Murder Most Conventional

by Verena Rose (ed)

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice, Syl,” Biff said. He explained the situation. “I’m covering the show floor, but whoever enchanted the spout packs doesn’t necessarily have to be there. Can you round up some of the other sylphs to help out? I’d like you to see if you can turn up any other practitioners of magic.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Syl said. “You’ll pay in nectar, right? The swarm will want to know.”

  “Absolutely,” Biff said. Syl transformed back into a butterfly and took off, and Biff returned to the show floor.

  At the food aisle, he spotted Yegor’s booth. A big sign, in English and Russian, advertised Bubbie’s Tonic—Better Than Chicken Soup for Your Health! A poster of Yegor’s grandmother hung on the back wall of the booth, and the table in front of the empty chair contained stacks of brochures. No one passing by paid the empty booth any attention.

  The booth beside Yegor’s sold detox cocktails, colon cleanses, and something called “wellness in a bottle.” The next several booths on both sides sold more vitamins and minerals than Biff thought possible to exist. Each one promised its own special function, from the formation of red blood cells and antibodies to promoting blood clotting, hair growth, or improved liver function. It was sad, Biff thought, that humans were so desperate not to eat as they should that they succumbed to these nostrums.

  He stopped before a kind-faced older woman who sold crystals. Each stone was displayed with a list of its properties. The woman’s aura was that of an earth spirit, a pale green with an inner glow that indicated an ability to imbue natural products with a low level of enchantment. She caught his eye and smiled. “Can I interest you in a crystal today?” she asked.

  “Do you have any tiger iron?” he asked.

  She nodded. “An interesting choice. Tiger iron is a combination of three minerals: golden brown tiger eye, hematite, and red jasper. It is full of grounding earth energy. It’s the perfect companion for those who tend to take on the feelings and emotions of others,” she said. “A piece of tiger iron will help you remain balanced and centered.”

  Biff didn’t tell her that it could also be used to return a spell to its sender. Perhaps she already knew.

  She reached for a smooth, faceted stone in the shape of a pencil, about six inches long. It was cocoa brown with light and dark streaks. She handed it to him, and he felt the warmth and power within it. “I’ll take it,” he said.

  He paid the woman and took one of her cards, and then, with the crystal in his pocket, continued his stroll.

  He sensed the magic around a Sri Lankan rice booth as he approached. It was a fairly sophisticated spell, one that activated the taste buds and sense of smell, drawing customers to the booth. The sign beside the booth promised that “this ancient variety of sacred rice is blessed by the work of small farmers who do not use chemicals, pesticides, or fertilizers.”

  The enchantment seemed to be working; there were customers lined up to buy, as if the magic was forcing their wallets out of their pockets and their purses. He was about to open his third eye and see if he could discover the source of the enchantment when he saw the Indian man he’d spotted earlier approaching.

  He was almost assaulted by the reek of tainted magic rising from the man in his high-collared white coat and felt slippers. Tainted magic was the result of using spiritual blessings for material gain. It harmed the soul of the practitioner, and Biff didn’t like to associate with it. But it was logical that such a man might have enchanted Yegor’s tonic, so Biff forced himself to swallow his distaste and follow the man, who walked slowly, nodding beatifically at passersby.

  The tainted magic surrounded him like a gelatinous mass in the air, visible only to those who had the sight. Biff wondered why he hadn’t noticed that aura earlier, when he was with Yegor in the lobby, but he hadn’t been looking for magic then.

  The man stepped into a booth advertising a mystic Indian Vedic who provided palmistry, numerology, and psychic readings, and walked behind a curtain.

  Biff followed him to the front table, where he surveyed a display of rudraksha beads, berries from a southeast Asian tree. The sign above them read, “These jewels of the gods are able to give you health, abundance, and happiness.”

  A young Indian woman in a saffron-yellow sari stood behind the display. “The ancient saints wore these beads for protection, tranquility, and concentration,” she said to Biff.

  While she spoke, he scanned her for traces of magic but found none. There was nothing special about the berries so he turned to the next display: metallic plates with Sanskrit lettering.

  “These are yantras,” she said. “They are inscribed with geometrical, mystical designs as prescribed by the sacred texts of India. Wearing one will allow you to tune into the universal cosmic energy.”

  There were traces of magic in some of the devices, though of a very weak sort. He also noticed a display of bottles of tonic that alleged mystical properties. Though the ingredients were similar to Yegor’s, there were a lot more chemicals and nonorganic materials, and Biff doubted they would be as effective as Yegor’s.

  “Is your swami available for readings?” he asked. He needed to get close to the man to see if he had the power to create a sophisticated enchantment.

  “Yes, he has an opening right now,” she said. Biff paid her for a reading, and she led him behind the partition, where the swami sat at a small table.

  “What kind of reading are you interested in?” the man asked in a lilting accent as Biff sat on a folding chair across from him.

  It was hard for Biff to concentrate because he found the man’s tainted magic so repellent. He opted for a psychic reading, because numerology would require him to provide his birthdate and his full name, and palmistry required the man to touch him. He didn’t want to give this man any information or any power over him.

  “Place your hands on the table, palms down,” the man said. “Close your eyes and try to remove all distraction from your mind.”

  Biff did as instructed.

  “You are a man who loves nature,” the swami said. “I see you surrounded by animals. And there is a beautiful woman in your life as well.”

  The man did have some level of ability, Biff thought, but it was possible this was all guesswork, too.

  “This woman holds a great deal of power,” the swami continued. “Power over you, but also power in the world. Do not be afraid to call upon her for help.”

  He meditated quietly for a couple of moments. As he did, Biff opened his third eye and scanned the area around him. Up close, the swami’s magic was not so badly tainted—but it was clearly not strong enough to have performed the enchantment spell.

  The swami moved his chair back from the table with a loud creak. Biff sensed the fear emanating from him. It was clear he had recognized that he was in the presence of another’s magic. “I am afraid that is all I can tell you,” he said.

  Biff stood and thanked him, then walked back out to the show floor. If the Indian mystic couldn’t have spelled the spout packs, then who could have? He went back to Yegor’s booth, where the young man sat dejectedly on a folding chair.

  Yegor perked up as Biff arrived. “Have you found my tonic yet?”

  Biff shook his head. “How about you? Any competitors who might have it in for you?”

  Yegor slumped back. “Just one. A guy named Baba Rupasinghe sells a product similar to mine, which he calls Baba’s Tonic. We were at another health fair together a couple of weeks ago, and he was angry that I was using Bubbie’s Tonic as the name of my product. He accused me of trying to steal his customers.”

  “Where’s his booth?” Biff asked.

  Yegor pointed down the aisle. “See the rice booth? That’s his. The tonic is an offshoot—it has some rice wine in it.”

  Biff remembered that he’d sensed some enchantment around that booth, but that he’d been distracted by th
e Indian mystic and his tainted magic. “I’ll check it out,” he said.

  Biff was an ifrit; his strength came from the earth itself, and his magic was strongest when he was in physical contact with the ground. Being inside this hotel, with concrete below him, prevented him from accessing his full powers. But if he went outside, he’d be farther from the rice vendor and the distance would reduce the effectiveness of the earth beneath his feet.

  He looked around the show and spotted a giant sandbox. It was called a “relaxation zone,” and was sponsored by a company that sold small trays of sand with miniature rakes and an assortment of polished stones. People could sit on large stones in the sandbox and meditate or pick up a rake to do a little grooming. It was perfect for what Biff needed, because it gave him a clear line of sight to the rice booth as well as contact with the natural world.

  He sat on one of the polished black rocks and his feet sunk into the sand. He opened his third eye and focused on the rice booth.

  The enchantment that caused customers to salivate was still working, and a line of eager buyers snaked out into the aisle. Yegor’s rival stood at the front talking to customers, and the magic was centered around him. In its signature, Biff recognized elements of the spell on the spout packs.

  So Baba was the one who’d sabotaged Yegor. But how could Biff overcome him? Baba had cast a solid protective spell around himself that prevented any magical attacks.

  Just as the Indian mystic had predicted, Biff needed help. On his way out of the ballroom he grabbed a hemp bag from one of the vendors, dropping a couple of dollars on the table. Out by the pool, he found a secluded corner and sent a summons to Syl, then another to Farishta, asking her to pick up Raki on her way.

  While he waited, he faced the ocean, striated in shades of dark blue and green. Though he and Farishta were both genies, she was a marid, one who derives her power from the sea. Farishta was a troublemaker; she was the woman Biff couldn’t live without, but living with her was full of drama and danger, things he instinctively fought against. She thought of human beings as her personal playthings, loving to create chaos wherever she went. He hoped she’d agree to help him make some trouble for Baba Rupasinghe.

  Syl, Farishta, and Raki the squirrel arrived. Farishta wore a skimpy yellow bikini. Her voluptuous body was a flawless olive color, her long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Raki jumped down from her shoulder as she kissed Biff’s cheek, and Biff smelled a mix of salt water, coconut, and custardy ylang-ylang.

  “Hello, my darling,” she purred. “Thank you for summoning me to such a beautiful place. What brings us all here?”

  Biff explained the situation. When he was finished, all four of them were in agreement.

  Farishta reached into the air behind Biff’s chair and magicked a low-cut dress, which she put on over her bikini. Biff noticed that she had also created a show badge for herself, and once more marveled at her powers.

  She stepped into a pair of high-heeled sandals and then walked into the hotel. Raki jumped into the hemp bag on Biff’s shoulder, and Biff and Syl followed Farishta inside. When they reached the rice booth, Farishta was already in conversation with Baba. Her long, slim fingers caressed his arm, and she laughed lightly. Biff opened his third eye and saw that the protective shell Baba kept around himself was floating freely. Time to act. He put the hemp bag on the floor, and Raki scrambled out.

  Syl stepped behind one of the room dividers, and when he emerged again, he was back in his butterfly form, joined by the rest of his swarm. As people oohed and pointed, the swarm clustered around Baba. Biff hurried out to the service elevator, where he placed his fingertips on the control panel and the button for the subbasement lit up.

  It was important to move quickly. By this time, Biff figured, Raki had begun climbing up Baba’s leg, digging his tiny claws into the man’s skin. Between the beautiful woman, the swarm of butterflies, the shocked crowd, and the crazy squirrel, Baba would be too distracted to maintain his protection.

  Biff ran his fingers over the lock to the storage unit and the door opened. He pulled the tiger iron amulet from his pocket and wrapped his hand around it, pushing the crystal’s power toward the invisible packets until, with a popping sound, he felt the spell evaporate.

  When he opened his eyes, the packs were right in front of him. He grabbed the hand truck and loaded it, then maneuvered it back to the show floor. As he passed the rice booth, he laughed out loud at the chaos that had ensued. Baba was swatting at the butterflies and at the same time trying to fling Raki off his shoulder. Farishta stood to the side, a happy smile on her face.

  Yegor was sitting behind his booth, and he jumped up as Biff approached. “Biff, you found them! Awesome!” They worked together to unload the hand truck, and by the time they were finished, the table was stocked with product.

  The swarm of butterflies swept past, followed by Farishta, with Raki on her shoulder. “Thank you, my love,” Biff said. He leaned forward and kissed her.

  “It was my pleasure,” she said, when the kiss was finished. Raki slipped off her shoulder and into the hemp bag, though he peered out the top.

  Behind them, Yegor launched into a recitation of the ingredients and benefits of the tonic. “My grandmother was healthy as an ox until she died at ninety in Russia,” he said to the crowd. “This tonic kept her strong.”

  People began to step up to buy.

  “I am always amazed at your ability to make things happen,” Biff said to Farishta.

  She opened her hand to him. In it rested one of the hotel’s key cards. “More things than you know,” she said. “Will you join me in my room?”

  Raki chittered, and on their way up to the room, they stopped outside and left the squirrel to play among the coconut palms. Then they went upstairs to play themselves.

  THE VANISHING WIFE, by Victoria Thompson

  January 1899

  “My wife has vanished.”

  This was the last thing Frank Malloy had expected his well-dressed client to say. When rich men came to his Confidential Inquiries office in Greenwich Village, they were usually concerned with marital infidelities or dishonest employees.

  “What do you mean, she vanished?”

  Delwood Hooper rubbed a well-manicured hand over his pale face. “I came home last evening, as usual, but my wife wasn’t there to greet me. I asked our butler where she was, and he informed me that she had left town.”

  “Then she didn’t exactly vanish,” Frank said, settling back in his chair. He was still breaking it in since it, like everything else in his office, was brand new. “Didn’t he tell you where she went?”

  “That’s the problem, you see. Marjorie occasionally does go out of town to visit friends or relations, but she always leaves me a note telling me exactly where she went and when she will return. This time, she didn’t.”

  “Maybe she forgot. She must’ve told her maid where she went, at least.” Frank didn’t have much personal experience with servants, but he’d learned a lot about life in the upper classes since he’d met Sarah Brandt a few years earlier.

  “Her maid went with her. They took luggage, and our coachman told me he dropped them at the train station.”

  Because Frank really didn’t need the business, being a newly minted millionaire himself, he had the luxury of being able to calm his clients down and send them home before they did anything too serious if he felt they didn’t really need his services. “This sounds like a planned trip, Mr. Hooper. I’m sure if you just give her a day or two, she’ll be back home like always.”

  But Hooper shook his head. “There’s more. I . . . I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but now . . . I think she has a lover.”

  At least this made sense. Not that Frank would wish this on any man, but it did offer a reasonable explanation for the situation. “What makes you think so?”

  “I have discovered th
at she goes out every Thursday afternoon, as regular as clockwork.”

  “She’s probably visiting friends or maybe she belongs to some Ladies’ Aid Society or something.”

  Hooper’s eyes were bleak when he met Frank’s gaze. “She goes to a hotel.”

  “A hotel?”

  “Yes. Every Thursday at two o’clock. My driver told me he drops her off there every week. It’s been going on for months.”

  “How long have you known this?”

  “Only a few days now. I began to suspect something, so I questioned our driver. He didn’t like gossiping about his mistress, but he knows I’m the one who pays his salary, so he told me.”

  “He doesn’t know who she meets there, though?”

  “He said he’s never gone inside, and I’m sure he hasn’t. He has the carriage and the horses to worry about, after all. He can’t just leave them unattended in the street.”

  “And did you confront her about this?”

  Hooper shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His chair was new, too. “I didn’t want to accuse her of anything without more proof. I was going to follow her today. It being Thursday, I thought I could find out if she meets someone or what she does there. But now she’s gone.”

  Frank considered the situation for a long moment, then chose his words with care. “If your wife has deserted you, then you don’t need a private detective, Mr. Hooper. You can divorce her easily and quietly. No one will even criticize you since you’re the injured party.”

  “But I don’t want to divorce her, Malloy. I love my wife. You may think me a fool, but she means the world to me, and I can’t imagine my life without her. I don’t care what she’s done or who she’s done it with. I just want her back before anyone finds out she’s gone.”