A Postcard From Hell

by Adrienne Blake

  “Cash. He insisted. I took some of it for me, but mostly it’s for you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Albert insisted. He wants us to blend in, and paid expenses up front so we could expand our, um, wardrobe.”

  “Odd.” I thought aloud. “They don’t usually dress the help.”

  “Not so odd,” Harrison corrected. “Albert is very particular about appearance. He says drop in at Madame Zaza’s on Market Street, she’ll be waiting for you.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I dress?” I asked, not really caring or expecting an answer. We both knew my wardrobe consisted mostly of jeans, tees, and boots. If Albert was dumb enough to want to buy me clothes, then let him. It was his money to blow and I could use a few things.

  I reached over and grabbed the envelope which was open at the back. “Wow.” I ran my finger along the bundle of hundreds inside. “He really cares that much? Why don’t we just charge it? I could deck myself out for the rest of the year.”

  “What can I say, he’s a cash man.” Harrison shrugged.

  “Whatever.” We both knew what it really meant. For whatever reason, Albert wanted this little detail off the books. I didn’t care. Cash was cash, and neither Harrison nor I could afford to turn away a paying customer. And it meant I could keep that new dress.

  “So, who babysits first shift?” I asked, shoving the envelope into my purse.

  “I’d like the mornings if I can. Clear off and buy yourself some clothes and report back tonight around eight. You okay with the night shift?”

  I smiled, knowing he was thinking about Andres. “Sure, no problem at all,” I said. I liked working nights. The work tended to be a little more interesting in the wee hours. I tossed my empty Starbucks cup into the trash can under my desk and got up again. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  Harrison nodded, and picked up the phone, his focus already on something else. I left him to it. I had a lot of shopping to do. God, my job could be rough sometimes.

  Just as I hung the last new blouse in my closet, my phone rang. It was Liam. He sounded more like himself today, more chipper and readier to tease.

  “Hey, can I come over?” he asked.

  I glanced at my watch. It was almost four o’clock—plenty of time before I had to get over to Walnut.

  “You know, I do have a job,” I said, though secretly itching to find out if he’d unearthed something new. “Will you be long?”

  “I can be there in five minutes.”

  “Do it. But be quick. Some of us have shit to do.”

  I walked over to my bedside mirror and checked my hair—then, conscious of why I’d done it, I shook my head, pissed at myself. It shouldn’t matter how I looked. It was only Liam after all, not a hot date. Keep telling yourself that, kiddo, said a voice from within. You might actually start believing it.

  All the same, I swept around my apartment, cleaning up after myself. Liam had seen the mess I’d left last night; I didn’t want him to think I was a slob twenty-four-seven.

  Liam was punctual to the second. He arrived wearing a work suit; it fit him like it was tailored to his body, and my gaze flitted to his broad chest and shoulders, tapering down to a trim waist. I knew he worked out—we both did. Right now, he looked fifty shades of yummy, and I turned away so he wouldn’t see my grin.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”

  “Sure.”

  He didn’t need to tell me how he took it, I remembered well enough he liked it black.

  “So, any news on the postcard?” I asked, shuddering, remembering what I’d seen in the slipstream.

  “Yeah. The stamp. What do you think it might be worth?”

  From his tone I guessed it was worth more than fifty or so cents. “A thousand bucks?” I put out there.

  “Try half a million.”

  “Wow. Are you shitting me?” That was a hell of a lot of dough. “Enough to justify murder, you think?” I thought about it. Anyone rich enough to live in that building probably blew that kind of money on the weekend. In my dreams. But still, half a mill was still a huge chunk of change. I’d be tempted.

  “Maybe. It’s a fair wad of cash, that’s for sure.” I could tell from his tone, Liam shared my doubts. “But my gut says no. I think there’s more to it than that.”

  I nodded, handing him a cup of something strong and black my Keurig had just conjured.

  “Thanks,” he said, bringing it up to his nose. “Oh, my favorite. “He blew over the hot surface. Of course it was.

  “Get anywhere with the handwriting?” I asked.

  “Not yet. The lab thinks maybe dwarf, but if it is, it’s something ancient, or at least made to look that way. The ink is pure twentieth century—something you could easily pick up at Walmart.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” I said. “An ancient handwriting on a modern-day postcard with a modern-day message, with a ridiculously expensive stamp on it. I’ve got to admit, this one has me baffled.”

  “Me too,” he said when he resurfaced from his mug. “Are you still working the penthouse job?”

  “Yup,” I said. “I’m heading over there tonight. Not relishing climbing those stairs though.”

  “Oh, the elevators are open again. The explosion was restricted to one floor—Wendy’s.” He frowned. “It blew out her kitchen and part of the kitchen next door. But otherwise the building passed inspection, and everyone’s back in their homes now. They’ve just shut off part of that floor while they make repairs.”

  “Wow, that’s fast work,” I observed. Trying to get a hold of a contractor in this city usually required a blood sacrifice.

  “Money talks,” Liam said dismissively. “But that’s why I wanted to see you today.”

  “Oh?” I arched an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What’s up?”

  “I wondered if you’d take a look at Wendy’s apartment with me. It won’t take long.”

  “Why, what are you thinking?”

  “I want to see if you think it could be anything other than a gas explosion.”

  “You think it might be more magic?” I asked, intrigued.

  “I wouldn’t want to rule it out.”

  “But hasn’t the gas company already confirmed the cause?”

  “Yes. But I want a second opinion.”

  Hmm. It wouldn’t be hard for a witch or wizard to fake a gas explosion. There would be no reason why anyone would want to, except maybe to cover a murder.

  I glanced at my watch. It was still early. “Sure, I’ll come. Just give me five minutes, I need to change.”

  Liam looked me up and down. “You look fine as you are.”

  “Uh, right, but I have a detail there at eight. I might as well get dressed for it now—then I won’t have to come home to change.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  By the time I’d returned, Liam had drained his mug and was standing up, ready to go.

  “That’s pretty,” he said, admiring my silk purple top and black skirt.

  Simple but elegant, I thought. At least this time I’d had the sense to wear flats with it. As I passed Liam, I caught the slight scent of his musk aftershave, and I paused, drinking it in. But then I walked on, thankful for the memory of all those girls at the academy. They kept me rooted on the right side of stupid where Liam was concerned.

  “Let’s get going,” I said, checking my .38 Special before stashing it back inside my purse. I preferred carrying it in my holster, but that simply wasn’t going to work with this detail. I drew some comfort from the .22 still strapped to my leg. “Shall we?”

  4

  The Apartments

  Other than the contractor van parked in front of the building, there were no signs of the madness I’d witnessed just a few hours before.

  We’d come in separate cars, and as soon as we found parking spaces, we met up again in the lobby. The keys we needed had been left at the reception desk, and while Liam collected those, I strolled over to the elevator and chan
ted a spell of inquiry under my breath. It wasn’t any kind of deep magic, and all I had to do to invoke it, was touch my willow wand, currently strapped to my arm and hidden under the sleeve of my shirt. Ordinaries didn’t typically mind magic—after all, they lived beside practitioners every day. But some of the older ones were still sensitive about seeing it in action, and I took care not to brandish my skills in their face. The spell came back negative.

  “All clear,” I said. “The elevators are perfectly safe. No charms or enchantments, and mechanically sound. Shall we go up?”

  Liam inclined his head and pressed the button.

  We were silent as the elevator climbed, both of us lost in our thoughts. I hadn’t felt this excited about a mystery, not since…. My hand rested over my scarred chest. Liam happened to look up and notice, but if he made anything of the gesture, he never said. I was thankful when the door opened.

  Apart from the eerie silence, there was no obvious sign of an explosion at all. There were about half a dozen or so apartment entrances on this level. Liam took off to the right, and I followed him along the corridor.

  At the end of the corridor were two doors, directly facing one another. The only difference was one had police tape stretched across it. It was to this door Liam swung first.

  “I thought you wanted me to check the gas explosion?” I said, pointing behind me to the other door with the burn marks creeping around the hinges.

  “I do. But since you’re here anyway, you might as well take a look at the murder scene as well.”

  I shrugged, my professional interest aroused. “Whatever the man needs, he gets.”

  Contrary to popular belief, there was no chalk outline of the body on the living room floor. Liam pointed to the area in front of the sofa. “We found the body there,” he said. “Take a look.”

  “Sure.”

  “Name’s Shoesmith, Chuck Shoesmith. Human, three-hundred pounds or so. Cause of death, as far as we can determine, was heart attack.”

  “Human then.” It wasn’t a question. Supernaturals never suffered from heart attacks. It just wasn’t on their spectrum of diseases.

  I knew the room had been swept several times for evidence, but out of habit, I made sure not to touch anything. The furniture was high-end—no surprises there—and whoever had lived here was certainly into potted plants, in a big way. They were all over the place, covering every available surface. Some even stacked on piles of books. The proprietor liked to read, too. There was an odd mix of science magazines and religious pamphlets scattered all over the place.

  Right now, all the plants were wilting, and if someone didn’t think to water them soon, they would all be dead in just a few days.

  But I wasn’t here to worry about plants. There was no visible sign of violence, no blood on the carpet, no overturned lampshades, no broken plant pots, or abandoned murder weapon to tell the tale. It could have been magic. Yet, I didn’t sense anything. Most spells or enchantments left a small trace—sometimes it was a smell, more often it changed the chemistry in the air. And I had a nose for it. Perhaps the best nose in the business.

  Liam looked at me expectantly, but I simply shook my head. “Sorry. I got nothing.”

  “Dang,” he said. “Oh well. It was worth a try.”

  I nodded. Magical detection was always a last resort in these cases. It was unreliable and immeasurable, and the quickest way for a lawyer to call a mistrial. No chain of evidence. But when you had nothing, you had nothing.

  “What happened?” I asked as I circled the room, absorbing the atmosphere, looking for anything at all that might help Liam make a case.

  “They found him dead on the scene. No bullet wound, no cuts, no abrasions. In fact, there was no blood anywhere. Not a trace. There were a few recent bruises, but nothing major, most likely resulting from the fall.”

  I stopped in my tracks and glared at him. “So, what made you think it was murder?”

  “His hands were tied behind his back.”

  “That would do it.” I continued circling the room. As I neared the window, I felt something, but it wasn’t magic. I paused to peer at the sill. It was empty. Not even an African Violet.

  “What is it?” asked Liam. “You got something?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “Give it to me,” he said impatiently. “I need all the help I can get. We were on the point of closing this as a natural death, but then we got the call from Wendy, and now that she’s dead, more questions are being asked. And since I was the last person to see her, a few eyes are looking at me.”

  I inclined my head. Liam came and stood beside me at the window, and I pointed to the sill. “Notice anything peculiar?”

  Liam stared at it blankly and shook his head.

  “If I was into plants as much as this guy clearly was, this whole sill would be chock-full of sun-loving babies. It’s the best spot in the whole apartment, and yet it’s strangely devoid of plant life.”

  “So?” asked Liam, his interest clearly piqued but not quite following. “What of it?”

  “I would bet you another half-million dollars that this window is open. I’m assuming it’s already been dusted?”

  “Yup, the whole place was. Everything was clean.”

  I nodded, then grabbed hold of the bottom of the frame. With a quick tug, the window opened easily. Just as I expected, I felt a faint tickle in my tummy, and an echo of the violence here coursed through me. “Et voila!” I said.

  Liam stepped closer and peered out the window. “So? The victim liked a nice breeze. What of it?”

  “I’d bet again if you were to dust about six feet or so down, you’d find traces of the victim’s skin and spit on the exterior wall.”

  “What—are you saying someone dangled him out of it?”

  “Exactly so. Probably wanted to know where that postcard was. Maybe he told, maybe he didn’t, but bad news for Wendy, either way—they must have figured it out.”

  “Possibly,” said Liam, but there was a trace of doubt in his tone and he glanced up. “But why blow her up? I mean—if you’re looking to find something like that postcard, stage a burglary or something. You don’t blow the whole effing building up.”

  He had a point.

  “Come on,” Liam said. “Unless you got something else, let’s go check out Wendy’s place.”

  “Sure. Lead on.”

  Liam held up the crime scene tape for me and I ducked under it. As soon as he closed and locked it up, he opened the door on the other side of the hall. He stepped aside, waiting for me to cross the threshold but I paused, even before putting one foot inside the apartment.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “This place reeks of bad magic.”

  “Black magic?” Liam said, puzzled.

  “No, bad magic. Whoever did this wasn’t up to much. I can tell that straight off.”

  It was true. Good magic left an even trace, I might not like it, but the effect was clean and easy to distinguish. That wasn’t the vibe I was getting here. The trace was chaotic, and the smells left behind were a horrible mishmash. Whoever had blown this place to smithereens was either a total novice or was a real genius at covering his tracks. There was no way for me to tell.

  I took a step inside. If anything, I felt worse, and it left me feeling a little giddy. The room looked pretty much how I’d expected it to: with the black heart of the blast near the kitchen, the marks petering out the further away you got from the stove. A slew of debris had been swept into the corner, broken cups, pieces of candle, a few paperbacks, shards of glass. It was all one unholy mess.

  There was a gaping hole leading directly into the next apartment.

  “The other victim died just there,” said Liam, pointing to a spot just inches away from me on the other side of the wall. “And it was just dumb luck she happened to be in the kitchen at that exact moment. Two minutes later and she’d have been safely in her dining room, enjoying a peaceful dinner with her guests. Worst-case scenari
o she might have come off with a few scrapes and bruises, just like the rest of them had. But no, unfortunately for her, her limbs had been blown clean off.”

  “Ugh.” I shuddered and turned my attention back to Wendy’s apartment. It all looked so convincing now. “The conjurer made a series of errors before he fixed everything,” I said, glancing around the apartment. “He was in here when he cast it, though I can’t be sure whether the explosion happened when they were still here or after he left. Probably after. The traces are too conflicting, I can’t follow the exact beginning or end.”

  “Fixed everything?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Somehow, he made a complete botch of it. Each spell was cast to mask the screw up before it. But one thing’s clear—it wasn’t an accident—I believe you have a double homicide on your hands.”

  “Great,” Liam said, his voice flat. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “Hey, no problem,” I said. “That’s what friends are for.”

  Liam closed the apartment and we headed out into the hall. I glanced at my iPhone. It was a little after six thirty, there really was little point in going home.

  “Can I buy you dinner?” asked Liam. “Strictly as a thank you,” he added quickly, holding up his hands to ward off any uninvited verbal attack.

  I smiled. I always liked to eat. “Sometime, sure,” I said. “But not right now. I have shit of my own to do.” My focus shifted upward as I thought about the penthouse above.

  Liam nodded. “I gotcha,” he said. “But make it soon. We’re long overdue.”

  Playing it cool, I said nothing, but simply hit both buttons on the panel by the elevator. “Let me know if you find out something new.”

  The car heading upward arrived first and I stepped inside. He was still watching me as the door closed shut, and only when it did, did I drop the whole cool act. Dammit, Liam still wanted me, and I knew it. I smiled. How messed up was that? But then my smile widened, and I laughed at myself. After all, what was life without a little drama?