David’s feathers ruffled at that last. He was not a proud man…except when it came to how he performed his duties as Chief Para Inspector. David always put the GIPPD first. To him, the job was sacrosanct. Probably why he made such a good chief.
And probably why he was still single. Or maybe why I was still single, rather.
I tried to disguise my unintentional snort with an awkward series of coughs and throat clearing.
“They’re toads, Ms. Fearwyn, not career criminals,” David pointed out as he pulled out his familiar spiral notebook.
Portia sniffed disdainfully. “Well, if you’re not here to take care of the toads, why are you here? There are certainly no other criminals here.”
David raised one adorably dubious eyebrow. “That’s what we’re here to find out, Ms. Fearwyn.”
Portia raised her nose indignantly. “Whatever do you mean, Chief Para Inspector? I’ve committed no crime.”
“That remains to be seen.” David poised a pen over the paper. “Ms. Fearwyn, are you familiar with the environmental activist, Millicent Pond?”
“Pah! That patchouli-drenched tree-hugger? Of course I am. Or, rather, was. That annoying woman practically camped out on my front stoop for weeks insisting that those…things… were endangered and needed protection.”
She gestured to the toads, who were now everywhere, hopping helter-skelter. There was hardly a place to step a toe. Their happy croaks filled the air.
One especially fat and bumpy amphibian, however, remained rather unperturbed near Fraidy. The toad’s only movement came with the random inflation and deflation of its vocal sac. The expanding bubble even aroused the curiosity of my most cautious cat. Fraidy decided the stationary creature posed a minimal threat and so he dipped his nose in sniffing curiosity.
Abruptly, the toad sprang. Fraidy launched into his own awkward vertical leap. The two came down in a jumbled pile of slime and fur.
“H-A-A-T-T-T-I-E-E-E!!” Fraidy yowled, trying desperately to extricate himself from his sudden entanglement with the toad. They were just so gosh darn friendly, these warty amphibians. Their life's purpose seemed not to extend past a cuddly snugglewith whatever life-form crossed their paths. This one had Fraidy in its loving embrace, licking my poor terrified kitty with loving abandon. The struggle was useless. With every twist and tumble, the Godmarsh Toad seemed to generate more and more of the opaque, sticky goo which clung like gangbusters to Fraidy. My cat's frightened squalls joined the rising chorus of toad croaks as more of the creatures hopped into the pile, drawn by their compatriot’s friendly ventures. I rushed to Fraidy’s side, pulling string after string of gunk up and away until I, too, was covered in the stuff.
Portia huffed. “The only thing endangered around here is my privacy!”
She raised her wand once more and released a second bolt of bottle green energy surging from its tip.
“HATTIE!” David shouted.
I winced, bracing for the inevitable pain of electric shock…but it never came. Fraidy, the toads and I lit up in a green, glowing ball of viscous glop, but no crippling muscle contractions twisted our bodies. No fur or hair was singed. In fact, I realized as I blinked my eyes, the only apparent effect from Portia’s strike was it seemed to send the toads momentarily scurrying to the four corners.
I did a quick inventory of all my Hattie parts.
Yep. Everything intact.
“Well, whaddya know?” Fraidy let lose a nervous giggle. “Portia’s bark is worse than her bolt.”
David shook his head. “What the...?”
“Oh, relax, Chief Trew,” Portia sneered. “I would never do any harm to our Miss Jenkins intentionally. Her grandmother and I may not have always seen eye-to-eye, but I had a grudging respect for Chimera Opal. To harm her granddaughter would quite dishonor Chimera's memory and the work we accomplished together.”
“But how?” David babbled. He reached up and touched his own singed hair. “Is the lightning an illusion?”
Portia pocketed her wand. “Oh, no. I assure you, the voltage is quite real. The excretions of these infernal creatures, however, has a remarkable insulating property. It’s why my jolts do little more than frighten the foul pests off for a few moments. I was quite confident in Miss Jenkins’ safety. She was completely submerged in their nastiness.”
“And so was Millicent Pond,” David harrumphed.
“I beg your pardon?” A deep furrow wedged itself between Portia’s eyebrows.
“We came to discuss the death of Millicent Pond, Ms. Fearwyn.” I said, suddenly finding my voice, realizing Portia had indeed meant me no harm.
Fraidy? Fraidy wasn’t so confident. “I’m…just…gonna…scout the perimeter. Under a rock.”
He skulked a full circle around Portia’s front stoop.
Portia raised a curious eyebrow. “Miss Pond is dead? Well, now, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. She certainly had a way of rubbing people the wrong way. The old hen had a personality disorder, at best.”
Pot meet kettle.
“So, you’re glad she’s dead then?” David asked.
“I won’t shed many tears, if that’s what you’re asking,” Portia admitted. “But let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we, Chief Trew? What you really want to know is if I dispatched that dreadful woman into the afterlife.”
“Well, yes, particularly in light of her injuries. She was scorched and burned by electricity and we have you on camera attacking Millicent with just that. Regardless of whether you knew she would be protected against that lightning, it was a personal affront. You have to admit, it looks more than a little suspicious.”
“She insulted my home first!” Portia spat. “Invaded my privacy! The work I do here is way too sensitive to have to contend with the likes of Millicent Pond snooping around.”
“Work that requires inordinate amounts of baneful herbs?” I asked.
One had to wonder if Portia Fearwyn had inherited more than Atropa’s pinched scowl and Mordred’s potion-making skills. Perhaps she had inherited Urania Fearwyn’s bitter disdain for lesser witches and wizards. But if Portia was planning something, why would she periodically offer, albeit reluctant, help?
Before I could ponder the matter too deeply, Portia interrupted my thoughts. “What I do in the privacy of my own home is, quite frankly, none of your business, Miss Jenkins. And I will kindly ask you to show me the respect I give you. I know that Chimera taught you better manners than that. Still, let’s clear up this matter straight away, shall we? When am I supposed to have done the deed, hm?”
David flipped back in his small notebook. “Sometime between ten in the morning and noon, two days ago.”
“Well, then,” Portia began smugly. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Chief Inspector. I was on Talisman securing the proper licenses for those baneful herbs Hattie so kindly thought to mention. I had to be there all day, what with the government red tape and related bureaucratic idiocies.”
Then, spinning on her heel, she said over her shoulder, “I guess you will have to wrongfully accuse some other innocent individual, Chief. If that is all, I’ll thank you to leave my property at once. And you are both more than welcome to take those disgusting toads with you!”
The air reverberated with the slam of her massive front door.
A friendly toad hopped onto the toe of David’s boot. David looked from the toad’s slimy trail to me in my gelatinous cocoon. “You know what this means, right?”
“I’m not getting on your broom?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. It means as a suspect, Portia Fearwyn is a total dead end.”
I sighed, wondering exactly how I was going to get back to the apothecary.
“What a mess,” David groaned.
Toad-ally.
I felt like the floor of a taxi cab. Not that we had many taxi cabs on Glessie Isle for comparison. Aside from a few far-flung locations, like the late Nebula Dreddock’s home in The Spires and Portia’s Gaunt Manor i
n the Gorthland Swamps, most well-known landmarks were nestled cozily within spitting distance of each other. Most islanders just walked or cycled wherever they needed to go. Part of what helped our little isle retain its rustic charm.
Still, I imagined the floorboards of public transportation to be coated in a gunky, sticky mess, not unlike the muck from which I was having difficulty extricating myself. It was just around lunchtime when Fraidy and I finally managed to make our way back to the shop. Apparently, David had been quite serious about me not riding shotgun.
“Have you tried Verdantia’s peanut butter?” Millie called back toward the kitchen where I was trying to rinse some of the glop from my hands and face. “I think there's still a jar in the cupboard back there!”
I was only half-listening to my assistant as I rubbed vigorously at the gooey funk. The more I rubbed, the faster it seemed to stick. “I’m not really hungry at the moment, Millie!”
“Not to put on a sandwich, silly! To get rid of the goo! I mean, it works on gum, right? Why not Godmarsh goo?”
Peanut butter. Not just a sandwich spread.
“Millie, you’re a genius!” I scrambled toward the pantry to root for the jar.
“I keep trying to tell you that,” she quipped back playfully. “Alas, I have yet to see any such appraisal reflected in my paycheck.”
“Keep that up, and the only thing you’ll see reflected in your paycheck is a steep depreciation value,” I warned.
“Fuddyduddy,” Millie harrumphed.
I retrieved the three-thirds filled Mason jar filled with Verdantia’s oily, nut concoction and slathered a good bit of the pungent butter into my hair and down my arms. I smelled like a kindergartener’s lunch box. Miraculously, it was working to separate me from the goo. I could now wipe the slime off with ease. Maybe Millie was due for a small raise of recognition, after all.
Still, I didn’t know where exactly I was supposed to get the money from. I doubted Gloom would be willing to give up her fresh tuna. But Millie had saved my bacon and run the shop in my absence on more than one occasion. After the insanity I’d put her through over the course of my last several investigations with the GIPPD, she certainly deserved something. That would be Millie called my name again.
“Hattie! You’re needed out here! Pronto!”
I scooped another large dollop of peanut spread into the matted mess of auburn curls atop my head. “I’m a little busy, Mil. Whatever it is, can you take care of it?”
“Believe me, I’d love to, but the customer is insisting on seeing you,” she called back.
My reflection in Grammy’s old silvered mirror soured into a warped, pickled puss.
Great. I look like a real nut job. Pun intended.
“Never a dull moment,” I grumbled. Reluctantly, I headed toward the front of the store. The expression on my face turned to sheer embarrassment as I saw Gideon Shields standing on the threshold, crisply suited in white linen, and holding a bouquet of fragrant flowers.
Not that you could smell the flowers over the strong scent of peanuts.
“Governor Shields!” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”
I scrambled hopelessly to put myself to rights. Gloom casually sashayed past my feet, clucking her tongue. “I said eat the Omega-3s, not wear ‘em, Hat.”
Gideon gave a polite smile. “Well, since our dinner plans seem to keep getting interrupted, I thought I’d stop by and take you to lunch. “But it seems...”
He stifled a small chuckle. “It seems you’ve already started without me.”
He looked at the bouquet in his hands. “Maybe I should have brought a loaf of bread instead?”
“What? This?” I made what I hoped was a casually, aloof gesture. “I was just testing out a new, um, beauty regimen. Supposed to do wonders for the complexion.”
A gob of peanut butter dislocated from the curl sagging over my forehead and plopped, flatly on the ground in front of me.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Shade muttered and immediately started lapping up the mess.
Gideon stepped forward and took one of my sticky hands into his. “Why mess with perfection?”
Millie sighed, her chin resting dreamily on her interlaced fingers. I could almost see the plump Cupids flying over her head.
I shot her a withering look then returned my attentions to the handsome governor. “While I sincerely appreciate the flattery, Governor Shields, I think you may be overdue for a vision check.”
“Please...I thought we had cleared that silly point of formality up. It’s Gideon. And look...I’ve brought you flowers.”
He held out the bright bouquet of red flowers.
My eyes widened as I received the cheery blooms. “Snapdragons.”
Gideon nodded. “That’s right. Well, that’s what Miss Eyebright told me, anyway, when she selected them for me. I told her I was planning on taking you to lunch and wanted to bring you a lovely arrangement. I’m afraid I don’t have a very good eye for these sorts of things. She suggested snapdragons.”
“Did she now?” I pondered. The cheery little blooms bobbled happily on their stems.
“So, I was thinking, perhaps if you’d like, and if your lovely assistant is willing to mind the shop for a bit,” he nodded toward Millie whose head shook vigorously in the affirmative. “I was hoping we could grab a bite and maybe discuss the future.”
Millie let loose a little gasp and clutched her chest. And I’m pretty sure her Cupids dropped from the halo around her head and fainted.
Gideon was hard pressed to conceal the pinking embarrassment flooding his cheeks. I wasn’t far behind him.
“Of our respective islands,” he hurriedly explained, quashing any romantic hopes of tulips and taffeta Millie might have been envisioning for the attractive governor and myself. “I’m speaking of the Sugar Dunes proposal, of course, and how our two islands can work together to better serve both of our communities.”
“Of course, Gover-,” I began. Gideon tilted his head and smiled that thousand-watt smile.
“Gideon,” I corrected graciously. “If you don’t mind giving a girl a chance to, er, freshen up?”
“Of course. I tell you what. I have some business with Under-Mayor Grimsbane at Town Hall I need to take care of. I’ll pop back ‘round to pick you up. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” I concurred. “Hopefully by then, I’ll look a shade more presentable.”
“Miss Jenkins,” Gideon bowed low and kissed my hand, peanut-butter, Godmarsh Toad goo, and all. “No matter the hour, all the stars in the heavens pale in comparison to you.”
I’m pretty sure the solid thud I heard was Millie and several winged cherubs hitting the floor. The crashing sound was followed by the tinkling of the apothecary’s door bells as Gideon took his leave.
Another dollop of peanut butter plopped thickly onto the worn floorboards. Shade attacked the offending spot with gastronomic gusto.
“Hot dog!” he exclaimed. “Seconds!”
And you know what? It didn’t matter that I felt like the floor of a taxi cab. My stars were aligning and things were definitely looking up on the romantic horizon. Who knows, I thought, as Shade licked insistently at the gooey peanut offering. Perhaps good old Felis was making a comeback. My fingers fluttered over my astrological freckles.
I looked at the bouquet of flowers in my hand and remembered Grammy’s cautionary words all those years ago.
Then again, it was also entirely possible I just had my stars crossed.
It burned.
The water that flooded from the shower head was a cascading waterfall of liquid heat. I just wanted to crawl out of my skin, but the extreme temperature seemed to be doing the trick with the Godmarsh gunk, not to mention the peanut butter. So I gritted my teeth and hunkered down with an aggressive loopy-pink loofah.
As I started to feel less like a swamp hag and more like a Hattie, several things kept turning over in my inquisitive mind. Who could have possibly wanted Millicent Pond dead
? Sure, the woman was about as subtle as sandpaper on your eyeballs, but was that really a reason to kill her? If simply being abrasive was a motive for murder, the homicide rate on Glessie Isle alone would have skyrocketed to epidemic proportions.
Although, come to think of it, we had seen a recent upsurge in violent deaths lately. Nebula Dreddock. Spithilda Roach. Druida Stone.
Gulp.
Note to self: start doing more nice things for people. Like bringing flowers.
Flowers. That was another thing. I thought about the fresh cut stems Gideon had been kind enough to bring to our impromptu lunch date. The ones that now sat in a Mason jar of water in the middle of Grammy’s old kitchen table. Of all the flowers Verdantia stocked at her stall - roses, gladioli, and lilies - why had she suggested snapdragons to the striking governor?
Verdantia had a remarkable memory. She could name every single order that each and every customer had ever purchased from her stall without as much as a glimmer of hesitation. Grammy Chimera had often dragged me to market when I was a child. While she haggled with Verdantia over the value of rutabagas, I would lose myself chasing butterflies through the heads of vibrant flowers, stopping along the way to make the Snapdragons "talk." So, I suppose she may have recalled my childhood penchant for the bright, cheery buds.
But Verdantia was also a member of The Fae. Given the Fair Folk’s particular penchant for flora and fauna, she was most certainly schooled in the art of floriography, the language of flowers. Was it possible she was sending me a message?
Things are not always what they appear to be.
But what things? Grammy’s secret language lesson echoed inside my head.
I replayed the discovery of Millicent’s well-crisped corpse in my head. Walking down the cliff face, nothing but that splintery old twine rail to keep one from plummeting down the rocky surface and snapping a limb. The distinct smell of lightning-charred flesh fouling the air.
But Maude had said Millicent’s body had no...what did she call them? Lick and stick figures?
No, dummy. I was the only “lick and stick” figure around here. I brandished the loofah over a particularly stubborn patch of Godmarsh goo and peanut butter.
The Infiniti Investigates: Hattie Jenkins & the Infiniti Chronicles Books 1 to 5 Page 65
