Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  But the room at the end of the corridor was anything but the set of a medieval torture film. The lab’s back wall was lined with body freezers, and an examination table where a covered body currently lay. Maude had placed a surgical tray next to the body; gleaming tools of the trade lying in neat rows on the platter. Cutting edge equipment lined every wall of the room.

  On a stool in front of a brand new centrifuge sat the mistress of the morgue, Maude Dulgrey. Her wispy hair hung in thin strands, barely concealing her pale and lumpy skull. It was no wonder Violet Mulberry, Gless Inlet’s self-professed coiffeuse, had ramped up her campaign for getting Maude inside the salon for some critical follicle attention. Maude’s complexion resembled gray dough, and her moth-eaten eyebrows gave her an almost comical look. But, even though Maude’s technical classification was that of a ghoul, the coroner was anything but ghoulish. She had one of the most perpetually cheerful dispositions I’d come across. The Infiniti loved her -- and not just because she doled out salmon treats -- and Maude loved the cats, in turn. She was humming Jackson Browne’s “Doctor My Eyes” as we entered the room. Maude’s lively fingers tapped some buttons on the cutting-edge equipment. No doubt wringing out a critical piece of evidence that we were soon to hear about. David nudged me and gave me an ‘I told you so,’ nod. I nodded in return, excited by the possible clues that Maude’s brand new machinery would spew out. Hector grunted and shuffled his feet on the spot.

  “Yes, Hector dear, I heard you coming,” Maude said patiently. “Why don’t you rest now, mister? You’ve been very helpful today, so you can take a load off while I update our favorite investigators here.”

  Hector shambled to his preferred seat in the corner and Maude spun around on her seat to appraise us. She gave us one of her most dazzling toothy grins.

  “So sorry I couldn’t greet you at the door, dearies,” she said, rising to her feet. “But I’m still trying to calibrate this …. This beautiful beast. Maude looked at her new piece of tech with fondness. “Just finishing up the last few adjustments now,” Maude said, rising from her seat to grab a pen from a countertop close by. Given her age, and the fact that she walked on two left feet, the coroner was surprisingly spry. In fact, since Maude had started dating the Fingernail Moon’s resident landlord, Horace Mangler, she had taken up ballroom dancing with those two unlikely feet. Wonders never cease, I tell ya.

  David walked over to the centrifuge, and patting the side of the machine in admiration, he said, “So what have your new hi-tech toys told you about Morag’s death, Maude?” The coroner’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion for a second. Then the penny dropped.

  “Ah, yes! Morag!” She clapped her hands and jumped from her seat at the centrifuge, zigzagging on mismatched feet across the room at incredible speed. Maude snatched what looked like a child’s book from a table close to where Hector was resting. The zombie noticed that the book was Maude’s target, and he grunted at a volume I’d not heard him use before. His eyes looked excited.

  “No, no, Hector dear. You’ve already had your story. Rest now, and we’ll continue this little gem tonight, okay?” The zombie’s features slumped in undisguised disappointment. David and I looked at one another, both supremely puzzled. On two left feet, Maude bounced back toward us, her liverish lips tugging upward in a triumphant smile. In her hand she held a copy of “The Good of Elfkind,” by Harriet Hex. It was a kid’s book that even I’d read at least a dozen times during my childhood. It was like the Coven Isles version of the Grimm fairy tales.

  Maude’s fingers rifled through the pages of the picture book until she found the spot she was looking for.

  “Morag’s cause of death, dear Chief Para Inspector and Hattie, was THIS.” She stabbed a bony finger at a child’s illustration covering one of the pages of the book.

  “Wait, so you’re telling us you’ve found Morag’s cause of death from a picture book?”

  “As much as I’d enjoy basking in the glory of this discovery, it was actually Hector that alerted me to it. It seems he’s off his gargoyle fiction right now. We had only ten pages left in a gargoyle mystery, but Hector switched gears on me. He kept pulling this book from the shelf, waving it in front of my face all the time. I’ll admit I was surprised. Hector usually likes his bedtime stories to be a little more on the gothic side.”

  David and I leaned in to take a look at the illustration Maude had marked out for us. The coroner turned the book toward us so we could see the page from the correct perspective. It was a full page illustration of an elf being cursed by what looked like a warlock. The latter was dressed in billowing black robes, and held a fierce wand that was directed at the terrified elf. From the tip of the wand a black electrical current arced and connected to the side of the little being’s face.

  “So?” David questioned. I felt the same bemusement as the chief.

  “So, you’re not looking closely enough,” Maude burbled with excitement. She shoved the illustration closer to our noses, forcing us both to pull back our heads just so we could gain some perspective. I noticed it then. “David! The elf’s head! Look!” The chief craned his neck toward the picture, and I watched his face as recognition settled into his features.

  Where the arc of black electricity from the warlock wand met the elf’s head, a web of soot colored spider veins crept along the Fairy’s temples and traveled downward along his jaw.

  “Come, come!” Maude’s eyebrows looked like a pair of mangy gerbils shooting skyward in her excitement. She skipped across the room toward the draped cadaver waiting there. David and I followed, our mouths open in wordless wonder at this buoyant woman’s antics. Maude pulled back the sheet from Morag’s corpse in a dramatic flair. She held the picture book up to the deceased’s temples, proving that the dead woman had died by the exact same method used to kill the fictional elf. David and I were still gawping when Maude proudly announced, “Behold! The Vencap curse!” The coroner permitted us to stare a little longer at both the picture book and Morag’s ‘blight.’ She lifted the coverlet gently then, covering Ms. Devlin’s inert frame once more. “As far as I’m aware, no one’s seen this nasty little piece of magic since the Warlock Wars. And even then, this spell was just a rumor. Any warlock who had survived those ugly times had always claimed that it was just black propaganda by the winning side. But, as you can see …

  “So, it was this … this Vencap curse that killed Morag? Not the fall?” I asked, feeling better about the lawyer’s demise already. I guess I wanted absolute vindication for having harmed, (or perhaps even killed) the poor woman.

  “It would almost certainly seem to be, yes. However, I am a good enough scientist to want to test the story’s premise with an examination of my own. Given those reports you told me about Morag jumping to her death, and seemingly having no reason for doing so, the Vencap may not have been the only magic at play.”

  “Guess we can rule this as a homicide, then” David said, pulling out his notepad and pen.

  “So, Maude, what extra piece of evidence do you have spinning in the centrifuge then?”

  The coroner returned the chief’s question with a blank stare. A full second passed before Maude’s flea-bitten eyebrows shot upward and her face broke into a sunny smile.

  “That’s not evidence, Chief Para Inspector,” she chortled. “That’s broccoli juice!”

  “Huh?” I spun toward the machine.

  “Yes, yes!” Maude exclaimed, prancing toward the metallic spinner. “Hector’s tummy can’t handle the fibre from whole vegetables late at night, so I like to send him to bed with a glass of juice instead. This way he’s still getting all the minerals and vitamins.” Ms. Dulgrey pivoted on one left foot toward the resting zombie. “I must say, his skin has been positively radiant since I’ve started him on the juice.” She looked fondly at the slumbering Hector as we all watched a hunk of rotting flesh fall from Hector’s chin to plop into his lap. The coroner slapped the side of the centrifuge. “Far more efficient than my old juicer, and
much easier to clean too!” “My tax dollars at work,” I mumbled.

  After getting assurances from our ghoul coroner that she would call us once she had an ‘official’ autopsy on Morag, David and I left. Just outside the front door, I noticed the chief frowning. He hadn’t yet put away his notepad and was flipping through the pages now looking for something. I tapped my foot in mock impatience, but my friend gave nothing away. He looked at me, his eyes questioning.

  “Think you’re up for a trip to see Portia, Hat?” he finally asked.

  I groaned in despair. Serves me right for wanting to know what he was thinking about. “And what exactly makes you think she’s any more guilty of this murder than the last five you accused her of? If just being at the fair was proof enough—“

  “Ah, but I also have an eyewitness testimony courtesy of our own Reverend Peacefield,” David revealed, tapping his notepad. “Turns out that Saint Pendragon’s cleaning lady, Blanche Henpeck, saw Portia having a rather heated exchange with Morag just a few hours before Mabon Fair opened its gates for business.”

  I felt too tired to argue with my friend about this. Instead I resolved to go through the motions with him, even if it meant holding up the investigation. If David needed to prove to himself that Portia wasn’t to blame, then I’d take the long way around with him. Solidarity and all that. Besides, I’d been by the chief’s side every other time he had blamed Portia for deathly shenanigans. One more time wouldn’t hurt, I guessed. Given that Morag had been the legal representation of the alleged murderer of one of Portia’s fellow Custodian’s, questioning Portia might even be relevant.

  “Any way we could make that visit at the end of the day?” I asked. “I have a lot to catch up on at the shop, and I want to make sure Millie’s holding the fort okay,”

  David shrugged. “Sure, no prob --” my friend doubled over, clutching his stomach.

  “Chief?” I asked, reaching for his shoulder. CPI Trew held up a hand, straightening himself out slowly. He gave me a sheepish grin. “Is that offer of your homemade antacid still on the table?”

  I grabbed his hand. “Come on, you silly man.”

  Chapter 5

  The rest of the day at the shop was fairly uneventful. Oh, I had to run a few deliveries, take an inventory of our supplies, watch Millie deal with a couple of irate customers AND throw a bad batch of Mermaid’s Mustard down under the floor for the mushrooms to process. But, nothing too taxing otherwise.

  As Millie turned the sign around to “Closed” and locked the door, she asked, “Do you need anything else before I go, Hattie?”

  “No, I’ve actually got to go out soon,” I said, wiping down the counter. It never ceased to amaze me how much kitty hair came up with the wiping.

  “Ooooh, is it working the case or working on cuddling up to CPI Tall, Dark and Delicious?” Millie asked with a tease in her voice.

  The frown I gave her wasn’t what she was expecting, making her frown too. “Hey, what gives, girlfriend? Everything alright with you two?”

  I shook my head in frustration. “You saw him earlier, Millie. Did he seem a little…off to you?”

  “Well, he had indigestion,” she said. “That’d throw anybody off.”

  “Even so,” Onyx interjected from his perch on one of the wall shelves. “Not all of his behavior could be accounted for by mere bellyaches.”

  Something about his tone made me suspicious. “Okay, what did you see that I didn’t, O?” I demanded.

  Onyx jumped down. “I’m afraid I’m not equipped to clarify, Seraphim. Let us just say that what I did see is enough for me to share your concern. He needs to be closely watched. Something troubles the chief.”

  Why did I even bother? When it comes to secrets, spy agencies could learn a thing or two from my cats. The Infiniti always knew more than they let on and they’d only ever give you enough information to point you in the direction they wanted to go. It was an infuriating game to play, even if I knew that my cats only meant well.

  “No offense, guys,” Millie said, heading towards the back door. “But that sounds like my cue to split. See you tomorrow, girlfriend.”

  I said goodbye, and after she had left, I headed upstairs with heavy footsteps.

  I dug around in my closet looking for suitable attire for a trip out to the Gorthlands. The weather could be so changeable in the Gorth landscape that I wanted something long-sleeved, functional, and hopefully still pretty sexy. I thought of my cashmere and merino sweaters under the bed. Fraidy’s sleep fortress. Bast! Even if I did reclaim one of my sweaters from my fortress building cat, I wouldn’t have time to de-fur it. I grabbed an emerald green hoodie. Hardly dress wear, but the hue enhanced my hair color somewhat. Hopefully, eye catching enough to attract the Chief’s interest, at least. I grabbed a pair of jeans, and hoped that I’d be able to squeeze myself into them. They looked like they might belong to a five year old. Jet wandered past me, looking up at my munchkin sized leg wear and tittered, shaking his fuzzy head at the same time. I threw a balled pair of socks at his rump, but my zippy cat was too fast. He caught the sock-ball and tossed it up in the air for Gloom to catch. A game of toss-the-sock ensued.

  “So, are you and the Chief Para Inspector going on a date?” Carbon asked flopping down on the floor beside my feet.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Pyro Fuzzy,” I said as I zipped up my jeans. “But I’m actually going out to help David with the Morag Devlin case.”

  I winced a little as the jeans dug into the ample ring of excess flesh around my middle. The lengths we go to ….

  “Oh yeah?” He queried, rolling over onto his back to expose a plateau of silky black tummy. Carbon peered at me down the length of his body. “Picking up some info from Horace at the Moon?” He pressed.

  Deep down, I knew I was going to regret telling him the truth. But I did it anyway. “I’m going over to Gaunt Manor. We need to see Portia and—”

  The sock-ball game stopped abruptly, and Carbon jumped to his feet. Eight furry shapes approached me then, all with pleading in their eyes.

  Oh, Goddess.

  The chorus of begging meows began. It sounded worse than Saint Pendragon’s former beleaguered bell.

  “Shush … shush! Guys, stop,” I admonished my kitties.

  “C’mon, boss-lady.” Shade piped up. “Our fine and royal cousin resides at Gaunt Manor, and you expect us not to want to see her?” I couldn’t really argue with the little guy. The cats ADORED Portia’s current guest. Hinrika Jonsdottir, queen of the faeries, all the way from the Faroe Islands. I started with my feeble defense.

  Hinrika Jonsdottir’s arrival last month had given me the final confirmation on finding out that the Infiniti were Cait Sidhe. Fairy cats. Hinrika, being one hundred percent Fae herself had spotted the truth right away.

  “This is a murder inquiry, not a social call, guys. You know, you can go and see Hinrika on your own time. Any time you like.” I hoped that that would be enough.

  An eruption of kitty whining filled the air, as the cats directed their grumbles at me.

  I tried another angle. “Jet, I haven’t refilled your catnip yet. You think you’re brave enough for the big, bad outdoors without your fix?” I cautioned, hoping that the Infiniti would give up on this outing. Jet’s eyes filled with terror at my proposition. Finally, I thought. I smiled, thinking I’d won the battle this time.

  “Move over, fat-arse!” Gloom sniped at Fraidy. Movement on the back of the broom by the fidgeting cats made the besom dip alarmingly left. We brushed the upper most branches of a sycamore tree.

  “Guys! Enough!” I hollered back to them. Eight black heads turned toward me. Gloom’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.

  “You said you were going to behave,” I admonished.

  “What are you feeding this glutton?” Gloom demanded, pressing her paw on her timid brother’s head. “It’s like his posterior is spreading. Is he getting all the cod oil? No fair!” She griped. I turned my head forward, ignoring the
kitty quarrel, looking for David. He flew up on our right side.

  “Hmm, didn’t know you were bringing the fur-babies,” he observed.

  “Neither did I,” I snapped. I felt the broom lurch again as Gloom leaped over to David’s ride. “There’s less stupidity and obesity here,” she announced, smirking at her abandoned brothers. David shook his head and zipped ahead of me, Gloom perched on the handle and offering her ‘follower’s’ a smug smile as she took the lead. I heard Fraidy’s voice asking.

  “Is my bum putting on weight?”

  “No, bro, you’re good,” Eclipse encouraged. “You know how your sister gets when her personal space is invaded.”

  “Yeah, exactly the same way she gets when her space ISN’T invaded,” Midnight quipped.

  I rode on. With clenched teeth and white knuckles.

  The Gorthlands whizzed by below us, offering up a blended aroma of ammonia and sulphur, courtesy of the Gorth swamps and fens. The whole landscape was made up of some kind of bog land or other. The odd, blackened, petrified tree stump the only solid artifacts to break the monotony of the hazardous marshlands. Goddess only knew what those soupy swamps contained, but you could be sure whatever was in them, they had teeth and claws.

  We watched as David and Gloom swooped down to Gaunt Manor ahead of us. We followed, landing mere seconds later. Portia was on the stoop of the manor, (apparently waiting for our arrival,) a severe scowl on her face and her arms crossed defensively across her robed chest. Hinrika Jonsdottir stood behind her, in one of her trademark expensive gowns. Bran, she always looks like she’s going to cinderella’s ball. A chorus of cat ‘chirrups’ raced past me and I saw eight black kitties, tails erect, galloping toward the Queen of the Fairies. Seriously, why does she wear such expensive clothing when she knows they’re going to be in tatters within minutes. I watched as my cats hung, pendant-like, from her fine silk gown. Meowing with adoration for the bubbly Queen. Hinrika chortled, and spun around in ecstasy while the Infiniti raked impressive slits into her dress with their sprung claws. Portia rolled her eyes at my kitties antics, and then turned to narrow her gaze on David. The Chief stepped up to the first stair of Portia’s porch area, bringing him to eye level with the bad -tempered witch. Their rivalry was evident. I wondered briefly if these two would ever get their acts together and just finally make the peace. If their postures were anything to go by, then I’d say we had a long way to go yet.