Intrigue in Istanbul

Book 4: Jane Wunderly Mystery

by Erica Ruth Neubauer

Genres: Historical Mysteries; Private Investigators

Synopsis

The latest installment in the new Jane Wunderly Mystery series.
When vibrant American widow Jane Wunderly arrives in 1920s Turkey in search of her father, she finds a country redefining itself after the fall of the Ottoman Empire — and a deadly criminal who can't escape the past...
Istanbul, 1926: After her archeologist father makes a clandestine journey abroad, Jane and the dapper Mr. Redvers trace his footsteps while signs of danger loom back home in the United States. They're greeted at their destination by Aunt Millie and unsettling news: Professor Wunderly was on a mission to locate the lost heart of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent—a legendary relic from the Ottoman Empire said to possess potent mystical powers—then vanished completely, leaving behind his unpacked luggage, a perplexing riddle, and an eerie mystery Jane must solve to keep her loved ones safe.
What starts off as a clear-cut investigation becomes an intercontinental game of cat and mouse as Jane realizes a gang of nameless figures have been stalking her every move from Turkey to Hungary. And it seems even helpful friends can't be trusted for long when a man is stabbed to death on the Orient Express to Budapest. With Redvers by her side and few clues to rely on, Jane's desperate search for her father leads to centuries-old secrets and an unidentified enemy who could make her disappear like the missing Sultan's heart...

Release date: March 28, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

After so many months abroad it was a little surreal to be back in my hometown of Boston. The streets were still bustling and nothing about the city had changed, but I certainly had. I was a much different person than the one who set off to Egypt. Not only that, but I was now bringing home a man to introduce to my father, something I never thought would happen again.

Yet here we were.

We’d taken a train from New York after spending several days there, and then a taxi from the train station. I was very much looking forward to a few days without the hustle and bustle of travel, and to showing Redvers around Boston. He’d been here plenty of times before, but he said he was interested in seeing the city through my eyes. I wanted to take him to my favorite park, and the little bakery where I often had coffee and watched the world pass by, and a thousand other places where I passed my time at home.

First, he had to meet my father, however. I was both excited and nervous at the prospect of them meeting, curious about what they would think of one another. Would my father take Redvers and his mysterious profession in stride? Would Redvers find my absentminded but amiable father charming?

The taxi driver had unloaded our trunks and bags onto the sidewalk and I sighed at the notion of dragging them into the house. Father kept a housekeeper, but we didn’t have any other staff so getting all our luggage inside would fall on our own shoulders. Apparently, I’d gotten a bit spoiled after staying at so many places where such things were taken care of for me.

Our home was part of a long red brick building, a series of row houses stretching up both sides of the narrow street and lit by gas lanterns. Black shutters lined white windows, front doors slightly offset from one another due to the buildings being built along the upward slope of the hill. This area was historic by American standards, but certainly not by European ones. The street was paved with cobblestones, which I still found charming despite having grown up here and despite the fact that they were somewhat difficult to walk on—it was easy to catch a shoe on them. We were at the edge of the fashionable neighborhood of Beacon Hill, where many of the city’s rich and powerful lived. But since we were neither, we were able to enjoy our peaceful little street.

I had my keys at the ready, and pushed open the front door, calling into the quiet beyond. “Father? I’m home!” There was no answer.

“Does he know you’re coming? Perhaps he’s out,” Redvers said from behind me.

I stepped fully inside and cocked my head. It was dead silent, but the kind of silence that lingered. The air also felt stale, as though fresh air hadn’t come through in a while. That was strange in itself since the housekeeper normally stopped by several times a week, but it felt as though no one had been here in some time.

It was odd, but nothing seemed amiss, so we dragged our trunks and various other pieces of luggage into the row house and left them in the small foyer for the time being. I took the opportunity to show Redvers around the house, starting with the cozy sitting room, where I’d spent countless hours reading by the fire. Redvers took it all in quietly, including the framed portrait of my mother sitting on the mantel.

“This is your mother?”

I nodded, coming to stand beside him.

“I see the resemblance.”

I laughed. “That’s kind of you to say, but I look much more like my father.”

“I’ll need to meet him first before I can be the judge of that.” Redvers’ tone was lighthearted, but he was an observant man, and I knew he was taking everything in. I also knew we were both wondering where my father had gone. Everything was in its proper place, but I noticed there was a fine layer of dust covering everything. Which meant that not only had Father been gone for a bit, but our housekeeper, Mrs. George, hadn’t been by in some time either.

But I was curious about something else as well, and I cocked my head at him. “Who do you most resemble?” I’d never even see a photograph of the man’s family, which suddenly struck me as strange since I was going to marry into it.

My fiancé gave a casual shrug, now studying me with a fond smile instead of the portrait. “I’m told I look more like my father, but who’s to say?”

“Me, I suppose. Once I meet him.” Although I didn’t know when that would be—we hadn’t discussed traveling to Redvers’ hometown to meet his father. I did know that his immediate family was now just his father since both his mother and brother had passed away years before, so it would be a small reunion when it did happen.

“Plenty of time for that,” Redvers said, pulling me into a warm embrace.

We broke apart a few moments later and I continued my tour, showing Redvers through the dining room, popping our heads into the kitchen before ending in my favorite room of the house, the library, which also served as Father’s office. It was lined with books of all shapes and genres, where literature and history sat beside current novels and ancient texts. It was a hodgepodge, and I loved it.

I took a seat in the wooden chair behind his well-worn wooden desk. It was strewn with papers, which was nothing new. But the stacks of unopened mail were. I flicked mindlessly through the envelopes, puzzling over where my father could have disappeared to and why Mrs. George hadn’t been here in what was at least a week, judging by the dust.

As I flicked through the envelopes, it suddenly struck me that several of them were from our bank. I frowned, glancing up at Redvers who was wordlessly perusing the bookshelves. I dug around and found Father’s letter opener and slit an envelope open, pulling the paper out and briefly glancing at it. The words “repayment” and “repossess” jumped out at me and I slowed down to read the notice in full. Alarm bells sounded and I opened another envelope and then another.

“Is everything all right?” Redvers asked.

I looked up, worry evident on my face. “These are all notices from the bank.” I gestured to the array of now-opened envelopes before me. “It seems as though Father took out a large sum of money against the house and the bank is calling for their note to be repaid.”

A frown furrowed Redvers’ brow. “What would he have wanted the money for?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. But it looks as though we only have a few short weeks to return it before they will repossess this row house.” I felt panic rise, but tamped it down. Surely there was an explanation. And surely we would find my father later today and have him return the money and all would be well. Once that was settled, Redvers and I could carry on with our relaxing time here in Boston.

“Why would he ignore the notices?”

I shook my head. “He hasn’t opened a single one of them. And some of these have been here for some time. He’s a bit . . . absentminded. I’ve taken care of the accounts for years.” I usually took care of the mail also, and well, everything. Father taught his classes at the university and usually lost himself in his research. I’d been a little nervous about leaving him behind while I traveled with his sister, but Mrs. George had assured me that everything would be fine.

But Redvers was asking an important question—what did he need all that money for? It was enough money that we were now apparently in danger of losing our home. How long ago had he taken it out, and where was it now?

Aquick sweep of the rest of the house didn’t reveal much except that my father’s battered old trunk was gone. Where to was anyone’s guess, although I thought it was worth a trip to see Mrs. George to find out what she might know about my father’s whereabouts. If his trunk was missing it meant that he was farther away than a day trip—this business with the bank wasn’t going to be resolved as quickly as I’d first hoped.

And the bank was our first stop, so we set off for a walk. It was only a few blocks, and after the train ride I was happy for a chance to stretch my legs even if the weather was quite brisk. Late November wasn’t the most pleasant time in New England, but it wasn’t as though the weather was much fairer back in regular old England either. And with my leather gloves and wool cloche hat and jacket, I was fairly well protected against the biting wind.

The trees were nearly bare, and the few dried-out leaves on the narrow sidewalks blew past our feet as we made our way to the square where our bank was located. I released Redvers’ arm as we pushed through the door to the lobby, but he stayed close behind me.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wunderly,” the clerk behind the desk greeted me. I couldn’t quite remember the man’s name but I returned his warm greeting. “What can we help you with today?”

“I have some questions about a loan my father took out. Who should we talk to?”

“That would be Mr. Whitaker. I’ll see if he’s available.” The clerk left his post behind the desk and walked back to an office, knocking on the door and poking his head inside. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it seemed as though the man’s friendliness had turned to a bit of concern once I mentioned the loan. It was probably just my imagination, though.

My nerves were humming when we were ushered into Mr. Whitaker’s office a few moments later, however. And not even Redvers’ comforting hand on my back could calm them.

“Mrs. Wunderly,” Mr. Whitaker greeted me and cast a pointed look at my companion.

“This is Mr. Redvers, my fiancé,” I said. I caught a smile on Redvers’ face from the corner of my eye—it was the first time I’d introduced him as such. And it seemed to do as intended, which was to set Mr. Whitaker’s mind at ease.

“Ah, excellent. A pleasure, Mr. Redvers.”

The men exchanged handshakes and then we sat down in the wooden chairs opposite the man’s desk. It was a utilitarian office, an old map of the city framed and hanging on the wall but little else. Whitaker’s hands were folded on top of his tidy desk and he regarded me steadily. “I suppose you’re here about the loan your father took out.”

“I am indeed. I just returned home and this was the first I’d heard of it.” I hadn’t met Whitaker before, but it was well-known at the bank that I took care of most of the household affairs. I was hoping Whitaker would already be up to speed as far as that went. “It would appear that we are in arrears?”

Whitaker nodded sadly. “I’m afraid Professor Wunderly failed to make any efforts toward repayment, so we are now forced to either collect the entire sum or take control of your home. Which he used as collateral.”

“What is the exact sum that Professor Wunderly took out?” Redvers asked.

“Nearly ninety thousand dollars.”

I gasped. I’d known it was a large sum, but that was astronomical. No wonder the bank was going to take back the row house.

“Is there anything that can be done?” I asked. I could hear the desperation in my own voice. We had nowhere near that sum of money, and I didn’t want to lose the row house. It was not only where I’d grown up but also where all the memories I had left of my mother were centered.

Mr. Whitaker shook his head. I could tell that he didn’t like giving me this news, which was small comfort. “I’m afraid not. I can give you an extra week perhaps, but that’s about all I can do at this stage.”

I tried not to panic. “So that would give us three weeks? And can we wire the money to you?” If we could locate my father, we could get the money and get it to the bank that much quicker.

“Of course.”

Redvers broke in again. “Do you happen to know what Professor Wunderly wanted the money for?”

Whitaker cocked his head a bit. “I don’t actually. He was quite mysterious about the whole thing.” He unfolded his hands and tapped the top of his desk. I took it as a sign that we were about finished here.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Whitaker. I do appreciate it. And I appreciate the extra time.”

“I wish I could do more for you, Mrs. Wunderly, Mr. Redvers.” He stood as we did the same. We left his office, and after giving the friendly clerk a wave on our way out the door, we found ourselves back on the sidewalk.

I turned to Redvers. “Three weeks. We only have three weeks to find Father, get the money back from whatever he’s done with it, and wire it to the bank.”

“Could you ask your aunt for the money?”

I considered that option for only a moment. I would do everything I could to solve this without asking Aunt Millie to bail us out of this trouble. She likely could find the funds to save our home, but my father would never hear the end of it, nor would I. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Our next stop was to see Mrs. George, our housekeeper. She worked full-time for my aunt Millie, fitting us in here and there, so we went to Millie’s house to find the woman. Unlike my father and me, Millie lived in the very fashionable part of Beacon Hill, and instead of a row house, she lived in a large Renaissance mansion in white limestone. The streets were still narrow here—the entire city was rather narrow when it came down to it—but the front of Millie’s house faced a park that was quite beautiful in the summer and fall. The house was still close to its neighbors, but this was Boston, and that was to be expected.

It was strange arriving to Millie’s knowing that she wouldn’t be there. I’d never once been to Millie’s when she wasn’t there, and I wondered what would become of the house now that Millie was engaged to Lord Hughes. Would they reside permanently in England? Would Millie keep the house?

My thoughts were interrupted by the butler answering the door. He was surprised to see me, although the only evidence of that was the tiniest raising of his eyebrow. “Mrs. Stanley isn’t at home, Miss Jane.” He opened the door all the same, letting us past him into the large foyer.

I’d long ago insisted that the man call me Jane, and I had managed to get him to the point where he’d conceded to “Miss Jane.” Close enough. “I do know that, Sullivan. I’m actually here to see Mrs. George.”

Sullivan nodded once. “She is in the kitchen. I’ll have her meet you in the sitting room.”

Redvers followed me past the grand staircase down a small corridor into a reasonably comfortable sitting room. My aunt liked things pristine, but at least here the furniture was relatively comfortable to sit on. That wasn’t the case in her drawing room where she received more formal guests. Or in the dining room either, for that matter. My posterior had gone to sleep during more than one formal dinner at my aunt’s table.

Mrs. George bustled into the room, an absolute dumpling of a woman with her frizzy gray hair pulled into a bun, and a warm smile. I nearly leapt from my seat to greet her, bending down to give her a hard hug.

“It’s so good to see you, Jane, my dear,” she said. “And who is your gentleman friend?” Her hands were clasped in front of her and she had a gleam in her eye.

“This is Mr. Redvers,” I said as the man in question came forward and offered Mrs. George his hand. “We’re engaged to be married.”

The housekeeper’s reaction was a large smile and a knowing look at me. After my own mother died, Mrs. George had offered me a great deal of warmth and a patient ear, both of which were appreciated and necessary. I would never forget her kindness to me.

“Welcome to the family, Mr. Redvers. I knew Jane wouldn’t stay unmarried for too long.”

I didn’t argue with the woman on that score, much as I wanted to, since she was technically correct. I was remarrying despite the terrible experiences I’d had the first time around the altar.

Brushing those thoughts aside, I led Mrs. George to a seat, taking one opposite her. Before I could speak, however, she interrupted me.

“You’re here about your father.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.

“We are.”

“That foolish man, always haring off to places without more than a moment’s notice.”

She wasn’t wrong there. My father was both absentminded and impulsive, especially when chasing down an academic interest of his. “How long ago did he leave? It’s hard to tell.”

“A few weeks ago, now. He told me not to bother with anything at the house this time since he didn’t know when he would be back—or you.” She beamed. “But now that you’re back home, Jane, I can start taking care of things again.”

“I hate to inform you, but I don’t think we’ll be staying.” I was starting to suspect that my visit home was going to be short indeed. “Do you know where he went this time?”

Mrs. George shrugged. “Back to Constantinople, I imagine.”

“I was afraid of that,” I muttered. “And the notices on his desk from the bank?”

“Now you know I don’t look at his mail,” she said primly, but a raised eyebrow from me had her conceding a breath later. “But yes, I did notice that there were more letters from the bank than usual.”

“Did he seem upset by them?”

“Your father never really seems upset about much,” Mrs. George told us. “And you know how he is about the mail.”

“I do,” I murmured. Normally I took care of everything, and had set things up before I left so that everything would run smoothly in my absence. I hadn’t anticipated him taking out an enormous loan and disappearing to parts unknown, however.

We finished chatting with Mrs. George, learning nothing new but filling her in on how my aunt Millie was faring. She was pleased to hear about the engagement, seemingly not at all concerned that Millie would sell the house and stay there permanently. We took our leave, opting for a stroll back to my father’s house. It was growing dark, and the streets were a bit spooky in the lamplight with the bare branches of the trees reaching up into the dark sky.

“Your father wouldn’t have left you a note?” Redvers asked. He’d been relatively quiet at Millie’s house.

“Frankly I’m surprised he didn’t.” I gave that a moment’s thought. “There’s a few more places I could check, though.”

“Why wouldn’t he leave it somewhere obvious?”

“It simply might not have occurred to him. He lives a bit in his own little world.” I had already started wondering how we could get to Istanbul and was feeling some dread at the thought of getting on another ship, when Redvers interrupted me.

“Much like you are right now.” His voice was teasing, but concerned.

“Guilty as charged. I’m just worried that we need to go to Constantinople.”

“I don’t think it’s come to that yet. We can simply send him a telegraph and ask him to sort out how to wire the money to the bank before we head to Istanbul.”

I paused. “Istanbul?”

“It’s the local name,” Redvers said. “What most Turks call it.”

I would try to use that moving forward. “But why take out that much money? And then disappear to Istanbul with it?”

“Those are reasonable questions,” Redvers conceded. “But there has to be a reasonable explanation.”

When we arrived back at my own home, I couldn’t help but compare the little brick row house to my aunt’s stately home. I had never minded how small it seemed in comparison, though. I found our home to be quaint and cozy. I couldn’t imagine losing it.

So I would do everything in my power not to.

We had barely gotten back in the door when I turned to Redvers. “I think we should do a thorough search of the entire house.”

Redvers smiled at me. “I was thinking the very same thing. We need to make sure your father didn’t squirrel that money away somewhere here.”

We decided to start on the top floor and work our way down. The bathroom held nothing of interest and was quickly searched, so we started in on the three bedrooms on that floor. The guest room was quickly eliminated as having anything of interest, so we moved on to my room. It was strange to be standing back in my bedroom, the same one I’d had since childhood. So very much had happened since I’d last been in this room—I took a moment to reflect on that. Redvers was already looking under my mattress but stopped when he saw me standing there.

“Are you simply going to supervise?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “No, I was just thinking about how much has changed recently.” I stepped forward and began searching my wardrobe. “I was also thinking it’s unlikely that my father hid anything in here. Not to mention how strange it is to be searching my own things—it’s usually someone else’s that we’re going through.”

“An excellent point.” Redvers looked thoughtful, but said nothing more until we’d finished my room. There was, as expected, nothing to be found.

That left my father’s room. It was the largest of the bedrooms and wasn’t off-limits to me by any means, but I very rarely went in here. It was simply furnished, with a four-poster bed and wardrobe, although there was a second wardrobe that had once belonged to my mother. There was also a dressing table that still had her things on it—a hairbrush, a nearly empty bottle of perfume, and an old jewelry box. Redvers began searching my father’s wardrobe and I took a seat at the dressing table and absently looked through the drawers. Nothing but bits and bobs from both my father and my mother. I ran my hands over her hairbrush and unstopped the perfume, taking a whiff. It smelled exactly as I remembered her smelling. Although whether that was due to my actual memories or just my habit of periodically doing exactly this, it was difficult to say.

“Your father kept her things,” Redvers said as he opened the second wardrobe. I turned to look at him. He had yet to touch anything, instead standing with hands on hips, regarding the wardrobe full of out-of-date dresses and other pieces of clothing that were showing their age and the ravages of time. . .