playfully at her from the bar. “Wish me luck, you two.”
    Sandy grabbed the drunken
man from the stool, spun him onto the floor, and dragged him off to the side of
the room as Miranda watched with raised eyebrows, and a bit of pride. “Yer
seat, Madame,” Sandy said, waving her to the stool.
    “Always the gentleman, John.
You don’t mind if I call you John, do you?” Miranda asked with a sweet smile
and her usual chin tickle.
    “Call me bloody dog shit, as
long as ye sit here and tickle me chin.”
    “Well, I doubt I’d call you
that, but how about we have a drink, aye?” Miranda looked across the room at
Cassandra and Willy, still appearing to mull things over, when she decided that
drastic measures were in order. She couldn’t bear the thought of Ivory
suffering at the hands of anyone after everything they’d been through,
including the many times she’d sorted out vile and violent men hell-bent on
rape and murder.
    Miranda turned back to Sandy
and lifted her glass from the bar, “How about a toast?”
    “Aye, a toast to yer beauty
and charms,” he grinned, winking at her cleavage.
    “Well, I was thinking a toast
to new friends and to…getting to know one another better,” Miranda smiled a
crooked smile and swallowed hard.
    “I’ll drink ta’ that!”
    The minutes ticked by as
Miranda sipped on her rum and watched as Sandy poured his down. An hour in, she
excused herself for a moment to check in with Cass and Willy, only to learn
they’d made inquiries with a few intoxicated men who’d laughed in their faces
and said they didn’t ever see mermaids unless they’d eaten bad food or hit the
doldrums.
    “Well, keep askin’ will you?”
Miranda begged.
    “What about Sandy there? He
has to know something.”
    “I’m waiting for him to get
drunk, but the son of a bitch has a hollow leg or something.”
    “Look ladies, I’ll try some
other tactics. Just leave me to it a bit,” Willy said, glancing about the room
and laying eyes on an older, and a bit worn, lady of the evening. However,
Willy surmised that these women often saw and heard more than just the grunts
and groans of these fortune hunters, and for a few dollars more may be inclined
to share.
      “Alright, I better get back. Ol’ Sandy is
giving me the eye,” Miranda said, gathering her skirt and flitting off back to
the bar.
    “Good luck, Willy,” Cass
said as he made his way through the crowd to the whore with the jet black hair
and painted cheeks resting on a stool at the end of the bar.
    “You’re still here, I see?”
said a very deep voice over Cass’s right shoulder. She spun in her seat and was
staring straight at the crotch of Blacksnake’s very large quartermaster. Cass’s
eyes walked up the man until they reached his face. She was mesmerized in the
dim lighting of the bar, as she watched