The Minstrel & The Beagle

by Lila K Bell

  My stomach didn’t feel so great.

  “Think it’s possible for me to get out of here?” I asked.

  “Not yet, I’m afraid. I still have questions I need to ask. Forms you need to fill out.”

  Black spots swam into view, keeping to the periphery for now but threatening to come closer.

  “Come on, Sam. You know where I live. I’m not going anywhere. I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

  Sam’s blue eyes narrowed. He rested one hand on his hip and rubbed his brow with the other. “That’s not really how this works, Fi. You found a body. Conveniences don’t really apply to you until we get your story down on paper.”

  “Come on. For old times’ sake?” I said. “For the sake of sparing my parents the embarrassment of having their daughter throw up in a neighbour’s house?”

  Sam huffed out a breath and looked around the room, glanced over his shoulder. He turned back to me. “You can’t go sit on the front step or something?”

  I widened my eyes, feigning horror. “And have my mother hear that I was sitting outside a dead man’s house? You know how much fun you’d have dealing with her wrath if she found out you played a part in that.”

  Sam groaned.

  “Fine,” he said. “I don’t like it, but fine. As long as you keep your mouth closed, say nothing about this to anyone, and give me the full story when I come get your statement.”

  My heart ran a double beat. “Come get my statement?”

  “It needs to be done, Fi. I can swing by your place tomorrow and we can go through it.”

  “No,” I said, so quickly the word was out before I could temper my tone. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I don’t want my parents knowing anything about this. Can’t I pop by the station in the morning and we can go through it there?”

  Sam frowned. “Sure, that would work. As long as you promise to show up.”

  “I promise,” I said, crossing my finger over my chest.

  My legs started to shake and my throat closed against the cloying smell. My warnings were genuine. If I didn’t get out of here soon, I was going to make more of a mess than Coleman’s murderer had. There was also the matter of my story. I needed to make sure it was solid before I put anything down on paper.

  “If you don’t, my posterior will be well and truly on the line,” he said, hammering home his point.

  “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” My vision was wavering now, my feet so much farther than they usually were.

  “Then get out of here and get some rest. I’ll handle things from here.”

  Relief swept over me that I’d managed to get out of at least part of the mess I’d found myself in. Sure, the hundred and twenty-five thousand dollar book was still sitting upstairs, but there was no way I was getting my hands on it now. There would be a sales receipt for it, an inventory of his effects to discover if he’d been killed during a burglary. I couldn’t take the risk.

  And, frankly, it would have been rude to take it from him now. The thrill was in sneaking it out from under his nose. There was no challenge when Coleman wasn’t able to play.

  “Actually, Fi,” Sam said, drawing my attention away from my thoughts. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind doing the Brookside Police Department a favour?”

  “Oh?”

  He nodded his head toward the bathroom. “We could call animal control to bring Coleman’s dog somewhere, but he might prefer having someone look after him.”

  I balked. He wanted me to take home that barking monster I’d victoriously locked away? How? Did he expect me to wrestle him out of the house?

  “You don’t want to keep him for testing or anything?”

  He gestured to the floor. “No blood trail to the bathroom, so he didn’t step in anything. Did you notice any blood on him? Any sign he might have attacked the person who killed Coleman?”

  “I can’t say I got a good look. He was a little bit busy trying to attack me.”

  Sam reached for the leash hanging on the wall and went to the bathroom. He eased the door open, and the dog’s long snout spoked through the crack, its deep barks no longer muffled. He pushed past Sam to return to Coleman’s body, but Sam butted between them and grabbed hold of his collar to clip on the leash. The dog twisted his head to snap at him, but he darted out of the way and glowered at him.

  “His teeth and muzzle are clean, and despite all the bark, I don’t think this guy is out for blood. So what do you say? At least overnight? You can bring him to the station with you tomorrow and we’ll take over from there.”

  I accepted the leash without thinking. What on earth was I going to do with a dog? Mother would scream, Father would wrinkle his nose in disgust, and Gramps… well, Gramps would love it. He’d always wanted a dog.

  The last thought decided me. And maybe I owed it to Coleman to look after his pet considering I’d broken into his house to rob him. It was the least I could do to make it up to him.

  “If this dog breaks my leg, it’s on you,” I said.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they were real, I hoped Coleman could see this and appreciated what I was trying to do.

  “Thanks, Fi,” he said. “I owe you one.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Focused on nudging the dog in front of me and tugging him behind me as he worked to remain by his owner’s side, I made my way to the door. When I reached Sam’s side, I turned to scan him over.

  “You’re looking good, Sam. The uniform suits you.”

  A faint pink touched his cheeks and he offered me a tight smile. “Flattery’s not going to get you out of this one, Fi. You know I can’t leave your name out of the report without someone finding out.”

  “I know,” I said. And I did. “But I would appreciate it if you kept my role here to an insignificant event. You know how this would look in the rumour mill. You know what my parents would say if they find out.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “If you’re telling the truth and all you did was find him, then you have nothing to worry about. A quick report for our files, and you’ll be free to go.”

  If we’d been in one of our friendship stages, I would have hugged him. It was always nice to see him — one of the few people in my social circles as grounded and disillusioned about his status as I was. But I understood that he was here solely as a professional and I as a witness, so I gave him a strained smile and, urging the dog along with me, stepped out of the house onto the front porch.

  It felt beyond strange to go through the front door. Part of me was tempted to go back inside and sneak out through the back window just for the comfort of habit, but I made myself climb down the steps and move toward the sidewalk. Sam’s patrol car was pulled up on the side of the road, the lights flashing and the siren blessedly quiet. In a few minutes, the street would be congested with emergency response vehicles, and I didn’t want to be here when they came. With them would be one of the few Brookside detectives, and I was certain their questions would be more penetrating than Sam’s.

  So I turned away from the house and started back to Bessie, looking forward to folding myself into her quiet, ratty interior.

  The farther we got from the house, the more the dog calmed, his furious barks lapsing into mournful whimpers. He stuck close to me, his heavy bulk bumping into my leg, and I reached down to stroke the velvety softness of his ears.

  As I walked, I thought over my conversation with Sam. A sense of assurance settled over me that he meant what he said. He had no reason to believe I was lying, and if I had a bit of time before the detective ran through my statement, I would be able to reinforce everything I told him, repeating the story to myself until I believed it so fully there was no way they could find out the truth.

  Because it wasn’t so much of a lie. I did not kill Barnaby Coleman. I’d just had the misfortune of finding him.

  But what if I did leave something behind? What if the detective makes the connection between me prowling around a big old h
ouse and the Midnight Minstrel who makes these houses her hunting ground?

  Another thought settled over me that turned my blood to ice.

  What if they find Species and realize Coleman would have been a perfect target? What if they think I killed him in a failed attempt to get the book?

  I wished now that I’d waited one more night before trying to satisfy my itch. One more night and the other masked person could have done whatever he’d done, and the news would have kept me away from the house until the heat settled. Then I could have made the attempt on Jeremy’s house instead of his father’s. I would have been in the clear.

  This is where impatience gets you, Fiona.

  I reached the car, let the dog into the back seat, and slipped into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t smart to sit here for long. If Sam changed his mind and came after me, he’d wonder what I was doing in my beater of a Toyota instead of the Mercedes I kept parked in front of my parents’ house. He would have more questions, and I would have to try to work through this mental fog to answer them in a way that didn’t raise suspicions.

  But no matter how badly I wanted to get moving, I couldn’t make my muscles do what I wanted. I remained frozen in the seat. Then it sank in that I was actually freezing, shock settling in my system until my entire body was trembling. I started the engine and blasted the heat, allowing the white noise of the vents and the warmth of the air to calm my rattling bones.

  That’s when I discovered I’d been crying. My cheeks cooled as my tears dried, and I did my best to wipe them away.

  I’d never been so close to death before. My heists had always been fun romps, but tonight’s turn had plunged my thoughts down dark paths. If that masked person had been the one to kill Barnaby, had he considered doing the same to me to stop me from talking? How close had I come to meeting the same fate?

  The dog poked his nose between the seats and licked at my tears. I pushed him away and wiped my face with my sleeve. Being in possession of Barnaby’s beagle was just one more tie linking me to his death. How was I supposed to explain his sudden appearance to my parents? How was I supposed to disassociate myself from the case?

  My earlier thoughts returned in a wave of panic. What if they connected the book with me and me with the Midnight Minstrel? How long would it be before they confirmed or disproved my statement, and when that time came, how much would they have been able to piece together?

  No, I couldn’t walk away and put this behind me, hoping a simple report would be the end of it. I couldn’t take the risk that they wouldn’t find who had actually killed Coleman and decide to turn their attentions on me. After all, wasn’t there a statistic about people discovering the body often being the one to commit the crime?

  I couldn’t let them dig. No matter what, no one could learn my secret.

  So if I couldn’t let them get closer, I would need to do what I could to guide their investigation in the right direction. I would help them find out who murdered Barnaby Coleman, and in the process turn their sights far away from me.

  5

  I woke up to a wet nose in my face and a gnawing regret in my gut as the events of last night returned in a rush.

  Barnaby dead. Cops looking to talk to me. Dog.

  What had I been thinking, bringing the dog home? As soon as it barked, and I could tell by the sharpness in his big dark eyes that such noise was imminent, my mother would come barging upstairs to demand how I could have allowed a shedding flea-ridden beast into the house.

  In all fairness to the dog, he didn’t appear to be either of those things — in fact, by the look of him, Coleman had been a responsible pet owner — but that wouldn’t prevent my mother from evicting him on sight.

  If I were going to keep my promise to Sam and look after the dog, I would need to be very, very sneaky. And enlist Gramps’s help.

  For now, I leashed him and, checking around corners to make sure no one else was up, snuck downstairs to let the dog into the backyard. He did his business while I looked discreetly away, then I rushed him inside and back up to my room.

  “Now you be quiet,” I said as he settled into my favourite terrycloth robe. “I’ll bring you something to eat after breakfast and we’ll figure this out, but if you make a peep, I can’t guarantee you a nice comfy bed for tonight, all right?”

  He stared at me, yawned, and dropped his head to his paws. I took that to mean he understood and left him to his own devices while I headed downstairs.

  The rest of my family was already sitting at the too-long dining table, and I took my usual seat across from Gramps. He raised an eyebrow at me as I scooted my chair in, and I flashed him a smile. I doubted my expression lived up to my usual cheeriness, but it was the best I could manage without a drop of caffeine in my system. I had not slept well. It had taken me a good hour to get the dog settled in an hastily made bed on the floor, and I’d spent the whole time in terror that he would bark. When I finally made it to bed, flashes of Barnaby’s body had kept me company every time I closed my eyes, and it had taken the comforting light of dawn to help me drift off for a couple of hours.

  Today would be fun.

  Mother had already noticed, of course.

  “You’ll want to use some of that cream I got you to remove those dark circles under your eyes, Fifi. You look haggard.”

  My smile tightened as I reached for a bowl. “Thanks, Mother. I’ll do that before I head out.”

  “Seriously, Fifi, you shouldn’t stay up so late reading those books of yours. It wreaks havoc on your skin.”

  I clenched my teeth to prevent my smile from slipping, but didn’t respond. Not that it mattered. Mother’s attention had already returned to my father at the other end of the table. He had his nose buried in the morning paper and as yet had not acknowledged my presence.

  “Any news on when the renovations to the Artistic Society building will be finished, Hayden?” Mother asked.

  They’d been following the renovations on the old City Hall closely. With even more interest since the board had gone against their recommendation for a contractor. I knew they were waiting with eager anticipation to go inside and pass judgment on every new beam.

  “It’s been pushed down to page seven,” Father said. “Most of the paper is taken up with news about Barnaby Coleman’s murder.”

  I stiffened, but stayed focused on my yogurt and granola, which I’d spooned out of the larger bowl in the middle of the table. I envied Gramps’s bacon and eggs, but knew he’d slip me a strip later.

  Or, at least, he’d try. I didn’t think my stomach was up for it today. I don’t know why it surprised me that the murder should be mentioned in the local news. Nothing exciting ever really happened in Brookside except for the occasional white-collar crime, so of course the media would be all over this. And yet I couldn’t catch my breath, waiting to find out if there was any mention of anyone involved with the case. Sam, perhaps. Possibly the identity of the masked man. Me.

  “What did Barnaby do to get himself murdered?” my mother asked. “I didn’t think he was the sort of man to gain that kind of attention. Or any attention, really. I always found him rather dull.”

  “Perhaps,” Father said, “but from what I understand, the man was significantly in debt. Rumoured to be in for well over a hundred thousand.”

  Mother shook her head, her lip curled with disgust. “Some people have no concept of what to do with money.”

  I refrained from raising my eyebrow as she dabbed the corner of her lip with a designer linen serviette.

  “You went to school with a Coleman, didn’t you, Fifi?” Father asked.

  I nodded. “Jeremy, Mr. Coleman’s son. I haven’t seen him since I graduated, though. I’m sure he’ll be devastated by the news. What a shock. Does it say how he died?”

  “Stabbed through the heart with a pair of scissors, according to the article.” Father pushed the paper aside. “I can’t see Jeremy being too broken up about it. He’s had his eye on the house for years. I heard he
was trying to find a reason to put his father in a home so he could take it over, renovate it, and sell it for the millions it’s worth. This might prove to be a bit of a blessing for him.”

  “That’s a heartless thing to say, Hayden,” Gramps said. “I know you might find this hard to believe, but in some families there’s a certain amount of respect between children and their parents. Whatever Jeremy Coleman might have had in mind for that house, I’m certain he wouldn’t have wanted it to come at the cost of his father’s life.”

  Hayden grunted but said nothing. Even with the lack of words, his opinion was obvious: if their roles were reversed, Hayden Gates would be more than satisfied with the situation. The old were not worth anyone’s time, taking up space that could otherwise be used for an extra collections room, and were better off someplace…else. Out of sight, out of mind.

  My determination not to see my grandfather wither away in one of those homes helped endure my mother’s daily criticism and my father’s neglect, but it didn’t prevent my twinge of pain whenever I witnessed them treating him with such disdain.

  Normally, I would allow my parents to carry on their conversation without butting in, but as I sat there, agreeing with Gramps that even pervy Jeremy would probably be at least a little upset by his father’s death, it occurred to me that my parents would be the perfect first step in my attempt to figure out who had taken Barnaby’s life.

  Clearing my throat, I turned to my father. “You say he was in debt? Do you know with whom?”

  Father shrugged. “Nearly every shop, bank, and business in Brookside, from what I understand. He filled his house with furniture and collectibles he couldn’t afford and took out loans from questionable sources to cover the costs. If you ask me, the man was either an addict or was intentionally trying to run his estate into the ground to prevent his son from inheriting.”

  “Does the paper say if the police have any leads?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Father said, “but you know these local lads. They likely have the evidence sitting right in front of them and are overlooking it because they don’t believe someone from our neighbourhood could do something so violent. These plodders aren’t worth the taxes we pay them.”