“Henri.”
I turned my head to spot Clint sauntering toward me. I say sauntering with considerable disbelief, because while he looked utterly relaxed in his gait, he was balancing upon a four-inch-wide balustrade. That overhung a sheer drop into the ocean. It was one thing for me to lean my elbows upon it, quite another to watch him walk as if his very life didn’t depend on his surefootedness. “Clint, for magic’s sake, why are you walking on the handrail?”
He blinked at me as if he didn’t understand the point of my inquiry.
I swear, he did things of that nature to cause me heart failure. He was far too much like his owner in this aspect. “Come here. I’ll take you to Jamie.”
That offer was agreeable to him and he leapt lightly onto my chest, his front paws balancing over my shoulder. I wrapped both hands securely around him, feeling better for it, and immediately put distance between us and the ocean below. “Were you fed? Would you like some water?”
“Jamie gave water.” He settled in, his chin on my shoulder, and purred. “Warm.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. Is that what you were doing? Looking for warmth?” His logic was entirely inscrutable, even on the best of days.
“Bored. Lonely.”
“So you were exploring. I see. Well, she’s speaking with the queen now. I’ve no doubt you can curl up in her lap for a while.”
He pulled himself up enough to rub his cheek against mine, his fur catching on my stubble. “Nice Henri.”
Despite myself, I grinned. “It’s a good thing you’re charming. Even if you and your master are both intent on scaring me to death.”
The way Sherard was acting worried me a little. I’d rarely seen him so down in spirits. He’d escaped from our conference call with Queen Regina so quickly I didn’t get a chance to ask him anything. But as I passed his room, on the way back from the bathroom, I saw the light still on under the door. If he was still up, I’d take the chance for a little one-on-one with him. I knocked on Sherard’s door with a cat cradled in my arm, as Clint was worried about our friend too.
“Enter!” he called out.
The door gave way easily under my hand as I pushed inside. Sherard was seated on the foot of the bed, just in shirt sleeves and pants, and he honestly looked a little rough. Usually he was so carefree I thought of him as an adult Energizer Bunny. I wasn’t quite sure why he was taking this case harder than usual. “Hey. You okay?”
He patted the bed next to him and I took the invitation to sit next to him. Clint sprawled out over our laps as I settled, Sherard’s head leaning against the top of mine as he absently rubbed at the cat’s ears. “I knew him.”
Uh-oh. “You knew Burtchell?”
A deep, weary sigh slipped from his throat. “It was his position I took over. Burtchell stayed three months to help mentor me before he fully retired. He was a friend. He was one of those wacky, insane people who thought up brilliant things because he just didn’t see the world like anyone else.” A reminiscent smile slipped over his face, his mind going back to a happier moment. “When I first met him, he was in a very heated argument with the other two Royal Mages about the proper way to tackle the pigeon population. They’re slowly taking over the city, it’s still something of an issue. Little better than flying rats, really. His solution was to create a creature—much like Clint here—but with wings. Something that could fly, and shoot fire, and decimate pigeon nests.”
Fly, shoot fire, and…no way. “He wanted to create dragons?!”
“There’s a creature like this on Earth?” he asked curiously.
“In mythology, no one’s got proof they ever actually existed,” I explained rapidly, still indignant. “He wanted to create dragons and you stopped him? What’s wrong with you!”
That got him to laugh, a full-out belly laugh. “I didn’t stop him, you know. I thought it a rather good method. But this is part of the reason why I like you so much. You remind me so much of him—you don’t think along the same lines either.”
I was still a little pissed. The chance of dragons. Gone. “I’ll accept the compliment.”
“As you should. But that’s how Burtchell was, always proposing some outlandish thing, and the odd thing was, the majority of the time it was a workable solution. I adored the three months I worked alongside him. Magic was fun with him. I didn’t see him much after he moved out here, but we stayed in fairly consistent contact. He was one of the people assigned to help shift through Belladonna’s work.”
So this man was a colleague, a friend, something of a mentor…no wonder Sherard was taking this hard. “Ah, man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize he was a friend.”
“I don’t think I really mentioned him much to you. We have a habit of not talking about Belladonna in front of you.”
For good reason, granted. It wasn’t like I was really receptive to talking about her. “Yeah. If this is too hard for you—”
He shook his head, the motion gentle against my own. “No. I volunteered to come. I want to help catch who did this. And the worst thing, the part I was worried most about, didn’t occur. I wasn’t sure if I could stomach seeing his body.”
Ah. I internally winced. Yeah, most people didn’t handle that well. Fortunately, at least for my friend, Burtchell had already been removed. I personally would have preferred to see the way the body was arranged in the chair. We were slim on clues as it was. Still, I couldn’t begrudge Sherard the silver lining. “If you’re sure. But if you change your mind, you tell me, okay? Don’t push yourself.”
He snorted, as if I’d just said something amusing. “You push yourself all the time.”
“Yes, but I like putting myself just outside of my comfort zone. And I’m crazy.”
Sherard put an arm around my waist and hugged me to him. “That you are. The best kind of crazy.”
I sensed that right then, he didn’t really need words. He just needed a friend. I could give him silence and time, if that’s all he needed. We sat side by side, petting a cat, and let time march on for a while.
The beds were a touch too firm for my liking, but the sheets were fresh and the pillows soft. I slept relatively well and rose feeling refreshed and ready to tackle our mystery anew. The bathroom off my room was quite modern, and I saw at least one of Jamie’s inventions: the temperature dial on the tub faucet regulating the hot water.
Whenever I saw something of her design, it always made me extraordinarily proud. She often deflected compliments of her inventions, stating she wasn’t actually inventing anything, just copying things from home. But I knew simply using an item didn’t give you any sense of how it operated. She’d either learned how it functioned on her world, or had the intelligence to sort it out here with Ellie Warner. Either way, it demanded excellent recall and cleverness. I would not be dissuaded from my compliments.
I went about my morning ablutions, readying myself for the day, then left the room in search of breakfast and my team. As I went down the stairs, I glanced out the tall, picturesque windows to see a stunning view of the sun glinting off the ocean waves, made all the better with the height I stood at. The hotel had been built on the side of a cliff, and its prominence made for excellent views.
Pausing on the landing, I caught sight of a figure running along the cliff edge, with something small and purple at her feet. I knew without needing to strain my eyes who it was—Jamie. Only she seemed intent on jogging in the mornings, no matter our location.
Shaking my head, I continued downstairs, fetching a coffee for myself and a tall glass of iced water. Stepping out the side door of the hotel, I waited in the shade of the building, sipping on the excellent brew and watching as my partner slowed to a walk, cooling after her run. She’d apparently planned on jogging out here, as she wore her sweats and loose shirt, those tennis shoes she liked so much on her feet. I wouldn’t have thought to pack in order to exercise while out on a case, but then, I didn’t plan to exercise. Ever.
“Morning,” she called out to me, still s
ome distance away.
“Good morning,” I returned. Holding up the glass, I offered, “Something cool?”
“Yes, thank you.” Jamie’s volume lowered as she came in closer.
Clint sashayed at her side, bright-eyed although not panting from the run. I knew he often ran with her, enjoying both the exercise and company, although he wasn’t sure what the point of it was. To the Felix, you ran when there was something to chase. I must say, I heartily agreed with that viewpoint. Running pointlessly along the streets seemed detrimental to the soul, even if it supposedly improved the waistline.
Still, it was readily apparent she enjoyed her runs—flushed from the exercise, perky and alert, smiling from ear to ear with satisfaction. Her pleasure widened as she accepted the cold glass from my hand.
“Ever thoughtful,” she teased before quaffing half the glass.
I cleared my throat, knowing she was teasing, but unsure how to gracefully accept the praise. “I admit I didn’t anticipate you’d jog out here. You don’t know the area well enough for it.”
“I ran partially to learn the area better,” she admitted frankly, tongue darting out to capture a trace of water from her lips. “The area up here is so open, there’s not many trees, and the houses aren’t all that close together. I would think it’d be easy to see people coming and going.”
“Yes, I’d noticed that myself.” Belatedly, I looked down at Clint. “I didn’t think to grab you water.”
“I’m good,” he said.
“He doesn’t like to drink anything while he’s hot, for some reason,” Jamie explained. “And he’s definitely hot. He’s run a good four times the amount I have this—whoop, squirrel.”
Clint took off like a shot, his body streamlined toward the ground as he sprinted smoothly across the manicured lawn and into the bushes hedging the side of the hotel. We heard a great deal of rustling as he tore through the foliage, a high-pitched squeak, and then a flurry of activity moving toward the front porch.
I was startled at this abrupt chase. “Does he do that often?”
“Most of the time we’re jogging, really. He’ll dart out to the side, catch something rodenty, and then come back to me all smug and satisfied. He’d be a good jogging buddy if he weren’t so distractible.” Shrugging, she went back to drinking her water.
But he kept her company and smiling, which was what I’d intended for him to do when I first acquired him. That satisfied me. “Did you see anything interesting while you were out?”
“Mmm, not so much see, but heard. I crossed paths with both the milkman and the postman. I don’t think either believed me to be a detective” —a sweep of her hand indicated her pony tail and attire, and indeed she did not at all look the part— “but they answered my questions regardless. The milkman reported the front door was unlocked when he made his delivery. He opened the door and set both bottles just inside.”
“Hence why they were inside the vestibule when Mrs. Landry arrived.” Interesting. I made mental note of this, adding it to my timeline. “What time was this?”
“Half past six, or thereabouts. He wasn’t sure exactly. It was more an estimate considering how long it takes for him to do his rounds.”
I couldn’t imagine the man would consult a watch while doing his job, so this was likely the best answer we were going to get. “And the postman?”
“Came in after, as he remembered seeing the bottles of cream and milk. He also put the mail just inside the vestibule, on the chair, he said, and rang the doorbell twice to alert Burtchell the mail was in. Now, he said something interesting. He heard two male voices inside the house. He didn’t see who, and of course he wouldn’t if he didn’t take more than a step inside the house.”
No, the vestibule was not open to the rest of the main floor. The walls would have prevented any line of sight. “But Burtchell had a visitor. Interesting. No idea who?”
Jamie’s shoulders lifted in an elaborate shrug. “They sounded friendly, was all he remembered. He didn’t linger to eavesdrop, just dropped the mail off and left again.”
I sipped at my cooling coffee and considered the facts. “So sometime between the mail being delivered and Mrs. Landry arriving, the doors were locked, and Burtchell murdered. What are the odds our postman actually heard the murderer?”
“I’d give it fifty-fifty at this point. Interesting thing to note, the men were smoking. Postman is a werewolf so I trust his nose on this, and he said he smelled both cigar and cigarette smoke.”
“Which means that man, whoever it was, stayed long enough to smoke the cigarette. Even if he’s not our suspect, he’s likely the last one to see Burtchell alive. We need to find him, somehow.”
“This is one of those times I wish you guys had DNA forensic ability,” Jamie whined to me, head hanging for a moment. “It would make life so much easier.”
She’d mentioned this to me before, on another case, although in truth I didn’t understand the precise nuances of it. She’d explained it as something rather like a biological fingerprint, and I did think it would be brilliant if we could link such evidence together. Sadly, it would take either a significant advancement in either magic or science to do so. Perhaps Seaton and I should put our heads together, in between the dozen other projects we were already committed to.
How did Jamie put it? ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’ That was it.
“This DNA would help here, you think? But there’s no blood on the butts.”
“Not blood. Saliva,” she explained. “Every cell of a body has DNA in it, and it can all be used to match up with the person in question. Saliva isn’t an exception. If we were on Earth, I could take the saliva left on the butts and have it analyzed, then match it up with a DNA database—ah, records on file. It would help lead me to the killer. Well, assuming his DNA is on file. That’s usually only in the case of past criminal activity, either criminal or victim. Still, you’d be surprised how often we get a hit.”
I followed this closely. Often Jamie assumed something wasn’t feasible or available in this world because our level of technology hadn’t caught up yet. But sometimes her descriptions led me into insights, ways I could adapt these procedures in a magical way. Jamie was very much a logical thinker, heavily based in the sciences. Magical solutions didn’t occur to her. (Which I found particularly amusing, since she’s a famous witch killer.)
I had no immediate thoughts of how to adapt her world’s technology in this case, but if I slept on it and gave my subconscious mind time to ruminate on the idea, perhaps I’d think of something later. “Unfortunately, we’ll have to do this another way. Shall I order you breakfast while you wash up?”
“Yes, please. Nothing seafood, anything else will be good.”
I gave her an amused study. “When are you going to overcome your aversion to seafood for breakfast?”
“There is something fundamentally wrong with having fish at this hour of the morning,” she shot back, passing me. “I won’t be convinced otherwise.”
Chuckling, I let her go.
Knowing women could take time to ready themselves, I finished my coffee before re-entering the hotel. As I made my way into the main dining room, I spied both Seaton and McSparrin already seated at a table, tucked into a fine breakfast of kippers, eggs, and toast. I spied a sidebar of dishes set out on warming plates as I passed it. So they did a complimentary breakfast? Excellent, that saved us the time of ordering. I fetched a plate and loaded it with my own selection before joining my colleagues at the table.
“Morning,” McSparrin greeted as I sat down. “You seen Weber or Jamie yet?”
“Jamie, yes. She’s just come in from a morning jog and should be with us presently. Weber I’ve not seen hide nor hair of.”
“Likely went to get an early start on things,” Seaton offered before picking up his tea. “He mentioned last night he’d like to be back in Kingsport by this evening. He wasn’t sure if he’d have enough time, as he wanted to be quite thorough in the autopsy.�
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“Ah. I admit it’s a sensible plan, assuming he can do the autopsy that quickly.” I trusted Weber to do the job thoroughly no matter what time constraints he might be under. He was methodical in that respect. Picking up a fork, I added, “I believe before we truly get this investigation underway, we need to find a room to use.”
Somehow, working on a case inevitably meant writing out timelines on a board, gathering evidence to one location, and interviewing witnesses more than once. The other two immediately understood my point.
“I’ll check with the station here,” McSparrin offered. “Although I wouldn’t hold my breath. We passed it yesterday, coming here, and it looked like it was made up of three rooms altogether, including the holding cells.”
“Yes, that was my impression as well,” Seaton confirmed. He had a thoughtful look on his face as his turned, panning the hotel dining room. “I wonder if they’d have a room here we could turn to the purpose?”
“Perhaps? Would you like to inquire?”
Seaton immediately dipped his head in agreement. “I will. I’m nearly done eating anyway.”
I felt it only fair to warn them as I cut into my pork chop, “Jamie did speak with both postman and milkman while on her run. We have a tighter timeline to go off of, and the mystery of why the milk was inside the house is at least solved.”
“I’ll have her catch me up. Eat. I’ll go see about a room.”
“Seaton, there’s a lead I wish to follow up on. People have mentioned to us that Burtchell was doing some magical research of some nature.”
“Yes, I want to look into that. I didn’t see any signs of a study at first pass in the house. Let’s investigate that.” Seaton gave me a nod, then stood and headed for a hotel employee, easy to spot in the pure black uniforms the women wore.
The scent from the eggs, hash, pork chops, and biscuits was too alluring to ignore any further. I ate with gusto and no little enthusiasm, as being on a case with Jamie had taught me meals were happenstance at the best of times. She did like to eat, and made sure to do so in the mornings and evenings, but the middle of the day? Well, that was a bit of a wash.
Magic Outside the Box Page 4
