by Beth Lyons
The son stood and walked out of the office leaving his father with us. I opened my mouth to speak, but Boleian tapped his lip and twitched one eyebrow. Just then I heard a whistle and footsteps on the stairs. Two large men appeared in the doorway. One grasped the handles of the old man’s chair and pulled him into the outer office. He then turned and slowly pushed Mr. Edjrest into the hall. The men then positioned themselves on either side of the chair, lifted it, and walked down the stairs.
Boleian joined me at the office door. “Money makes things happen, Vox. Remember this lesson. It’s an important one.”
“Speaking of that,” I kept my voice low; “you charged him double!”
“Some men expect to pay dearly for good help. I thought Miles Edjrest might be one of them.” He shrugged. “I was right.” He walked back to his office and spilled the coins on the table. “Six gold. That will do nicely.” He pushed two gold coins toward me. “That is for you. Oh, and keep the book.” He winked at me. “A late birthday present, eh?”
He then pushed another two gold toward me. “And that is for the case. Grease whatever wheels you need, but make it last. It’s all you’re going to get.”
“That will buy a lot of information. Thanks, Boss.”
I turned to go, but Boleian stopped me. “What’s your plan?”
Since when did he care about my plans? “Um, I was thinking about the Lamplighter. Checking out the son’s story. Maybe swinging by Central. Maybe they’ve IDed the dead girl. Morningstars could do with an update, too.” I shrugged. “Probably one in the same, right? Helena and the dead girl? Although the girl in gold, she wasn’t much to look at, and Edjrest said Helena was cute.”
“Dead people aren’t generally attractive.” Boleian stacked the coins. “I am going to pay a few debts, and then I’ll stop by the girl’s apartment. I’d like to talk with the sister.”
“This is nice,” I said. “Us working on a case together, huh?”
“I’d like a written report on my desk in the morning. Edjrest is likely one of those men who expects a paper trail.” Boleian sighed. “Wants to see where his money is going. So document everything, Vox.” He’d been rummaging around his drawers while he spoke, but he stopped, looked me in the eye and said, “Yes, it is nice. And if you hope to earn more coin, you’ll get moving.”
I left before Boleian realized what I’d said about the Morningstars. He hadn’t expressly forbidden me from seeing them, and I hadn’t expressly said I was going to stop by the house, but that’s what I was going to do first, before anything else.
Once I was on the street, food smells hit me, and I realized lunchtime had arrived. I had time for gibal, at least. Sally and Sissy, two fae friends of mine, were back in their old spot, selling takeout in the alley off Anson. I figured they were probably paying protection to the spriggans, but I didn’t want to ask. Spriggans are about the closest thing to a wild animal that Thornbury has. Violent, unpredictable, cunning. They look like stands of trees congregating on corners, and when they clump up like that, you want to steer clear.
Gibal is a dwarven word meaning food crumbs, more specifically the crumbs that get caught in your beard, but to Thornbury it’s come to mean any sort of quick bite. Used to be I could get a sandwich and cup of soup from Sally and Sissy for a silver coin, but their prices had doubled — to pay for protection, no doubt. Still, it was good food for the money and getting a smile from Sally, that was worth it, too. Not that I harbored any hope that we’d ever hook up. Beautiful as she is, Sally could have any rich girl or guy, maybe one of each, if that’s what she fancied.
Steam from the soup kettle had pasted Sally’s blonde hair to her forehead. She wiped it away and smiled when she saw me. “Vox Swift! Aren’t you a welcome sight. I made that vegetarian vegetable soup you like, hoping you’d stop by.”
Even Weymoor had been right about one thing – as I learned more about medicinal magic I’d become less interested in eating meat. As the bard Heilo Underwood explained it, healing requires a deeper level of understanding, of empathy. As you cultivate that mindset, it’s harder to look at the meat on the plate without imagining the animal it came from.
But a bard isn’t a cleric – not by a long throw. Still both Even and Underwood insisted I learn a healing spell sometime soon, so I accepted the trade off of eating like a healer on the off chance I might need to save a life – maybe my own life – one of these days.
I put a single silver coin on Sally’s counter. “Soup is just the thing for a winter’s day. Got a new case I’m working.”
She ladled soup into a paper container. “Yeah? What’s this one? Not another murder I hope.”
“Missing person.” I dropped a 50 copper piece into the tip jar. “Human named Helena Grimwell. You haven’t heard of her, have you?”
“She related to the singer Jana Grimwell? That’s a girl who knows how to work a connection.”
“Her little sister. What do you mean connection?”
“I don’t know her personally,” Sally said, “but she’s got a reputation for working the angles, finding the rich patrons.”
“We should all be so lucky, huh?” I gave Sally a weak smile.
“No luck about it.” She put the cap on the soup carton. “Or maybe I should say Jana Grimwell is a girl who makes her own luck.” Our fingers touched briefly as she handed me the soup. “Some people have the knack, eh Vox?”
I thought about Marilye Forlone. She’d killed two men and somehow convinced me to let her go. “You got that right, Sally.” I put a ten silver coin on the counter. “If you hear anything, let me know, alright?”
“Sure. Sure thing. Stop by tomorrow. Sissy is going to make this beef stew that doesn’t have beef.” She shrugged. “Some recipe she found in a magazine. I— we want to know what you think.”
Chapter 5 Return to the Scene
I finished the soup well before I got to Clearwater, but there was nowhere to toss the container, so when I knocked on the door of the Morningstar mansion, I had one hand full.
Chancy coming here like this. What if Jesskah isn’t home? Yeah, but what if she is? You can feel her out about Helena Grimwell. They’re probably one in the same – Helena and the girl in gold. And there’s got to be a connection with the Morningstars – girls don’t just show up dead on random rugs.
The elf butler, Selendir, opened the door. “Yes?”
“Vox Swift, Boleian Investigations here for Jesskah Morningstar.”
“Young Miss is not here.”
“Oh. Alright. I’ll come ba—”
The butler pulled me across the threshold. “But Madam requires an update. She has paid good coin for your services. Madam is in the study.” He plucked the empty container from my hand and led me up one flight of stairs and along an open hall to a set of double doors. “Wait,” he said and swept into the room, closing the doors behind him. With my ear pressed against the wood I could discern voices but not content. I made a mental note to ask Underwood if bards had any sort of listening spell.
I heard the knob turning and had time to jump back and look bored. The butler said, “You may enter.”
Clarissa Morningstar sat in an armchair by the windows, her legs stretched toward the fireplace. She didn’t move as I sat opposite her. “Have you found out who she is?”
Like her daughter, Mrs. Morningstar had green eyes. Unlike Jesskah’s they seemed cold and unfriendly.
“Not as such,” I replied. “We’re following up on several leads.”
“Then why did you come here today?” Those green eyes seemed to study my every movement.
“I had hoped to see Jesskah – to see your daughter. The paladin.”
“Are you close, you and Jessie?”
“Not as such.” I already used that phrase! Damn, she makes me nervous. “No, we’ve worked a few cases together. In our respective roles. One case, actually. Two if you count this one.”
She seemed immune to my babbling. “I didn’t think you were close. Most p
eople know that she has her own place. During the week she likes to be close to Central. So she says. I think she likes her freedom. And what healthy girl wouldn’t?” She sighed. “I expect in a year or two we’ll be fitting her into my old wedding gown.” She looked at me. “Jessie has several prominent bachelors at hand. Several. Eventually she will choose one. We all have to choose, eventually.”
I had to take control of the conversation – either that or run from the house and never return. “Are you familiar with the Lamplighter, Mrs. Morningstar? Do you go out much?” I paused, “You and your husband?”
“Oh Hugo is much too busy to bother with trifles like lounges. I know of it, of course. But no, I don’t attend society much anymore. When Hugo is in town, we tend to stay in.”
“And Mr. Morningstar is—?”
“Away on business. I’ve written to him of this horrible, terrible, senseless tragedy. He’ll want to come home, but I won’t hear of it.” She waved her hand in the air. “It’s not like he had anything to do with it.”
“You didn’t recognize the girl? When you first walked into the library yesterday, you said—”
“I was in shock yesterday.”
“You didn’t even know she was dead yet! You called her my ‘drunken friend.’”
Clarissa Morningstar pursed her lips. “Do you treat all your clients this way? I was reluctant to hire you, but Jessie insisted—”
“Rightly so. Your husband is a prime suspect, as are you, ma’am.” I let those words sink in as I took full measure of the woman across from me. She stared out the window, her face in profile to me. Was that a tear I saw?
Mrs. Morningstar seemed to be exactly what I’d expected: a wealthy woman scared that the man she’d married had committed a terrible crime. After a moment I said gently, “Is there anyone who might wish trouble on you or Mr. Morningstar?”
“No,” she whispered. “No one.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” I began to rise from my chair, and I could swear relief flooded Clarissa Morningstar’s eyes. “But as a side note, Mrs. Morningstar, do you know Miles Edjrest?”
“Miles? We’re not close, but he is an old dear. Still stubborn as an ox, getting pushed around in that chair of his. A lesser human would have curled up and died.”
I gave her a puzzled smile.
“You don’t know the story then? A detective like you? It has been a few years though. Miles lost his beloved wife and daughter in a fire. He went back in for them; a beam crashed down and broke his back. He was raving that they leave him and rescue the girls. Mimi, his wife and Belinda, their daughter. Since then he’s been in that chair, and Farley stays by his side. Gave up everything for his father.” Clarissa sat up. “Oh that sounds tragic doesn’t it? Self-sacrificing Farley. When he’s really done quite well for himself. He’s sole heir, you know, and he already controls most of Miles’ companies.”
“Sad story,” I said. Clarissa Morningstar liked to gossip, that was obvious. I could use that to my advantage.
“Why do you ask?” Her voice had an edge to it.
“I beg your pardon?” I’d already taken a step toward the door.
“Why in the world would you ask me about Miles Edjrest?”
“Oh. Yes. In a case like this, Mrs. Morningstar…” I played for time, hoping for a plausible answer to drop into my lap. I didn’t want to mention the missing singer Helena Grimwell. “We have to follow every lead, no matter how tenuous.” I shrugged.
“Yes, but why Miles? Surely—”
“Madam,” Selendir stood at the door, and I could have kissed him. “Roostowe is here for your appointment.” He reached for my arm. “I will show the young lady out.”
Snatching my arm away I muttered, “I know the way.” To Mrs. Morningstar I said, “I’ll send a written report over to you tomorrow.” Now why had I said that? Now I had two reports to write!
The butler insisted on escorting me to the front door. I told him, “I’m not going to steal anything, you know.” But my protests went unheard. Elves tend to be a suspicious lot, especially about other elves. I’m not sure what I ever did to him, but it was obvious that Selendir didn’t like having me around. Maybe he had something to hide. At the front door he squeezed my arm and whispered, “Next time make an appointment.”
I walked down the steps thinking about Clarissa Morningstar. She seemed protective of her husband and her daughter, but that was natural. Body found in her house; the three of them are the likely suspects. I couldn’t see Jess — Jesskah, I corrected myself — as the killer, though I’d been wrong about that before. Same with the wife: what motive could she have? But Mr. Hugo Morningstar… the invisible Mr. Morningstar. I really wanted a crack at him. What could entice him back to the city?
My thoughts were interrupted by a low whistle. Maisie, the maid who’d discovered the body in the library, stood at the side door waving at me. With a quick glance around I trotted over to her. Maisie greeted me with “Who is she? Did you find out?”
So, she’s just another busybody. I’d thought she might be ready to let loose with some good gossip. I shook my head. “Nothing concrete yet.”
“But she wasn’t wearing a wig?” She touched my arm gently, as if afraid to detain me.
“The girl in gold? No,” I said. “That was her own hair.” I gave Maisie my best smile and cast charm person on her. Smiled, hummed, put my finger to my lips – that works really well for me when I’m trying to get secrets, and then I asked the thousand coin question: “Why are you asking about the body in the library? You saw her, same as me.”
###
One of the first spells I asked Helio Underwood to teach me was charm person. I knew what it felt like to be charmed – I’m still not sure how many times Marilye used it on me – but I didn’t know how to cast it., and it seemed a handy spell for an investigator to have in her back pocket.
“It’s an easy spell to cast,” he told me. “But you fail about as often as you succeed! Smile, hum a little, touch your face. Quick as a wink the person is smiling back at you, and you’re in.”
“Smile, hum, wink. Got it.” We were sitting at the bar in his tavern, and I jotted the words in my notebook.
“Nothing as simple as that, lass. The hum needs a certain lilt. The touch must be deliberate, but not distracting. And what works on one person might not work well on someone else.”
“So it’s easier to charm someone that you know.” This was starting to make sense.
“Yes and no.” Underwood bobbed his head. “Yes, it’s easier, but then not, because they know you. Probably know what you’re trying.”
Magic’s like that. Always looking for the sweet spot – the spot where you know just enough but not too much. It’s easy to over-think a spell; easy to stumble over words or fumble a gesture as you try to get just the right pronunciation, the right nuance. And if it’s a hard spell, something that you don’t have any right to even try to cast – something so out of your league that your teacher and your friends would think you were nuts for even trying, well how do you know what you’re doing wrong? You can cast it every night, for example, and still not see.
###
I cast charm person on Maisie, and it paid off. In answer to my question Maisie said, “If she’s blonde, really blonde, that means that the Master is alright.”
“The Master.” The maid wasn’t making complete sense yet, but I had a suspicion about where we were heading. “You mean Hugo Morningstar? He was here on Saturday. With a girl.”
“Yes,” she breathed out the word with relief. “But she had dark hair and she wasn’t all sparkly like the – like the other one. The one in the library. So that means he’s alright, even though he’s missing. No one’s done him in!”
“Because if his companion’s dead…?”
“He’d be dead, too! And I was so worried. He’s not replied to Madam’s messages. Cook had that from Selendir himself. Madam is furious with him, but I was worried sick, I can tell you!”
> “Of course, Maisie – can I call you Maisie? You were right to be worried. We’ll find Mr. Morningstar, don’t you worry.” I leaned against the doorframe. “Walk me through Saturday night. You were finishing up chores, I bet.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’d forgotten a tea tray in the downstairs drawing room. Miss Jessie had company earlier in the day and—”
“Does she often have visitors here? Or just one? A tall cop, maybe?” I stared hard at Maisie trying to remember what Mrs. Morningstar had said about Jesskah’s love life. If Jesskah was dating Finn Hobrook I doubted the elder Morningstar would be thrilled.
The maid blinked at me. “Who do you mean? With Miss Jessie? She—”
“Never mind. Go on.” I didn’t want to run out of time. “The drawing room?”
“Well then, I was just leaving there – the drawing room – when I saw them. He was leading her by the hand. They must have come up the back stairs. She whispered something in his ear, and I heard Mr. Hugo laugh.”
“Where did they go?”
“Dunno. I stepped back into the drawing room – they were heading right toward me, and I didn’t want to be caught out. I need this job!”
The mention of the job made her glance over her shoulder again. I knew she’d fly away any moment. “Where do you think they were going? What rooms are near the drawing room?”
“Just the library! That’s what’s so confusing.”
“What time was it, Maisie? Do you know? What time did you see them?”
“Not quite midnight because I was worried the clock would wake Selendir – it makes a racket striking 12. And you know what light sleepers elves are.” She paused and seemed to realize what she’d said. “‘Course you do! I didn’t mean anything by it.” She screwed up her face. “I’ve been so worried for the Master.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Bless you for looking out for him.”
