Magic Outside the Box

by Honor Raconteur

  “You’d think, right? But the house abuts the back of the hill at such a steep angle that there’s no room for a door. That’s why the housekeeper came through the front, I betcha. She didn’t have any other door to use. I need to check all the upstairs windows. Maybe our killer got out that way?”

  “To what purpose?” I countered. “To make this seem a suicide?”

  “Possibly? If that was the attempt, it failed. Not one person has even suggested suicide so far.” She looked downright gleeful, practically bouncing in place. “I do love a good locked room mystery.”

  “It seems we have one on hand.”

  “I’m going to get Clint up on the roof, see if he can spot anything strange up there. See if you can find Burtchell’s keys while you’re down here. I’ve only got the housekeeper’s set. Surely Burtchell had one of his own.” As she spoke, she slipped past me, heading out the door. “Let’s find the postman, housekeeper, and milkman after this.”

  I followed one part of that, but not the other. “Why the postman? You think the letter was delivered this morning?”

  She paused in the outer door and waggled her hand back and forth. “Maybe this morning, maybe yesterday. I want to know, hence why we need to ask.”

  “Fair enough. After we find those three and interview them, I think we should stop for the day. We’ll need Weber’s report before truly knowing how Burtchell was killed.”

  “And dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  I was so glad to hear her say that. “Yes, I’m quite famished.”

  She nodded agreement and stepped out completely. I could hear her calling as she went, “Clint? Stop chasing butterflies. I need you to skulk on the roof for me.”

  McSparrin approached with a faint frown on her face. “Jamie’s going up with Clint on the roof, she said. I can—” She cut off as singing started and thumps sounded on the roof.

  “Everybody wants to be a cat,” Clint sang, and there was a mischievous, smug tone in his voice. “Because a cat’s the only cat who knows where it’s at~”

  “I regret teaching you Aristocats,” Jamie grumbled loudly from the front door. “Stop preening and help me, you furball.”

  Wryly, McSparrin finished, “I can investigate the windows upstairs, see if the killer went out that way.”

  “Actually, see if you can find Burtchell’s set of keys,” I requested, smiling up towards the ceiling. What were those two even doing out there? There was far too much stomping about and singing for them to be checking for points of entry. “I’ll need to check the windows to see if any of them had spellwork in place. You’re frowning, McSparrin.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, the furrows between her brows deepening. “Just thinking…it really does seem like one of those locked room mysteries you read in the novels. And I don’t think that’s what Queen Regina wants to hear just now.”

  Stonking deities. It had quite escaped me we’d need to update our impatient queen soon. “Fortunately, that’s Seaton’s job.”

  “I heard that!” Seaton called from the study. “May I remind you our illustrious queen went to Jamie? Not me.”

  “You make an excellent point, old chap,” I called back. “We’ll have her do it.”

  “As long as it isn’t me,” McSparrin muttered.

  My sentiment exactly.

  Jamie called from outside, “Could you help me with something, Henri?”

  “What might that be?” I called back. I knew from her tone she was teasing and didn’t really need my presence.

  “This knife in my back—I can’t seem to reach it!”

  Oh ha, ha.

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Landry, was nearly insensible with shock. Tears kept escaping the sides of her eyes, trailing down her round cheeks, and she dabbed at them constantly with a handkerchief. She sat in the front parlor of her house, wearing a plain white dress for mourning. I had the sense to stand back and allow McSparrin and Jamie to do the questioning. It would be easier for them to approach her. I sat on the far side of the room with Seaton and took notes.

  Jamie leaned forward in her chair, smile kind. “Mrs. Landry, I know you’ve had a terrible morning. I don’t want to pester you, but I’d like to find out who killed your employer.”

  Mrs. Landry sniffed, tears coming afresh. “As to that, Detective, I want him found. RM Burtchell, he was a sweet man. Always a kind word for me, and he didn’t put on airs of him being better than any of us. There’s no cause for someone to kill him.”

  “I promise, we’ll do everything in our power to find him. I just need more information than I have. Can you walk me through a few things? I have no idea who his associates were, you see.”

  “Of course, Detective, you ask. I’ll do my best to answer.”

  “Thank you. First, walk me through this morning. What time did you get in?”

  “Seven, same as always. RM Burtchell, he liked to have breakfast about half past. Sometimes he was coming in from a late night, sometimes he just chose to get up early, but he always broke his fast at the same time.”

  Jamie’s eyebrows arched in question. “Late night? Did he stay out often?”

  “Oh, he loved to play cards with the other gentlemen,” Mrs. Landry responded with a watery smile. “Sometimes he hosted it at his own house, sometimes he went to a friend’s. They rotated on who hosted, you see. They played for laughs, he said. I think sometimes money did get involved, but not usually.”

  “Was last night a late night for him?”

  She hesitated strongly. “It’s hard to tell…that is, I never knew until I asked. He’d sometimes stumble in at the crack of dawn. The moment he was home, he’d change into pajamas and a robe, and he was like that this morning. He’d gotten the paper, too, I saw that. He always read the paper over breakfast, checked the races.”

  “So you can’t tell either way. I understand. If I wanted to answer that question, who could I ask?”

  “Mr. Walterson or Mr. Villarreal would be able to tell you. If there was a game going on, they were always playing.”

  I made note of both names.

  “So you came in at seven,” Jamie picked back up to her original point smoothly. “And then what?”

  “Well, as I told the constables, I unlocked the front door with my key. I found the milk and cream inside, which I thought odd, what with the door being locked. But I picked up both bottles, then found the inner door locked too. I had to put them down to unlock it.”

  “Was that unusual? To have both doors locked?”

  “No, not really. The wards were set to engage fully when both doors were locked.”

  Seaton stepped forward from where he’d been hovering by my chair, catching the housekeeper’s attention. “Dear lady, I must ask a few questions about that. The wards showed daily use. Did Burtchell normally keep the doors locked at all times?”

  “More or less, sir,” she answered with a deferential nod of the head. “He said there were papers and things inside he didn’t want anyone getting hold of. He was doing magical research. He tried to explain it to me once, but it went mostly over my head. But he was very adamant the wards stay up unless we had a guest coming in.”

  It made sense, of course. Putting up and taking down wards on a constant basis would be draining, even for a royal mage. Why not tie them to a simple action? It would allow him to have guests and an employee without constantly working the wards. Tying them to the locks on both doors was a neat solution.

  Or should have been. With the wards fully up, how did the murderer get inside?

  Jamie took up the questioning once more. “The wards were up, then, when you came in. It’s why you didn’t think anything was wrong at first?”

  “Yes. Because what could get past a royal mage’s wards? I didn’t realize he’d been…he’d been…” She cut off on a sob, folding in on herself.

  McSparrin left her chair to put an arm around those shaking shoulders, soothing her. “Shh, it’s alright.”

  Jamie gr
asped the woman’s hand firmly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Landry. I just have two more questions for now. Then I’ll let you rest. RM Burtchell, did he smoke?”

  Wiping at her eyes, Mrs. Landry managed a nod.

  “Cigars, cigarettes? Both?”

  “Cigars,” she whispered hoarsely. “Only cigars. He didn’t like the taste of cigarettes.”

  Oh? Interesting. We’d found the remains of both in the ashtray in the study.

  “And do you know of anyone who was angry with him? Anyone who might have wished him harm?”

  Mrs. Landry immediately shook her head. “No. No, he was a kind man. A good man. A bit fond of the cards, maybe, but every man has one vice, doesn’t he just. And the people in Sheffield, we all adored him. He was a hero, you know. Saved three ships from capsizing in that horrible storm a fortnight ago. I don’t understand why anyone would want him dead.”

  Yes, that was indeed the question. I wrote down the word gambling in my notes with a question mark. Was he in financial trouble? I couldn’t imagine it, that a man of his standing would be in dire financial straits, but people sometimes fell down that hole of avarice to absolute ruin. Or had someone been after his research, whatever that was?

  We thanked her for her time, then left. As we exited the quaint house, I looked at the sky again and frowned. Time had certainly gotten away from us. It was edging towards sunset now, the air growing colder as it swept in from the ocean. The sky was brushed with gold, reds, oranges, and purple clouds in a painter’s display of colors. Quite pretty, really.

  “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Seaton observed, his face also turned towards the horizon. “Also our sign to stop for the night and find a hotel, I think.”

  “And dinner,” McSparrin implored. “I’m half-wasted away.”

  “We all are,” I assured her as my stomach rumbled threateningly. “Let’s do so promptly. I’ll message Weber to meet us at the nearest restaurant. Perhaps we can exchange notes over dinner.”

  We chose the hotel I’d made note of on the way in. It was not only impressively clean but quite reasonable in price. The ladies got the best rooms in the house, as their windows faced the sea, which Seaton teasingly bemoaned. Since the hotel had a restaurant in the main dining hall, we chose to try our luck with it.

  As we entered the carpeted dining room, I spied Weber already there, still dressed in his suit, which inclined me to believe he had not had a chance to perform the autopsy yet. He’d chosen a table in the center of the room, more by happenstance than design, as most of the tables were full even at this hour of the evening. The patronage promised the food would, at least, be more than edible.

  “Hello,” he greeted us as we settled around the table. Its snowy tablecloth was already covered in place settings, as well as an appetizer of cheese dip and sliced bread in the center. I exercised great restraint to not fall upon the offering like a starving wolf.

  “Weber, you delightful man,” Seaton returned, eagerly reaching for the appetizer. “Tell me you’ve already ordered for all of us.”

  “Of course I did. You think I’m a fool? We all missed lunch, and Davenforth’s love of food is legendary. I took no chances. They had a special tonight for bouillabaisse, cheddar mashed potatoes, and asparagus with cheese and garlic biscuits. I didn’t think anyone would object to that.”

  Jamie already had a mouthful of bread and cheese dip and spoke behind her hand. “Good call.”

  I didn’t chide her for the lack of manners. I was a mere breath away from exhibiting the same behavior.

  We didn’t speak until the appetizer was gone. It barely made a dent in the hollow feeling of my stomach and in an effort to distract myself, I sipped at my chilled water and inquired, “Weber, did you have a chance to do an examination?”

  “Only a cursory one. I want to take a proper look tomorrow, when I have more time. I did speak with the doctor, Avery. Nice chap. Said he’d seen RM Burtchell for years because of his heart condition. It wasn’t too unmanageable, according to him, just something that acted up under highly stressful situations or due to extreme exercise.”

  Seaton snorted. “Hence why he’d retired. A Royal Mage is under constant stress and we always end up running about like headless chickens.”

  Weber flashed him a small smile and shrug. “You’d know. At any rate, he had another good fifteen years of life left, according to the doctor. No danger of him dying anytime soon. I will say this. The body struck me as…odd. Dr. Avery thought the man had been shot in the head, and I admit, the hole has the right size and general shape for a bullet. But I didn’t find one in his head.”

  Jamie’s head came up like a bloodhound that had possibly caught onto the right scent. “Exit wound?”

  “Clear to the back in a straight line.”

  “Same size?” she pressed. “The exit wound on the back of the skull wasn’t any larger?”

  Weber turned toward her, his focus sharp and intrigued. “No, not any larger. Exactly the same size. Does that mean something to you?”

  Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “It might. Weber, any sign of gun powder?”

  “Not a trace. Which I found odd, frankly.”

  “I wasn’t able to locate a weapon of any sort on the premises, even with seeking spells,” Seaton tacked on, expression screwed up in a grimace, “So I share your disgruntlement on the lack of evidence. Anything else of interest, Doctor Weber?”

  Weber shrugged as if he wasn’t sure what to add. “With the force of the impact, I would say the attack came from perhaps five feet away? Or a little further. Certainly no closer.”

  “So definitely not a suicide.” Seaton looked relieved to hear this.

  “Not even a possibility,” Weber assured him. “Why, was that in question?”

  “A remote one,” Jamie answered absently. I could see the cogs turning in her mind. “Both front doors were locked, and there were no other doors to the house. The windows were all locked as well, and the wards were up. The two sets of keys we know of are both accounted for—Burtchell’s were in his desk, and the landlady had the other set. We can’t figure out how the murderer got in.”

  “Portation spell of some sort?” Weber offered.

  Seaton and I both shook our heads in tandem. I explained patiently, “The wards prevented portation spells. Also lock-picking, damage to the property, and so forth. It would have taken a considerable amount of physical or magical force to break through the wards, and we’d certainly see the damage.”

  “Ah. Well, it was a thought. I grant you, those kinds of protections would be expected around a mage’s property.” Weber looked hopefully at Jamie. “Have you seen a wound like this before?”

  “Only once.” She paused and looked around the table, finding us all ears. “This is a bit gruesome to talk about before dinner.”

  “Don’t stop now,” McSparrin complained. “Besides, we’re all policemen.”

  Seaton snorted. “I beg your pardon.”

  She waved a hand at him. “You investigate things all the time, you’re basically like us.”

  McSparrin did rather have a point. He must have seen that, as he shrugged assent.

  Seeing that none of us were discomfited with the topic, Jamie continued. “Alright, I’m not sure how much you know about bullet wounds through a head. So I’ll go over the basics. If someone is shot, the bullet will make a neat hole through the front, but a rather large exit wound in the back as it loses its velocity. The bullet becomes misshapen as it travels through bone and brain. A small enough caliber doesn’t go all the way through, and will instead be stuck inside the brain matter. If there is an exit wound of the same size as the entry, that means the bullet was moving at extremely high velocity. More velocity than a regular handgun could offer.”

  Weber frowned thoughtfully, his eyes focused on some internal vision. “Are we looking for something other than a bullet? The size and shape is right for the wound. I can’t think of anything that would make the same wound so neatly.”
>
  I was equally perplexed. “Perhaps we need to locate the bullet. If there was one, and it moved at such high velocity, it surely would have ended up in the wall behind his head, would it not?”

  Jamie gave me a nod. “That’s my guess. We didn’t look for it today, but then, we didn’t think to, either. Sherard couldn’t find any weapon in the house. Let’s do that first thing in the morning. If it wasn’t a bullet, then we need to find the murder weapon. Well, we need to find the murder weapon regardless.”

  “And a motive, and witnesses, and a murderer,” Seaton rejoined in dark humor. “Quite a few things for us to find. Have you updated Queen Regina yet?”

  Jamie made a face. “Isn’t that your job?”

  “My dear, might I remind you that when this went down, it was you she immediately went to? That makes you in charge of this case.”

  She groaned, shoulders slumping. “Of course it does. Alright, fine. You and I both can report in to her after dinner.”

  Seaton looked ready to object, only to close his mouth again. No doubt he’d remembered Jamie’s vocabulary wasn’t up to snuff yet. She’d need someone to sit with her to translate anything she didn’t know.

  Our dinner arrived and we ate it with much gusto. It was splendid fare, the soup lovely, the vegetables seasoned just how I liked, and the biscuits still steaming from the oven. I ordered a chocolate monstrosity to cleanse my palate and wasn’t in the least surprised when Jamie stole several forkfuls. I do believe if she were denied chocolate, she’d expire on the spot.

  We received more than a few looks—some bemused, others knowing—as Jamie forthrightly helped herself to my dessert. I put most of her behavior down to her utter tenacity where chocolate was concerned and didn’t think anything more of it. No doubt I’d get ribbed by Seaton later, though.

  We went our own directions after dinner. I chose to walk onto the back balcony of the hotel to stretch my legs a bit and enjoy the sea air. It was cleaner and cooler here, but we were also north of Kingston. The wind off the sea took the edge off the heat in a pleasant manner and I stood there for a while with my face towards the evening breeze, enjoying it. It had been a largely stressful day and I liked the chance to unwind before retiring.