A Prince of Their Own: Bridget Flynn Detective Series, #2

By Sidney St. James

In the shadowed heart of the Colorado mountains, a retired detective's enigmatic past casts a lingering veil over the present. In "A Prince of Their Own" by Sidney St. James, the winds of intrigue continue to whisper, as the renowned Bridget Flynn, driven by a relentless pursuit of truth, finds herself entangled in a web of theft, secrets, and a daring charade.

A world where truths remain shrouded, where evidence is a labyrinth and confessions are as elusive as smoke. As a renowned detective's retirement looms over Denver, the formidable Bridget Flynn steps forth to carry the mantle of the Gideon Detective Agency. But shadows of the past refuse to dissipate, as Vincent Gideon's decision to release a serial killer, Rosenthall, resonates over two decades. A choice that haunted Bridget, an enigma veiled in silence, and she, just a young soul when it all began.

In this gripping sequel, Bridget's expertise is summoned to Black Rock Cove, a realm shadowed by thieving enigmas. Within the opulent walls of Riverside Hotel, where opulence and mystery dance in equal measure, a puzzle of thefts defies resolution. Dave Henry, Jonathan Lane, and Stephen Moore, tasked with finding a solution, turn to Bridget to unveil the truth behind the string of robberies. It's a riddle that churns beneath her consciousness, especially coming hot on the heels of a recent mystifying murder case in the quaint fishing village.

Three men, their voices woven with desperation, usher Bridget into the heart of this new enigma. A plan, intricate as a spider's silk, is born within her labyrinthine mind. Enter Hans Schedl, embarking on his maiden undercover mission as the enigmatic Prince Karl Haber. A cascade of intrigue unfolds, as he becomes a phantom within the opulent halls of the Regal Hotel. The floor's secret warmth, an intricate dance of snow and fire, a backdrop for the elite's ski escapades.

Bridget, assuming the guise of Mary Lynn Simpson, journeys into the heart of this cloak-and-dagger tale. Prince and detective entwine, their fates interwoven like strands of destiny. The Regal Hotel, a tapestry of luxury and shadows, sets the stage for Prince Karl's intricate masquerade. Underneath the surface of luxury lies a simmering tide of suspense. Intrigue paints every corner, and it's in the hushed hallways of Riverside Hotel where a storm of questions awaits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BeeBop Publishing Group
• Release date: May 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393902348

Sidney St. James

Sidney St. James is an extraordinary author who has made his mark in the world of science fiction suspense. With a creative mind that knows no bounds, St. James weaves captivating tales that transport readers to thrilling and otherworldly realms. His unique ability to blend the elements of science fiction with heart-pounding suspense has garnered him a dedicated following of readers eager to embark on their next exhilarating adventure. Born with an insatiable curiosity and a love for all things speculative, St. James found his calling in the realm of science fiction. From a young age, he was drawn to the limitless possibilities and unexplored frontiers of the genre. Influenced by literary greats and inspired by the wonders of the cosmos, St. James embarked on a writing journey that would push the boundaries of imagination and captivate readers with their visionary tales. St. James' science fiction novels are a testament to their boundless creativity and meticulous attention to detail. With each page, readers are transported to intricate and fully realized worlds, where technological advancements, extraterrestrial encounters, and moral dilemmas abound. His skillful storytelling keeps readers on the edge of their seats, as they navigate through a maze of suspense, intrigue, and thought-provoking concepts. In addition to his literary accomplishments, St. James is an avid pickleball player. This dynamic sport, which combines elements of tennis, badminton, and table tennis, serves as a source of balance and inspiration for St. James. The strategic gameplay and the camaraderie of the pickleball community provide a welcome respite from the boundless realms of science fiction that occupies his mind. As St. James continues to push the boundaries of the science fiction suspense genre, his unique blend of imagination, suspense, and pickleball prowess sets him apart as a true force to be reckoned with. With each new novel, readers eagerly anticipate the next thrilling journey that St. James will take them on, whether it's unraveling the mysteries of distant galaxies or engaging in a high-stakes match on the pickleball court. Sidney St. James is a true visionary and an author whose stories and pickleball skills will leave readers and opponents alike in awe.

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Published by BeeBop Publishing Group

Georgetown, Texas

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, come from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible in the public domain.

All song lyrics reflected in this novel were written before 1923, not copyrighted, and are part of the public domain.

All characters are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any relationship with anyone, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Sidney St. James

SECOND EDITION

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Sidney St. James, except where permitted by law.

The jacket format and design of this novel are protected trade dresses and trademarks of Sidney St. James and the BeeBop Publishing Group.

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FIRST EDITION: DECEMBER 2017

SECOND EDITION: AUGUST 2023

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this novel to all my fellow grocery shoppers at HEB, except the one that so rudely pulled his cart in front of mine the other day.

You’re a butthead, sir.

Chapter One

Memories of Times Gone By

Late one evening in the autumn of 1954, Bridget Flynn found herself nestled within her private office in Portland, a slender cigar clutched between her fingers. It was a habit that had persisted through the years, the only vice that had managed to stake its claim even after two decades of working alongside Vincent Gideon. A tired yawn escaped her lips as the accomplished private investigator contemplated wrapping up her day's work and heading home.

Outside, the pleasant Indian summer had gracefully given way to the brisk, relentless winds of November. They danced around the walls of the seasoned detective's building, their mournful whistles serving as an ominous herald of the encroaching winter chill, like the cold grasp of an elderly man's bony hand.

In her office, Bridget adjusted the propane gas, allowing the flames to burn with a subdued vigor. Settling into a plush wingback chair, she positioned herself before the cheerful wood fire that cast a soft, warm glow across the room. Stretching her legs over the chair's arm, she surrendered herself to the cozy atmosphere—a sanctuary perfectly designed for the rest and respite she so rightfully deserved.

With a languid grace, she smoked her cigar, releasing smoke rings into the air that hung like ethereal halos before dissipating. Her thoughts meandered, unwinding from the complexities of the murder case that had recently consumed her attention—a grueling affair centered in a remote ski resort north of Portland. She gazed into the mesmerizing flames, allowing the events of the case to unfurl in her mind's eye, and pondered the tasks that lay ahead. The weight of fatigue settled over her like a heavy blanket, exhaustion claiming her in a way that mere words could never capture.

A sudden barrage of knocks shattered her reverie. The intrusive sound of rapping knuckles was replaced by the creaking of her office door as Warren Clark, her dedicated assistant with a shared history from the Gideon days, stepped in. Miss Flynn, there are three gentlemen in the front hallway who are eager to meet with you, he informed her.

Bridget's irritation simmered beneath her surface. All she truly longed for was to retreat to the comfort of her own home, pour herself a generous glass of Jack Black, and unwind into the tranquility of the evening. However, her lifelong motto whispered in her ear—business before pleasure, always. Very well, Warren. Show the gentlemen in, she conceded with a resigned nod.

In moments, Bridget had moved from her chair to stand behind her desk, a composed and professional demeanor taking over. As the trio of impeccably dressed young men entered her office, she extended her hand, her voice poised and unwavering. Bridget Flynn.

Charmed to meet you, Miss Flynn. I am David Henry, and this is John Lane, introduced David, his hand reaching out in a gesture of greeting. But even he, in his self-assured demeanor, was momentarily caught off guard by the sheer radiance that emanated from Bridget.

Interrupting David's introduction, the third of the trio, Stephen Moore, revealed himself. A confident smile stretched across his face as his gaze traced Bridget's form from head to toe, lingering on every captivating detail. And I, he declared, am Stephen Moore. We've been designated as a committee to seek your services.

Amid the introductions, Bridget's patience waned. Fatigue coupled with the late hour had stripped away her tolerance for pleasantries. She cut to the chase. Gentlemen, it's late and I'm tired. What exactly do you want me to do for you?

Their mission was unveiled—unravel the mystery behind a series of robberies plaguing their establishment, the Riverside Hotel on Pacific Avenue in Black Rock Cove.

A subtle grin played at the corners of Bridget's lips as she cast her thoughts back in time. The Riverside Hotel held memories for her, including one of her earliest solo cases under Vincent Gideon's tutelage. Yes, Stephen, she began, her tone softening briefly, may I call you Stephen.

His response was punctuated by a captivating smile, his gaze inexplicably drawn to the allure of her neckline, the spark of fascination kindling within his eyes.

Bridget recollected the grandeur of the Riverside Hotel, once a haven for families, merchants, and professionals who established a community within its suites and rooms. The camaraderie of permanent boarders, an amalgamation of dignified acquaintances, remained as steadfast as ever.

Stephen added, Notably, a new generation of young, unmarried men with both wealth and social prominence has joined our ranks.

With a hint of nostalgia, Bridget acknowledged, That was the essence of the place even back then.

As Stephen unveiled the hotel's prominence during the holiday season, his words painted a vivid picture of gatherings and festivities that breathed life into the winter. A distinct class of affluence adorned the hotel's halls, an enclave of the city's opulence.

Stephen further clarified, The hotel is the epicenter of wealth and fashion in Black Rock Cove, its allure drawing the community's privileged to its doors.

David interjected, unable to suppress his annoyance with Stephen's charm. Bridget, it's absurd that a thief would dare infiltrate our haven of elegance—a vulgar intrusion into our fashionable sanctuary.

Shifting her gaze to Johnathan, Bridget inquired, drawing from Gideon's teachings, Johnathan, why haven't you or others at the hotel reported these losses to the manager and initiated an investigation?

Guided by Gideon's wisdom, Bridget had internalized the importance of exhausting all avenues before accepting a case.

Every conceivable measure has been taken, Johnathan replied, his words dripping with a sense of futility. The manager's efforts to uncover the thief's identity have proved fruitless.

Skepticism colored Bridget's next question, What measures did he undertake to solve the case?

A slew of detectives were summoned, yet the losses persisted, impervious to their precautions, Johnathan explained.

Her focus then turned to the pivotal question. And is this why you find yourselves here tonight?

Yes, Stephen replied. The women boarders convened, collectively deciding to commission a committee, consisting of us three, to enlist your expertise.

Bridget's curiosity delved deeper. Stephen, for how long has this wave of thefts been unfolding?

The hotel's revolving door of housekeepers has been a constant struggle, Stephen elaborated. Yet, despite those changes, the thefts endure—almost weekly.

Seeking clarity, she repeated, So, this series of thefts has persisted on a weekly basis for over ten months?

That's correct, Stephen affirmed.

With a mix of surprise and skepticism, Bridget questioned the tenants' steadfastness. Despite the persistent thefts, the residents haven't simply abandoned the hotel?

Dave chimed in, Oh, Bridget, they have. Talks have been circulating, hinting at a mass exodus if the thief remains unchecked.

Bridget's pen danced across her notebook as she scribbled down notes, capturing the details as they were revealed. Lifting her gaze, she inquired of Dave, Tell me, Dave, what has the thief targeted thus far? Understanding the stolen items could provide valuable insight into our culprit.

Women have suffered alongside the men, Dave divulged, his tone weighted with the reality of the situation. Dresses, gloves, coats, blouses—nothing is sacred. Even undergarments haven't been spared.

A mischievous thought flirted with Bridget's mind, momentarily distracted by Stephen's presence. She couldn't help but let her thoughts wander in his direction—a fleeting notion of surrendering her garments to the whims of the night.

Her gaze refocused, her voice carrying an undertone of wry amusement. So, your call to arms seeks my involvement because the denizens of the Riverside Hotel are losing their attire. Her eyes flickered toward Stephen, a playful smile tugging at her lips, before her attention was recaptured by Johnathan.

Mrs. Boothe suffered a pecuniary loss, Johnathan chimed in. Her wedding present—an exquisite gold watch and necklace, accompanied by fifty dollars in cash.

Stephen offered his contribution, "Pat Braden's loss was more materialistic—over a hundred dollars in cash and several shirts vanished from his room. Intriguingly, the thief not only found the hidden cash