From Star Singer to Pirate Prey - Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "Showboat Soubrette"

BOOK EXCERPT

Sam Clemens Arrives on the Scene

John Dee took out his kerchief and wiped perspiration at his brow. Who were these Burtons? This situation was spiraling and not in a good way. “So, you are going to write out a statement about Ricky’s death?”

“My cub pilot Sam Clemens is gonna record my statement. Yours too. And the squaw singer’s. He’s damned good at writing things up.”

The door opened and a young man with wavy red hair entered. “You called for me, Captain Martin?”

“I did, Sam. Sit down. There’s been a death on board, and I need you to take some statements.”

Sam took a seat and looked at John Dee, then at Stella and Toby, while fingering his bushy red mustache under an aquiline nose. Those features, together with his bow tie and bright red hair, made Sam one of the most memorable characters John Dee had ever encountered on the river. “Remember me?”

Sam set his papers on the table, dipped his pen in an ink pot, and took a second look at him. “Did we meet in Hannibal, sir?”

John Dee shook his head. “It was in Keokuk. Iowa, I believe.”

“Iowa. That’s right,” Sam said.

“Came into the shop to get myself a flyer printed, and there you were: a young, over-worked printer’s devil setting the keys on the presses.”

“Ah. I wasn’t just the printer’s devil. I was the poor devil who ran the place.”

“You told me I’d come just in time—before it got dark when the gas light flared on and a million bugs assembled on the board, led by President Beetle. And you proceeded to describe President Beetle’s tuxedo and his scepter and other accoutrements of his regime. Isn’t that what you told me?”

Sam raised one side of his red mustache in a wry grin. The captain restlessly adjusted his bulk in his chair.

“I remember the dusty volumes you kept in your shop.” John Dee lifted a finger in a theatrical flourish. “Suetonius. Shakespeare. Pepys. Darwin. I’ll concede that your study of the caesars qualifies you here.”

The captain raised his hand, demanding attention. “We’re wasting time here, boys. Let’s get to business!”

Dammit! The idea had been to ingratiate himself with the captain by recalling his unforgettable carrot-topped scribe. All he’d done was irritate the old codger, who probably was antsy to make his statement and get to bed. Or maybe to sip good whiskey.

“Yes, of course,” John Dee said.

Sam’s pen oscillated over his paper. “Ready?”

“Yes. My name is John Dee Franklin. I’m a passenger on the Lady J.”

Sam recorded John Dee’s version of the events, which emphasized the depravity of Ricky’s assault on Stella and the mortal combat that ensued when Ricky charged him with the Bowie knife. When he described plunging the knife into Ricky, Sam was glancing at Toby, who was using his sleeve to wipe away perspiration. Sam’s eyes narrowed, making John Dee wonder what the hell was he on to? The captain rocked back and forth in his chair. He didn’t pick up on whatever had piqued Sam’s interest and didn’t ask any questions. Sam returned to his scribing until John Dee finished up. Having now told his tale three times, once in his head, once to the captain, and once to Sam—John Dee almost believed it.