by Beth Lyons
The Girl in Gold
Beth Lyons
Text copyright © 2016 Beth Lyons
Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional.
For Laura: cheerleader, champion, and big sister extraordinaire
Contents
The Girl in Gold
Chapter 1 Sunday Surprise
Chapter 2 The Girl in Gold
Chapter 3 A Doughnut for Your Thoughts
Chapter 4 Rich Man’s Plight
Chapter 5 Return to the Scene
Chapter 6 Central Division
Chapter 7 The Lamplighter
Chapter 8 Seeing Even
Chapter 9 Scrying
Chapter 10 A Place on Treefall
Chapter 11 Fara’s Hideaway
Chapter 12 Fire and Fear
Chapter 13 The Summons
Chapter 14 Connections
Chapter 15 Falsehoods
Chapter 16 Liar’s Fee
Chapter 17 Enter Hawktite
Chapter 18 Moonwinkle’s
Chapter 19 Zone of Truth
Chapter 20 The Truth About Fara Fram
Chapter 21 Emotional Magic
Chapter 22 Thamaturgy
Chapter 23 Two Birds
Chapter 24 The Wounded Bird
Chapter 25 Zone of Lies
Chapter 26 Star, Star
Chapter 27 Little Birds
Chapter 1 Sunday Surprise
No one knew the girl in gold. She seemed the most improbable of murder victims, at least on the surface. But as happens in life and in murder cases, you follow a path of ideas, theories, wrong turns, wild guesses, and unexpected successes until you finally return to the starting point only to realize that wasn’t even the beginning.
You start with a dead girl, sprawled on the floor of a rich man’s library. You start in the still silence of a Sunday morning amid dusty tomes and stained glass, and you see where it leads. With some luck, you find justice; if you’ve got smarts, you get to arrest the killer.
With the girl in gold, I had both.
In other words, my second murder case turned out to be nothing like my first. Because this time, this time I didn’t fall for the killer. But Marilye Forlone, killer or no, she was an elf hard to forget. I thought I saw her everywhere. Shadow and light conspired, but my imagination filled in the rest, the curve of her breast, the way the light would hit her auburn hair, the feel of her hand on my hip.
I’d been living with ghostly memories for months, but on this particular morning, the fog only heightened my sense that Marilye Forlone stood two steps past my perception. I’d spent much of the last three months trying to find her. Boleian of Vedasa, my boss and the owner of Boleian Investigations where I work part-time, knew I was running down leads on Marilye’s whereabouts, not that there were many of those to begin with. But he didn’t know I was the reason she’d escaped in the first place.
I hear every detective has a case like this – the killer who got away. But I can’t imagine many of them looked the killer in the eye and then purposefully let her go. I can’t imagine many of them thought they were doing it for love.
My search for Marilye had been fruitless so far. Not that I had a lot of time to devote to extracurricular investigations. Being a P.I. isn’t always lucrative, and so I supplement doing work in the family messenger business. This particular quiet, foggy morning I had a full delivery docket. To make matters worse, I had a trainee.
Yes, Swift Messengers was hiring. Against expectations most of the people who’d switched to using NoteGo for their messages had drifted back to using Swifts. I guess even in a place like Thornbury tradition lies deep. And to be a Swift, you don’t have to have the last name. As long as you’re an elf and fast on your feet, we’ll give you a chance. Which is why I had Folen Farleaf trailing behind me. He was nice enough in that cheerful, desperate manner that new hires always seem to exude.
We were heading to Hightower, the rich part of Thornbury. One of our regulars lives there – Professor Nori Hawktite, and he always has a Sunday morning pickup. He’s a dwarf and a retired academic, and boy do those guys know how to waste paper! We’ve always catered to academics – giving them lines of credit and special perks because we know that they can’t help but write to each other about everything under the moon.
Hawktite’s notorious among the Swifts, too – impatient, disorganized, doesn’t tip. If anything the dwarf’s gotten worse in retirement.
As we rounded a corner and started down Clearwater Avenue, I said to my new friend, Folen, “Here’s the thing, this Hawktite thinks he’s pretty special. Wrote some popular book I guess and—”
“Table for One is more than just a popular book, Miss Swift! The Professor has changed the way we view urbanization as it relates to the social fabric of Varana.”
“Call me Vox,” I said automatically. And then his words sunk in. “You know Hawktite?” I eyed the scrawny elf beside me. He didn’t look rich, or educated, but if he was either, what was he doing padding beside me in the dawn hours?
“No, I don’t know him personally. I’m just one of the many fans of the book. Don’t get me wrong, Vox – I love living in Thornbury, but you have to admit that we’ve lost something as a community, as a culture, because of it.”
“Elves?”
“Decidedly! When you think of the old ways – rituals, ceremonies, even dress.” He plucked at his padded jacket. “What elf of old ever wore a canvas jacket?”
“Well but it gets cold in Thornbury compared to the Olden.” I shrugged. “Besides what’s a dwarf know about me, my problems? He should write a book about dwarves and their decay. Leave us alone already.”
Folen looked sideways at me. “Quite. Should we…?” He waved his hands forward.
“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Quite.’” Before he could answer I held up my hand. “Here’s what I can tell you, Folen. Nori Hawktite is a bad tipper. He’s never ready when you knock on the door. He can’t just hand you a stack of neatly tied letters and accept your packet in return. No, he opens the – what am I saying? His butler opens the door and then you wait while the Professor gathers up the letters he wants to send. And then you wait while he double checks the address of at least one.” I let out a breath. “I’m – I’m not trying to run down one of our customers. A good, long-time customer. I just want you to know to plan accordingly. Hawktite takes twice as long as he should.”
Clearwater is a street of tall stone houses. Hawktite’s looks like a classic castle with a rounded tower three stories high. The houses on either side are only slightly less ornate. “Hightower is an unusual neighborhood, you know,” I said to Folen. “It’s probably the only place in Thornbury where you have dwarf living beside elf living beside human.” I gestured at the houses. “When you have enough money I guess rich person becomes your identity.”
We climbed the stone steps as the sun finally broke through the morning fog. “One thing I can say about Hawktite,” I said to Folen in a quiet voice, “he’s predictable. You will find yourself here every Sunday, rain or shine.” I knocked on the door. “Swift here! Vox Swift for messages.”
The door remained closed. I glanced at Folen and shrugged.
>
“Do you try again?” he whispered.
“I don’t know. This has never happened before. Usually the butler opens the door right away.” I raised my hand to knock again when the door opened. A tall, older man with a shaved head stood in the doorway.
“Hiya Billows. Long time, no see. This is Folen.” I jabbed my thumb at my trainee. “He’ll be running this route pretty regularly and—”
“No pickup today,” the butler intoned and began to close the door. I stiff-armed it. “Hold up now, man! I’ve been running – we’ve been running this route for years. Professor Hawktite, he’s never missed—”
My words were drowned out by a scream from next door. All three of us looked to the right and saw a young woman in a black dress and white apron screaming down the stairs of the house next door. She saw us and yelled, “Murder! She’s dead!”
Billows stepped back saying. “Good day to you both.”
I didn’t have time to react to the butler’s words. The maid was huffing up Hawktite’s front stairs. “Send for the police!” the main cried. “She’s dead in the library.”
“Station 6 is the closest,” I said to Folen. “Adams and Oak. Go!” He took off running as I jogged down the steps to meet the maid. “Who’s dead? Show me.”
She clasped my arm as I led her toward her house. “I don’t rightly know, Miss! She’s all dolled up in gold. We’ve never seen the like.”
“You don’t know who she is?”
The maid shook her head and opened the front door. “And in our library! I don’t know what the missus will think. Or the miss, who’s staying for the weekend.”
I’d never delivered a message to this house. I’d seen it often enough over the last two years, coming and going from Hawktite’s, but I figured they must not be letter writers. Vaulted ceilings and dark wood, a grand staircase with thick carpet on the treads. They could afford a boy on staff to run their messages; they didn’t need the likes of me.
“Where’s the library?” I saw three doors in front of me, all shut tight.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance.” An elf glided toward me. “I am Selendir, the butler.”
“The maid said there’s a body in—”
“You may go, Maisie.” The elf flicked a single finger at the girl. She curtsied and ran to the far left door. She paused to glance at me and then she was gone. The elf looked at me and crossed his hands in front. “You were saying?”
I tugged at my jacket. “I was next door, delivering a message.” I waved vaguely at the feather in my hat. “And we heard the scream. Maisie there, she comes running out of—”
Just then a pretty young woman rushed down the stairs. Her dark hair hung loose, and her robe flapped open revealing simple white sleeping clothes. She didn’t seem to notice us as she entered the middle door. She stood just past the threshold for a long moment. I didn’t get a clear view of the room until she turned around. Over her shoulder I could see rows and rows of books. “Selendir, send for the police. There’s been a murder.”
“The police are on the way,” I said and stepped toward the library and this remarkable woman who could view a dead body and not fall apart.
She cocked her head. “Do I know you?”
I grabbed my messenger cap and shoved it in my pocket. “Vox Swift. Boleian Investigations. I—” I realized that I did know her – the human paladin who had been in Giles Benthey’s apartment the morning he died, the morning Marilye Forlone had killed him.
I’d only worked directly with paladins a few times at that point, but they’ve been around for years, using their magical abilities in the service of the law. They have their limits – not the least their slavish devotion to rules and religion. Dead handy in a crime scene investigation though, which was how Central utilizes them.
The paladin’s name was on the tip of my tongue. “You’re—”
“Jesskah Morningstar. I remember you,” she said. Her eyes were deep green, and her voice had a pleasant timbre. “The Benthey murder. You stuck up for me in front of the detectives. I thought Benthey might have been poisoned.” She smiled and I remembered that she’d given me a smile that day, too.
“It was a good theory,” I said. “Turns out we—”
“Were both wrong that day. Magic killed him.”
“Yes.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. “And here we are again,” her voice sounded puzzled.
“I was picking up – I mean I was at Professor Hawktite’s whe—” Her eyes really were quite green. “When I heard your maid scream.”
“Selendir,” Jesskah said, “a pot of tea, please. And show the police in when they arrive.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t have my full kit, but shall we take a look?” She stepped back so that I could enter the library.
Light streamed through tall windows set on the far end of the room. Panes of stained glass accented the corners, creating shafts of diffuse color. A massive fireplace held court on the left side. I could have burned a couch in there it was so large. Book-filled shelves lined three walls. And in the center, like a bad joke, lay a girl in a sparkly gold dress, her back to us. I could see pale blonde hair and gold sequins winking in the morning sun.
Jesskah stalked toward her as if afraid the young woman would spring up and yell “Surprise!” I realized that she might be casting a spell, even if she was being awfully quiet about it. That meant she was well beyond the novice stage as a spellcaster. Damn, she looked fairly young, and that made me realize that I had a lot of studying to do if I hoped to be any sort of detective. Once again Marilye Forlone controlled my time – if I could move past this obsession with finding the widow, perhaps I could excel in my studies.
I kept my mouth shut for the moment, circling toward the body from the left. The fireplace was unlit, giving the room a chill. Either no one ever came in here, or the servants just hadn’t gotten to this morning chore yet.
The body lay on a thick red and gold rug. I could see a few sequins scattered about as if there’d been a struggle. I knelt beside the body and nudged a sequin with my fingernail.
Magic could really help me about now. A glance at Jesskah showed me that she was still deep in spell focus which is where I should be. Catching bad guys is hard, and the whole point of working for a wizard P.I. is to make it easier. Detecting magic, reading thoughts, finding secret doors…. Top notch investigatory work.
I can’t claim to be a great bard – I can barely claim to be any sort of bard. The magical class chose me, really. I was as surprised as anyone, given my singing voice, but the wild nature of bardic magic, well that made sense. To pluck magic out of the air, to find an incantation in the midst of a conversation, that interested me. Boleian could keep his spellbooks and fancy potions; I’d gladly embrace the chaos of the bardic way.
And chaos it was, sometimes anyway. I’d only recently understood that some of my hunches were more than just hunches, that I can sometimes make magic without really trying. I’ll touch an object and hear the owner’s thoughts. But only sometimes and only a stray thought or two, but it’s helped me out in more than one investigation. I pressed down on the sequin, and it stuck to my finger. The sunlight made it sparkle.
“She doesn’t seem quite real, does she?” Jesskah’s voice in my ear.
I opened my mouth to answer when a woman’s voice broke in. “Jessie! What are you doing? Maisie’s in tears. Selendir is sulking heaven knows where, and you— Who is that?”
I wasn’t sure if the woman meant me or the body. She looked like an older Jesskah, so this was obviously her mother. “Vox Swift, ma’am. I’m a private invest—”
“Well you and your drunken friend need to leave.” She turned to face her daughter. “Really Jessie. I don’t know what sort of people you consort with during the week, but when you are home—”
I walked around the girl in gold. “Mrs. Morningstar. You’ll want to step into the hall. The crime scene,” I gripped her arm, and Jesskah was suddenly on the other side o
f her mother. “The crime scene needs to remain undisturbed.”
Before she could react to my words, we heard knocking on the front door. All three of us paused at the sound. The knock came again. “Where is Selendir? Jessie, what in the world is happening?”
“Mother, please.” Jesskah looked at me over her mother. “Vox, could you get the door?”
Selendir beat me by half a step. He had a full tea set in one hand, and he didn’t spill a drop as he opened the front door. Finn Hobrook filled the doorway. “Central Division. Detective Hobrook. Where’s the body?”
I pivoted in time to see Jesskah tie up her robe and her mother crumple to the floor.
Chapter 2 The Girl in Gold
I sat slouched on the bottom steps of the Morningstar’s grand staircase, tea cup in hand. A delicate pattern of green leaves with pretty pink flowers graced the outside of the cup. The dregs of tea sloshed in the bottom of the cup, and I could hear the police in the library. The deep murmur of Hobrook and the lighter sound of Jesskah and the other paladin.
Hobrook hadn’t come alone. No wonder it took so long for him to arrive. I thought for sure that Folen had gotten lost on his way to station 6. Instead, once they heard the address, the boys at 6 had dispatched a beat cop our way and sent Folen running to Central. No way would a murder in Hightower be trusted to some Oakgrove pretty boy. Get the real detectives on the case from the beginning.
Of course there’d be hell to pay at the Swift office. My 4-hour shift had lasted all of half an hour. At worst I’d left a pile of messages undelivered; at best, I’d let a green runner work an important route on his own. “Yeah,” I said to myself. “Them’s the breaks, Vox.”
A sequin peeked up at me from my pant leg. It must have clung there when I knelt beside the girl in gold. I fished my notebook from my pocket and swept the sequin into the book for safekeeping. Not saying it was a major clue, but it was my only clue at the moment.
Finn Hobrook sat down beside me. “Vox.”
“Finn.”
