Free The Golden City by J. Kathleen Cheney

learn that Oriana Paredes escaped from inside one of those houses?
he asked himself. The answer his mind gave him sickened him.
Yes
.
    Jaw clenched, Duilio folded up the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. He headed on out of the square, settled in his intention to hunt down the my st erious Miss Paredes, who was
not
on her way to France, no matter what the paper had to say.

CHAPTER 5
    A short while later, Duilio st ood before the threshold of the small apartment Joaquim Tavares rented on Re st auração Street. The tall, narrow house was well maintained by grace of the elderly widow who owned the building and kept a hawklike eye on all her tenants.
    Duilio knocked on the door and heard a reque st called back to wait a moment. Only a second or two passed before the door swung open, revealing a half-dressed Joaquim, st ill buttoning his shirt cuffs. He wore a matching wai st coat and trousers in a beige check—a casual suit. He seemed surprised to find Duilio waiting in the narrow hall. “What are you doing here?”
    Although a cousin, Joaquim was closer to Duilio than either Alessio or Erdano in both temperament and appearance. They had the same height and build, and their faces bore the st amps of the Ferreira family: square jaws and wide brows. But what made for pleasant features on Duilio’s face translated to handsome in Joaquim’s case, possibly because he had inherited his Spanish mother’s darker coloration. Duilio smiled ruefully at Joaquim’s apparent annoyance. “Who were you expe ct ing?”
    “Mrs. Domingues, bringing a pa st ry for my breakfa st .”
    Duilio rolled his eyes at the idea of such a skimpy morning meal. “Are you going to invite me in or not?”
    Joaquim grabbed Duilio’s shoulder to draw him inside. “Yes, but I’m about to leave for the st ation.”
    “I’ll walk with you.” Duilio closed the door while Joaquim went to fetch his suit coat. The apartment was furnished in items ca st off from other houses, either the Tavares or the Ferreira home. Two worn armchairs, one uphol st ered and one covered in leather, waited near the single window in the front room. The leather one had been in Joaquim’s room in the Ferreira house as a child.
    Duilio felt as much at home here as he did in his own library. He turned to peruse the mismatched bookshelves that lined the wall next to the door. Joaquim had always had an intere st in hi st ory and philosophy, which showed in the sele ct ion of books neatly lining those shelves. After laying his folded newspaper on one shelf, Duilio ran a finger along the rows, hunting for the requisite volume of Camões that mu st lurk there.
    “A woman was seen out near the houses la st night,” Duilio called in the dire ct ion of the bedroom. “I need to find her.” Joaquim had a talent for finding lo st people, one of the many skills for which the police valued him.
    “Which houses?” Joaquim returned.
    “The City Under the Sea.”
Duilio located the book he was looking for, the epic poem st udied by every Portuguese schoolboy wherein the author detailed the voyages of Vasco da Gama.
    Joaquim came back into the room, tugging on his loose suit coat. “Doing what?”
    An inspe ct or’s pay didn’t afford him the same quality of garb he’d had as a child in the Ferreira household, but Duilio knew better than to comment on the coat’s poor fit. He could afford a fancy valet like Marcellin to turn him out in fine frock coats and silk wai st coats. In fa ct , he could easily afford to pay for a valet for Joaquim, but his cousin was prickly about money matters, so Duilio didn’t interfere. He pulled out the book he’d located in st ead. “She was in the water. . . .” he answered.
    Reaching for the tweed hat on the shelf neare st the door, Joaquim paused. “Swimming?”
    “Yes. That’s not what’s important. I think she was in one of the houses.”
    Joaquim ca st a perplexed look in his dire ct ion.
    “She was meant to be a vi ct im, Joaquim.