Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  Portia began rubbing her hands around the bell’s outer edge. David and I followed suit at other points along the skirt of the giant chime. The kitties stretched their forepaws and tapped around the iron surface, sniffing like bloodhounds as they made their way.

  After a few minutes, Shade made a meow of disapproval. “Dudes and dudettes, this sucker is cast iron, best Fae magic repellant on the planet. Don’t know if we’re gonna find anything even if what we’re looking for IS here.”

  “That it is a known property can work to our advantage, Brother Shade,” Portia said in her usual unflappable tone. “See if you can smell, taste or feel anything that has no business being on the bell.”

  “Well, there’s us, but I don’t think that counts,” Gloom sniped.

  We continued feeling our way around the bell when David said, “Now that I’m part of the family, as it were, there is something I’d like to ask you, Portia.”

  For once, Portia didn’t spew a cutting remark. “That is fair, Brother David. Go ahead.”

  “I’d like to ask you to share what you were arguing about with Morag in front of the altar in the church here?”

  Portia looked at my friend.

  “The argument that was seen by the cleaner of Saint Pendragon’s?” David added, apparently hoping that this would prompt Portia’s mouth into action.

  Portia huffed. “Believe it or not, she was asking me—begging me, actually—to help her hide her mystery object.”

  The chief gave her a sharp look. “Anyone else, I’d be asking why you’re just now telling me this. But because it’s you…”

  “Did she give you any hint as to what it could be?” I asked. Wow, what a missed opportunity. We could have that artifact in our hands now, and be using our time in a more useful way.

  “Sadly, no, or I would have mentioned it well before now,” Portia answered. “That was actually one piece of information I demanded to know before I would offer my help. The other piece was why she wanted to hide it in the first place. Shame Morag didn’t trust me. Foolish girl…she kept citing attorney-client privilege. I reminded her that disbarment was easier to get over than death. At that point, the conversation ended.”

  “Don’t tell me you just left it there,” Gloom said, looking up at Portia with a sour face.

  “Hardly, Sister Gloom,” Portia said. “If anything, it piqued my curiosity. I started keeping tabs on her. That was why I was at the fair when she met her end.”

  A round of hearty laughter floated up the stairs to the bell tower. Hinrika and Thaddeus were having a hoot of a time by the sounds of it.

  “Blast it,” Portia said, dropping her hands from the search of the metal monster. “I’m afraid that Brother Shade’s pessimism may be justified. A lot of magic has been absorbed into the iron over the centuries. It makes individual signatures very hard to discern.”

  Turning to the rest of us, she asked, “There surely must be an anomaly here, but I’m unsure what tool we could use to uncover it.” Portia put her hands on her hips and looked up at the night sky, muttering and shaking her head. Our search was over, and Morag’s mystery item hadn’t been found. Portia looked at us again.

  “So…time for another ride on the Abyss Express?” I asked, feeling my stomach turn at the thought.

  She nodded. “Let’s be on our way, so we can let the dear reverend go to bed.”

  Feeling a little sick, but otherwise safe, behind the yew tree again, Eclipse began pacing.

  “Another failure,” my mysterious moggie announced. “We’re getting nowhere on this case.” The cats hung their heads.

  “Not quite,” Portia said. “There is one last place we can look.” All heads turned to the old witch. “Have Maude check over Morag’s corpse once more. Maybe our Lady Devlin secreted the item on her person.”

  “It’d have to be a pretty discreet spot,” Carbon said. “Our Maude’s no slouch, you know? She’s always very thorough.”

  “Just the same, it’s something we should look at again.”

  Poor old Morag, I thought. She’s been traveling nonstop since she died. From grave to coroner, back to grave, and now she’s heading back to the morgue once more.

  I didn’t go by the Fingernail Moon too often. No matter how much Millie tried convincing me otherwise, the place had never been my idea of a good singles scene. I’m not a drinker, partier or airheaded teenage girl looking for Mr. Right. Besides, my responsibilities to both the shop and more recently, David’s homicide investigations, seriously cut into my free time. The only time I frequented Glessie’s infamous inn was when I needed some information. But, today, I just needed a break from the case. Maude’s was a dud. Our favorite ghoul coroner had only been too pleased to help out the Custodian’s by offering another thorough examination of Morag’s body, but nothing had turned up. No mystery item was hiding in the dead woman’s, ahem, ‘crevasses.’ I felt more than a little deflated, and while I wasn’t headed to the Moon to drown my sorrows in Horace’s ales, I did think a nip of Griffin’s Beak might be of help.

  I sat down at my usual bar stool and waited for Horace to show up. He was right now slapping down some ales in front of a group of lively pensioners. I noticed Eve Greenacre, David’s new jail warden, sitting at the end of the bar. She was deep into a romance novel, her hand clutched at her heart, as her eyes widened at some emotional tug the book had offered. I didn’t disturb her. “Hattie, me lovely…what a fantabulous surprise!” Horace Mangler’s heavy Scottish drawl snapped me to attention.

  “Just needed a place to clear my head, Horace,” I said with a wan smile. “ Can you rustle up a Griffin’s Beak?”

  “You know it,” Horace said, pulling a tankard from underneath the bar. “Ya’ll excuse me sayin’ this, but ya seem a bit down tonight.”

  While he filled up the big mug with liquid from a special small barrel, I sighed and admitted, “It’s because I am. This latest case I’m helping David with…it seems to be going nowhere.”

  He set the tankard in front of me and frowned slightly. “ Well, I’ll add some ‘pep’ to this beak ‘ere, whadda ya say?” Horace raised a pair of red fuzzy eyebrows.

  “You know what? I said. “Sure. Hit me.”

  I looked up at the man-mountain and gave him a smile. “How’s your dance lessons with Maude going?”

  “Bran the Blessed, that woman. Since she came inta me life, well, I’m feelin’ all da better fer it, ya know?” The Fingernail Moon’s landlord blushed to match his shock of red hair. “Hattie, I tell ya’s, she’s so graceful on her feet, like a fairy ballerina,” Horace’s eyes grew misty as he recalled his cutting the rug with his new squeeze.

  “What ‘bout you ‘n’ the chief?” The giant Scot leaned in on the bar. “Have you guys finally got yer act t’gether enough to, you know, get t’gether?” Horace slapped the bar and roared with laughter at his own joke. I smiled bitterly.

  “David and I…had a moment not so long ago,” I said, even though that moment felt like a century ago now. “Ever since then, he’s been distant at best.”

  “‘N’ at worst?”

  “At worst, he’s angry. Like, really mad. His temper lately, it’s just … well, it’s just not him, and I have to say I’m worried about him.”

  “Have ye talked ‘bout it?”

  “I’ve tried. Many times. But he keeps offering up excuses; exhaustion, indigestion, you name it.”

  Horace placed my spiked Griffin’s Beak in front of me and squeezed my hand. I took a long draw of the divinely tasting liquid.

  “I seem to be the only thing that keeps him calm when he’s like that. But…I’m wondering if we were ever meant to be together, you know? I feel like we get close, and then he just … well, pulls away.”

  Horace tickled my chin with one of his massive sausage fingers. “You’re a prize lassie, Hat me dear. And David Trew tain’t ‘nough a’ fool ta let ya get away.”

  “Preach, Brother Horace, preach,” a familiar voice said from under the counter.


  A pair of yellow eyes floated from the shadows at the bottom of the bar.

  “Shade, me lad,” Horace said with a big toothy grin. “I’d ha’ figured ya’d be wit’ Ms. Poof for the length a’ the night.”

  “That makes two of us,” I admitted, settling back in my stool.

  “Well…you both ain’t wrong,” Shade said, jumping up to take the seat next to me. “But my lady’s getting more sensitive to my moods, you know what I mean? With this case we’re on, my mind is overrun. So, when Ms. Poof notices my …. performance issues, I--”

  “Enough!” I held up my hands. I had no idea why my Romeo cat loved to share his sexual prowess with others, but I didn’t want to hear about it. Horace laid down a saucer on the bar and poured some Hippocampus Milk into it in for his newest furry customer. “And ya told her, what’s been on yer mind, yeah?”

  “Well…not all of it,” Shade said between licks. “But I did get around to mentioning how my human’s feeling down and how I really want to help.”

  I reached out to give Shade’s head a brief rub. “Thanks, buddy. Glad you’re on my side.”

  Shade smacked his lips into a milky lather as he looked up at me. “Well, there’s more. Ms. Poof’s circle may not be in my bro Midnight’s league, but she did give me some serious intel. Shade’s head bobbed down to his saucer of cream again. “Mmmm, this stuff is good,” he chirped.

  “Shade. Intel, please?”

  “Sorry, boss. So, yeah, Poof overheard a conversation in the private offices of her home. Her human and some others were deep into a discussion about the new Chief Warlock.”

  “New? There’s a new one?

  “Yep. And, guess who it is.”

  “Shade, I don’t know, just tell me --” I slammed my mostly drained Griffin’s Beak onto the bar as the lightbulb went off and I growled: “Gideon Shields.”

  “So, maybe Chief Trew-Love’s not too far off base, with him thinking that Shields is more involved in these recent murders than we have the evidence to prove,” My Romeo cat did a faceplant in his hippocampus milk, guzzling with abandon from the fresh offering. His head shot up suddenly, milk spittle flying. “Wait! There’s more,” he said. “Ms. Poof’s human managed to get a peek at Morag’s will, and Poof happened to be sitting on his lap at the time of his perusal.”

  “Now how’s tha’ possible?” Horace asked, absently using a rag to wipe milk splatters from the bar. “The Devlin lasses lived on Cathedral and this, lest ye forget, is still good ol’ Glessie.”

  “Don’t have those details myself, my man,” Shade said, shaking his head and sending more white blobs of liquid flying. “I just know that the human got a peek and found a detail that looks way hinky. See, in the event of Infirma’s death, the Devlin fortune goes straight into the coffers of a certain charitable organization. Biggest act said charitable organization has pulled off this year is get Cagliostro school some Futura cauldrons. You know, the time capsule event that Morag attended? Apart from that little publicity stunt, this organization hasn't spent another red cent of their overflowing wealth.”

  I shook my head and frowned. “ Okay, so the charity is dodgy … nothing terribly strange about that. Most are”

  “Might change your tune when you find out that the head of this foundation is none other than one Barnabus Kramp, boss. Given what we already know about that cat, I say it’s as hinky as Loki Liesmith French-kissing a goat.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. Charities were a favorite cover for dodging the taxman both here and on the Mainland. I flashed back to those large payments in the mystery ledger and wondered if there was a connection to this.

  “Sounds like we’ve just got a motive for someone wanting Infirma dead,” I said. “Okay, so the Devlin estate is a dump, but the land? Worth a couple of million Sol’s, for sure,” I added.

  “Refill?” Horace beamed, happy to be watering me as I made discoveries.

  I slid the tankard across to him, and another of my cats jumped onto the bar. Midnight.

  “Got anymore Hippocampus milk, Brother Mangler?”

  Horace’s response was to place both a Griffin’s Beak and a fresh saucer of milk onto the bar. Midnight gulped the cream and shot his head up suddenly. Horace had just finished cleaning the bar of Shade’s milky splatters, and now his work had begun again.

  “Okay, we’re a little short on time. A certain city official I’ve been following all morning is on their way here right now.”

  “Sincerity Jones?” I asked Middie.

  He nodded, a plump drop of milk from his whiskers landed on the bar in front of him.

  “And, she looks pretty nervous for whatever reason.”

  “Let’s make ourselves less obvious. Shade, go grab a table in the corner over there, and we’ll join you,” I said, grabbing my bag.

  Horace backed us up. “Go now, ‘n’ I’ll bring over some fresh brews.”

  Shade, Midnight and I took our seats in the back left corner of the bar. The location afforded us a sweeping view of the whole inside of the Fingernail Moon. We watched silently as Mayor Sincerity Jones walked into the pub.

  “Ah, Yer Honor!” Horace boomed, coming from behind the bar with spread arms. “What’ll it be?”

  Sincerity gave him a nervous smile, while her head darted to the door she just walked through. “Hello, Horace. Is my usual table available?”

  “Oh, aye, aye. Follow me, m’ lady.”

  Mayor Jones ‘usual’ table just happened to be three tables over from us. Thankfully, she didn’t even glance our way. All her attention was directed toward the front door. Her elegant fingernails tapped out a nervous rhythm on the beer-soaked table top.

  I frowned. Unlike the Mayor's predecessor, Sincerity Jones had been a boon for Glessie; above board and committed to good local government. The thought that she could be just as corruptible as the other politicians I’d been around in recent months was too despairing to think about. I told myself to handle that theory as I usually did: wait for the facts to prove or disprove Sincerity’s involvement.

  Barnabus Kramp entered the bar with the air of a lord of the manor coming to check on his peasant workers. Horace gave him no greeting, just glanced up from the bar and jerked a thumb towards Mayor Jones’ table. Barnabus paid the landlord no heed, just walked up to the table and took a seat with Sincerity.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked by way of greeting. “Your message said it was urgent.”

  “It is,” Sincerity said, swallowing hard.

  “Well, what—“

  “It’s over, Barnabus.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Come again?”

  “What we have…had…it needs to stop. Today, right now…when I walk out of this bar, I never want to see you again.”

  His mouth flew open; he seemed torn between being taken aback and angry at the Mayor’s surprise statement. “What brought about this change of heart?”

  “Somebody knows, or at least suspects. I’ve had a local private investigator tracking my movements over the last few days. Maybe YOU can hide in the shadows, but I am a public official. People trust me, depend on me.”

  “So why did you and I carry on at all, then?” Barnabus asked, looking and sounding genuinely hurt.

  Sincerity took Kramp’s hands in hers and squeezed. “At first, it was…exciting, you know? I’ve been working in public service all my life, and I never thought that…”

  Then she pulled her hands away and added, “But you’re still married and, ‘this’ isn’t fair to Zinnie. Your wife. It would destroy all of us, so I’m ending it now.”

  “Honey, how many times have I told you?” Kramp asked, making a play for the mayor’s hands once more. “My marriage is over already. All I need is a—“

  Sincerity yanked her hand back. “—a little more time? You’ve been saying that for over a year now, and you haven’t lifted a finger. How much more time do you need if it’s already over, Barny?”

  “I told you,
it’s complicated,” Barnabus pleaded, spreading his hands. “Do you think I wouldn’t have divorced Zinnie already if it wasn’t?”

  The mayor’s posture stiffened as she rose to her feet. “No…no, I don’t think you would…not anymore. Goodbye, Barnabus.”

  With that, Sincerity Jones strode toward the exit. Kramp was too stunned to do more than stare after her. Then he quickly rose from the table himself to catch up, but he was met with Horace Mangler’s bulk.

  “Her Honor’s made her decision, Mr. Kramp,” Horace said. “Ya best be respecting it or else. Savvy?”

  Barnabus glared at Horace but left in a huff without another word.

  “Midnight,” I said.

  “I got it covered,” he assured before jumping off the table to follow the departing couple.

  Shade nudged me with his paw. “Looks like that uncool cat left something behind, boss.”

  I looked where my kitty’s nose was pointing. A brown leather case lay on the floor underneath Barnabus’ newly vacated seat. It must have dropped out of his pocket when he jumped up to try to catch up to Sincerity.

  I opened the case to find a check book between the fine leather cover. The ledger was crammed full of deposits and withdrawals carefully noted by date and, in some cases, time. The amounts noted struck a chord with me. I’d seen these numbers before. I flipped a few pages to confirm my idea wasn’t just coincidence. I’d have to cross reference, of course, but already, I knew I had stumbled onto something.

  By then, Horace walked up to me and said, “Mighty careless a’ Mr. Kramp to leave somethin’ tha’ valuable behind.”

  “Horace, say nothing about this for right now, okay?” I said, pocketing the check book and making a beeline for the door.

  “Yo, boss, what’s up?” Shade asked, hurrying to keep up with my stride.

  I barely heard him. All I could think about was how coming to the Moon had turned out to be one of the most inspired moves I’d made all week.