The juliet code, p.1
The Juliet Code, page 1
Praise for The Juliet Code
“The Juliet Code has everything I’ve come to expect from one of Pepper Basham’s books. Witty banter, literary references, swoony romance, and in true Grace and Freddie fashion, a delightful madcap adventure that kept me guessing. In The Juliet Code, Pepper has crafted a nail-biting mystery that never takes itself too seriously. She deftly weaves laugh-out-loud moments with danger, sprinkles intrigue with grace, and tosses toe-curling kisses around with abandon. The Juliet Code is a delight for the mind and the spirit that you don’t want to miss!”
–Lynn H. Blackburn, bestselling, award-winning author of the Defend and Protect series (and the one who made her write this. Blame accepted.)
“Enchanting, witty, clever, and dare I say, positively brilliant! I had the best time sleuthing with Freddie and Grace in this entertaining mystery and uncovering the twists and turns in a plot thick with delightfully suspicious characters. I loved every second of it!”
–Natalie Walters, award-winning author of Blind Trust
“The Juliet Code is a fun mystery that takes the reader on a romp through Venice with delightful characters I won’t forget. Basham’s unique voice kept me smiling and riveted to the page. Don’t miss this one with its splash of married romance and strong sense of place!”
–Colleen Coble, author of the Annie Peterson series
“Romantic mystery filled with my favorites: Italy, art, and Freddie and Grace. She’s also won me over to kissing books. It’s a mystery that would make Agatha Christie proud. I highly recommend it.”
–Cara Putman, author of Flight Risk
A FREDDIE & GRACE MYSTERY
BOOK 1 - THE MISTLETOE COUNTESS
BOOK 2 - THE CAIRO CURSE
The Juliet Code ©2023 by Pepper Basham
Print ISBN 978–1-63609–694-0
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978–1-63609–695-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher. Reproduced text may not be used on the World Wide Web.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Model: © Elena Alferova/Trevillion Images
Image Background: © Des Panteva/Trevillion Images
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in the United States of America.
Dedicated to Lynn Huggins Blackburn
She made me do it.
If it’s a flop, blame her.
Acknowledgements
There’s a lot to be said about the company we keep, and in the case of Freddie and Grace, the company is delightful and challenging all at once. I never set out to write a mystery series, and especially one where the main characters stay the same, but in The Mistletoe Countess the “bigness’ of Grace’s personality paired with the way she matched Freddie forged me into this new and exciting fictional world. I’ve LOVED traveling along with them and their adventures, but I’ve also had to push myself to learn how to write a series of books where the main characters stay the same.
As in life, our most meaningful character growth usually happens through trials and suffering, and many times the trials we face are caused by the brokenness of others impacting us. That’s the case with several of the characters in this story, our darling Grace not excluded. Christians are not immune to suffering. We live in a broken world where broken things happen. But perspective changes how we see those trials, either through the lens of a helpless victim at the whims of “chance” or through the understanding that the King is on his throne and is working all things for our good and His glory. It may not feel good, seem good, or look good, but we have a very small vision in the span of eternity. The true definition of ultimate goodness can only be defined by the one being who IS goodness and sees the bigger story not just the chapter or page of our lives. We are not strong enough or faithful enough to grasp this on our own, but praise be to God, He has given us His love and His assurance that His plans for our lives will be completed, and we will find all we need and more in Him, whatever the danger … or adventure.
As with any adventure (fictional or otherwise), I am humbled and grateful to have so many wonderful people along with me on this journey. Thanks to author Lynn Huggins Blackburn who encouraged me to keep growing my skills in writing mystery and gave a strong nudge in writing this story. I sent her a possible synopsis and she was like “Okay, you HAVE to do this”, so … along came The Juliet Code.
As usual, my little team of reader-encouragers like Joy Tiffany and Beth Erin helped keep me moving forward, despite how tough this story was to finish. Andrette Herron, Michelle Lunsford, and Deanna Peterson also joined the early reader encouragement list this time around and I’m so thankful to have them and their wonderful perspectives.
A special shoutout to authors Amanda Dykes and Natalie Walter for just being the encourager extraordinaires that they are! I am continually humbled and awed by the wonderful Christian bookish community that we have!
As with so many of my more recent books, I am grateful for my agent, Rachel McMillan, for championing these stories … and me. In return for all her hard work, she says I “pay her phone bill”. :)
And, as always, I am ever grateful for my wonderful houseful of adventurers. Most of my family members may not read my books, but, boy oh boy, do they encourage my writing journey. I am so grateful to have them in my life!
And, finally, to the Master Storyteller, who works every letter in every sentence of every paragraph on every page of the story of our lives together for our good and His glory. We are in good hands in the grip of a loving Father’s grace. There is peace, strength, hope, and joy in that knowledge. Have courage, dear heart, and rest in Him.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
Grace Percy had always dreamed of being part of a dashing pursuit of some villain; she’d just never imagined doing so in a gondola with a complete stranger.
Her darling husband, Lord Frederick Astley, had just paid the gondolier for his services to take them to the famous St. Mark’s Square in Venice, when a rather unkempt man rushed past them, snatched Grace’s purse, and dashed down the canal-lined street into the late afternoon crowds. Without hesitation, Frederick took off in pursuit, leaving Grace to stare for a second at the bewildered gondolier as if he knew exactly what to suggest next.
“It was the purse I recently purchased in Florence, you see?” But the older man only nodded without one ounce of recollection in his expression.
Just as Grace started to follow Frederick, a shout shook her to a stop.
“That thief stole my watch!” The call came from a towheaded man running toward them, his white jacket flapping behind him. “And he won’t get away with it. Not on my watch.”
A faint twinkle lit his eyes as the man slid to a stop in front of Grace, whether from his pun or some other mischief, Grace had no idea. Nor did she have time to consider. For not only did the man have an American accent, which distracted her already, but he made a rather impressive vault from the pier onto her gondola. Truthfully, he had beautiful athleticism, and she would have said so if the stranger hadn’t begun untying the gondola with what appeared to be an intent of stealing the vehicle she and Frederick had just hired.
“A minute, sir,” she called, stumbling forward onto the shifting little boat. “My husband and I already paid for this gondola, and I will not have you—”
“Take the next one,” interrupted the stranger, and with a little jerk, the gondola moved away from the pier.
Heat rose into Grace’s face as she reached for the single oar in the man’s hand. Athletic or not, she would not condone another thievery. “Release your hold on this gondola or I shall have this very fine gondolier expel you himself.”
The astonished gondolier unleashed some exclamation in Italian at the same time the American tugged the oar from Grace’s grip. With a huff, she snatched it back, only to have the little tug-of-war result in the oar rising skyward, efficiently knocking her hat from her head before giving the poor gondolier a wallop hard enough to send him, with very little athleticism, over the side of the boat into the canal.
Grace reached out toward the man to no avail. The gondolier made a small splash and then surfaced, sputtering unintelligible Italian—or she supposed that was what he sputtered, but since she spoke very little Italian, she had no idea.
She frowned. And she’d been so looking forward to being serenaded by a gondolier.
“Mi dispiace, she apologized to the man floating away. It was one of the few phrases she knew well enough to say, likely due to the fact of having to use it so often.
Her attention shifted to the stranger at the oar. He wasn’t very old. Probably nearer Frederick’s age than hers, and he rocked forward and back while moving the oar, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. She’d observed a few gondoliers and wondered how a single oar on one side of a boat could make it glide so effortlessly and quickly through the canals. It appeared to have something to do with the rocking motion of the driver and the boat’s shape.
The sound of commotion pulled her attention upward toward the land. She searched the crowded street running along the canal, her gaze barely catching sight of her dashing husband as he pursued the dastardly thief on foot. Centuries’ old, pale brick buildings, stone columns, and classic domes towering just beyond recognition sped by, taunting her curiosity.
“Oh,” she cried, as a sudden bump of the boat sent her into a seated position.
The craft picked up more speed, closing in on Frederick’s chase.
What to do?
She focused back on the stranger.
Observation was a vital characteristic of a good detective. Or at least that’s what Detective Jack Miracle’s book stated, and Grace had read it cover to cover three times.
However, the stranger didn’t look villainous. But of course, she could reference several novels where very non-villainous-looking people turned out to be quite villainous indeed. Mr. Wickham to start. She shivered. Or Dr. Jekyll.
The stranger’s hair lay much longer than most gentlemen she knew, and if the wind hadn’t been blowing the soft brown curls, they’d likely make it to his shoulders. Perhaps he was a buccaneer. Or an artist. Weren’t they known for having long hair?
He was clean-cut with dainty but strong-looking hands. His shoes were scuffed on the sides, but other than that, she couldn’t figure out anything else worth noting. Her frown deepened. Detective Jack would be so disappointed in her.
Before she could muster up a good Sherlockian question, the man sent her a glance, the tiny hint of a grin poised at the corners of his lips. “I don’t usually have such lovely accomplices on my adventures. Especially ones who dispatch innocent gondoliers with such efficiency.”
Grace’s bottom lip dropped at his accusation, and she sent a look back behind her. Thankfully, the poor gondolier was climbing to safety out of the canal. She couldn’t say the same for her hat.
“I believe we both were at fault with the gondolier,” she answered, sending another look to the crowd. They were closing in on Frederick. And the thief.
“You’re an American?” He sent her a more pointed look from shoes to her hatless head. “Well”—he made a quick motion of the oar and doffed his hat—“we’ll have to be properly introduced later.” Then, before the gondola hit the canal wall, the man leaped from the boat and dashed into the crowd as swiftly and gracefully as an antelope.
Grace stared in awe in the direction the man had disappeared before rallying her wits, standing from the gondola, and, after a few attempts and the assistance of a passing Italian, climbing onto the street side. She’d never witnessed a man move with such agility before, except once, but that involved heated tongs and an angry cook.
Hitching up her skirt, she dashed in the direction of the stranger. The small crowd seemed to sense her pursuit because they slowly parted as she ran. It was fortunate the stranger was rather tall. He proved an easy target to follow.
A cry rang out just as Grace came to a clearing in the middle of a small, stone-paved courtyard. At the center lay the thief, with Frederick on top of him and the American stranger looming over both, his expression more confused than … well, whatever he should have been feeling about having his watch stolen. With a slight struggle, Frederick stood, bringing the man up with him and tugging Grace’s purse from the thief’s hand.
Frederick’s gaze found hers on the edge of the crowd, noting her presence with a dip of his chin. Her smile quivered wide. She loved how he did that. Found her. Even when he was in the middle of wrangling a thief. It was a tremendously romantic thing to do.
“Let’s find the authorities.” Frederick pulled the man forward, but the American stranger rushed ahead, blocking Frederick’s path.
“I’ll take it from here, sir.” He grabbed the thief by the arm, giving his head a sharp shake. “After all, there’s no real harm done.”
“No harm?” Frederick drew back and Grace moved to his side. “He’s a thief.”
“But not a very good one, if you ask me,” the stranger said with a sigh and turned toward the thief, whose hair was much shorter and darker than the stranger’s. “Why on earth did you steal the lady’s purse, Paul? That wasn’t a part of the game.”
Frederick loosened his hold on the man and caught Grace’s gaze, his expression reflecting the same surprise she felt.
The stranger knew the thief by name? Was he some popular thief like Fagin from Oliver Twist? Ruthless and rascally and hard-hearted. Or worse, like Sikes! She grimaced and shook her head, examining the man with his ready smile. Surely not. And then he tossed her a wink.
She narrowed her eyes.
Well, maybe a little rascally.
The thief shrugged the shoulder of his well-cut suit jacket. There was another mark in his favor for not being similar to Oliver Twist. A stylish jacket with not a patch in sight.
“Old habits and all of that,” came the thief’s response. Another American? “I would have returned the purse on my own.”
The thief dusted off his sleeves before reaching his hand into his jacket.
Frederick stepped forward, creating a barrier between the thief and Grace, only to find that the thief removed not a weapon but … a stopwatch? He clicked the button at the top of the watch and sent a grin up to the American stranger. “He beat your last time.”
The first stranger looked over at Frederick, his eyes wide. “He beat my time?”
“By three minutes.” The thief turned the stopwatch for the American to see. “I think you’re losing your touch, Danny boy.”
An indefinable noise came from her husband as he stepped forward.
“What is going on here?” Frederick moved toward the American. “A game?” He waved toward Grace, his body growing taller and broader as he growled out the accusation. “Where someone puts the well-being of a woman in danger?”
A thrill moved through Grace. Protective was incredibly heroic.
The “Danny boy” American had the decency to don a guilty frown. The thief named Paul bent his head like a little boy in trouble.
“We meant no harm, sir.” The “Danny boy” American offered his hand to Frederick. “Just a silly competition me and my friend engage in once in a while, and usually”—he shot the thief a narrow-eyed look—“it is only between us.”
“Perhaps you should be more particular about which friends you choose,” came Frederick’s reply as he offered Grace his arm.
Danny boy’s laugh burst out. The thief’s frown deepened.
“Paul’s usually the best of friends, sir,” Danny said with another laugh. “When he’s not pinching a fine lady’s purse.” Danny removed his hat and took a low bow before Grace. “I’d be happy to try and make it up to the both of you.”
So all along they’d been playing some game? Was the man named Paul acting as a thief and Danny attempting to catch him? A game of cat and mouse through the streets of Venice? It sounded like the mischief two young boys might engage in, but two men? No wonder Europeans held such varying views on Americans!
“I’ve heard enough.” Frederick tugged Grace forward. “We’re finished here.”
“There really was no harm done,” Danny shouted as Frederick brought Grace to his side and moved away from the crowd. “And I’ll make things right with the gondolier, madam.”
Grace looked back over her shoulder to find Danny dusting off the thief … er … Paul’s jacket. A much more friendly action than villainous. What a strange pair! They must be very bored, indeed, to engage in such dangerous activities. Perhaps they weren’t readers.
Grace’s gaze moved to her husband, whose clipped pace and stiff jaw refused to relax despite the distance they’d created between them and the two men. With a little squeeze to his arm, she pulled his attention.
