by Mel Gilden
We sat for a while, each of us bathing in the glow of the other’s charm. “I think we should start by taking a look at the scene of the crime. Where did Eulalie Tortuga live?”
“I have no idea,” Astraea said.
I wasn’t in danger, and I was seven hundred bucks ahead, so I was surprised and suspicious but not yet upset. “Your three grandmothers said you and she were good friends.”
“I am a friend of all who are victims.”
“I get it,” I said. “‘A friend of those who have no friends,’ like Boston Blackie.” I wondered who was kidding whom.
“I don’t understand.”
I didn’t like women who spoke in riddles, particularly when a couple of first-class riddles were already on the table. Particularly again when the woman was supposed to be on my side. If Astraea Scales was going to be a high-maintenance woman, not even her ethereal beauty and seven hundred bucks would make it worth my while to stick around. “Are you, in your own inimitable way, trying to tell me something?” I asked. She was still beautiful, but I was getting used to it—I could manage it now.
“I am Justice,” Astraea said.
I blinked. “Justice?” I repeated.
“I am Justice,” she said again, still very serious, “daughter of Zeus and Themis. But I am not a detective. Justice does not reach out and find people. People are brought to Justice. Bringing criminals to me will be your job.”
“I see,” I said while wondering how much trouble it would be to take her back to her grandmothers, if that’s what they were. If I did, I would have lost fourteen hundred bucks in one day, which was pretty good even for me.
It was possible that she was Justice, but that was about as likely as my number coming up in the Lotto. Most people saw a fairy every now and then, if only from afar. But the ancient gods and goddesses were more like flying saucers. On the “where there’s smoke, there’s fire” theory, a few people believed that they walked among us, and a few more than that wanted to believe. But it was a very small crowd indeed that claimed to have actually seen one, actually talked to one, actually been given stock market tips by one—and most of those people were screwy: crackpots, shysters, freaks, and quarter-wits. The thought that I was about to join their cockeyed ranks was not appealing. Of course, I did not yet believe that Astraea Scales was anything but an extraordinarily beautiful woman with a rich fantasy life. I guess I didn’t have to believe she was Justice in order to take her on as a client.
“You do not see, Turner, not yet. Eulalie Tortuga’s present condition represents an impossibility. A zombie is a person who has had his or her soul removed. Making a zombie is not an easy operation, not even for one of your wizards. I suspect a keres.”
“Keres?”
“One of the Dogs of Hades.” She paused to see if I was following her. Then she explained further. “A keres is a minor god who carries the soul of a dead person to the underworld.”
“It’s a job, I guess,” I said.
“You are correct. The time and circumstances of a person’s death are determined by the Fates. If a soul is taken before the appointed hour, that person will become a zombie and stay that way until the soul returns. And that is certain to happen because a soul is not easy to dispose of. Just throwing it into the ocean will not avail you. It will seek out its body and reattach itself.”
“Uh huh,” was all I said. She was cute for a nut bar, but she was still a nut bar. “Somebody obviously managed the trick with Eulalie Tortuga’s soul.”
“Yes,” she said. “It seems that someone has given substance to a keres legend.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Astraea looked at me intently without smiling. Whatever she had just said, no matter how crazy, had great meaning for her and she wanted it to have great meaning for me. I was being paid to do a job and would try to satisfy her.
I tore my eyes away and started the engine, then drove back along Washington Boulevard looking for a place I’d heard of but had never been in. I should have won an award for keeping my eyes on the road.
“Where are we going?” Astraea asked.
“Maybe Vic Tortuga, Eulalie’s estranged husband, knows where she lived,” I said, answering her question, but sort of sideways.
“You know Vic Tortuga?” Astraea sounded surprised.
I guess she had a right to be surprised. Even to myself I didn’t seem like the type who mixed with bestselling authors. “Of course not,” I said. “But he’s famous. That ought to buy us something.”
She nodded, though I don’t think she had any more idea what I was talking about than the flowers that bloom in the spring.
A few blocks later I pulled into a corner pod mall, and I ran around to the passenger’s side to let her out of my car. We walked into a place called Jack’s Magic Bean, a coffee joint where I could rent a skrying ball by the hour—or so I had heard.
Jack’s was quaint. It smelled wonderful, as most coffee establishments do. A sack of beans leaned against the door holding it open, and a lot of original art by local artists hung on the walls. As I had hoped, on each table was a skrying ball.
The place was nearly empty. A woman sitting in the window read a paperback novel between sips from her cup. A couple of guys in back were playing chess. They looked up when we came in as if they were expecting someone and kept watching us as we crossed to an empty table. I didn’t think they were watching me.
A moment after Astraea and I sat down, a very thin woman wearing a black spandex top and black pants danced toward us as if she were auditioning for a musical. Astraea and I each ordered a mocha-something, and I asked for a key I could use to start the skrying ball.
After a few minutes, our waitress returned with a couple of steaming mugs and a spell packet. While the two guys in back watched Astraea drink her coffee, I emptied the glitter from the packet over the skrying ball, spoke the spell printed on the packet, and the globe came alive. The Microsoft genie appeared inside, lit from the bottom to make him appear wise and a little sinister.
“Give me the maJsys,” I said softly.
The genie nodded and blinked and shrank to the size of a walnut down at the bottom of the globe. The maJsys magician appeared and asked me what I wanted. “Tell me about Vic Tortuga,” I said.
The magician thought for a moment and began to talk about Vic Tortuga: his midwestern upbringing, his early success in publishing and TV, his list of books. None of it was useful.
“How are we doing?” Astraea asked.
“Fine,” I said, a little irritably. “Would you like a muffin?”
“No, thanks. You didn’t think his home address would be online, did you?”
“No,” I said as I frowned at the globe. The magician stared back at me, his expression as flat and unreadable as ever. “Is Vic Tortuga appearing anywhere?” I asked him.
“Vic Tortuga will appear at thirty-five book stores in the next month where he will sign his latest book, The Rack of Time: Looking for Pain in All the Right Places.” The magician shrank and joined the genie at the bottom of the globe and was replaced by a list of bookstores along with dates and times. Many of the dates had already passed, but one of his signings would take place that evening at a store called Words, etc. in Sherman Oaks.
I took a pad from my pocket and quickly copied the information I wanted.
“Find something?” Astraea asked as she looked at me over her cup. She had large beautiful eyes. I think they were purple. Except that people don’t have purple eyes, do they?
I held up a hand. “Thank you,” I said to the skrying ball. “That’ll be all.” The genie expanded to full size again, winked at me, and the ball went blank. The glitter on the globe became gray ash that blew away in the timid breeze coming in the doorway. “He’s going to have an autograph party this evening. We’ll go.”
“Why should he tell you anything?”
“Maybe he won’t. Do you want to come and help me find out?”
“Yes, indeed. I am fascinated by y
our methods.”
“Well, they’re fascinating,” I admitted. “Watch now, and you’ll see more,” I said as I took out my phone and used a simple spell to call my parents’ number. While I listened to the ring, I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “Dad is a big fan of Vic Tortuga,” I told Astraea. “He might know things that the maJsys didn’t think to include.”
Mom answered the phone, as she always does, and I lost ten minutes while she asked me how I was and then instead of listening told me how she was. Astraea watched me calmly while this went on, not bored, not anything. It takes a goddess, I guess. Eventually, I managed to get through to Dad, and I did the same dance with him as I’d done with Mom.
“What can I do you for?” Dad asked at last. “You didn’t just call to find out how my geraniums are doing.”
“You’re right,” I said, “though I’m always glad to hear the garden report. What do you know about Vic Tortuga?”
“Great writer.”
“And?”
“And what? What do you really want to know?”
“I really want to know where he lives. Also I need to know what sort of guy he is. I’ll want to put him into a frame of mind where he’ll answer a lot of questions.”
“You’re working on that Eulalie Tortuga thing, aren’t you?” he suggested.
The old man could still astonish me. “How did you know?”
“All that about Eulalie Tortuga was in the paper. Why else would you want to speak to Vic?”
“Maybe I just want his autograph.”
“That reminds me,” Dad exclaimed, “I just bought a copy of The Rack of Time: Looking for Pain in All the Right Places. Can you get it signed for me?”
“How would I—?”
“I know he lives somewhere in Los Angeles, but I have no details, so you’ll have to go to his signing this evening at Words, etc.”
“Why don’t you—?”
“You were going to go anyway, weren’t you? I’m leaving for the mystery convention this evening. I won’t have time. Come and get the book. Words, etc. is almost around the corner.”
We spoke for a few minutes longer, but I knew that visiting the parents was unavoidable.
“I have to visit my parents,” I said. “Let me take you home first.”
“No need,” Astraea said. “Unless I embarrass you.”
I decided not to try explaining that having her with me made me feel proud and conspicuous, as if I had 100-dollar bills hanging from my pockets. “No, no,” I said quickly.
I was feeling in my pants for money to pay the bill when a man approached our table. He was short and square and dressed all in black except for white piping around the collar of his shirt. His head was not only as bald as a peanut, it was the same general shape. A tiny silver ring hung from his left earlobe. Sneering, he sat down across from me in the chair next to Astraea and put his hand into his pocket. He tried smiling at her, but the smile was less successful than the sneer.
“Cronyn?” he asked as if he wanted to know whether I had a disease by that name.
“Yeah?” I could be tough when necessary.
“You’re off the case,” the man said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A BROKEN CHAIR
I stared at the man in surprise. “What case?” I asked. I knew what case. I also knew that Dr. Hamish had not disappointed me.
“The Misty Morning case. You’re off it.”
“Go peddle your papers,” I said. “Tell Dr. Hamish that the next time she sends somebody around, I’ll break his arm.”
His eyes widened at that, then he relaxed into his chair. He even hung his elbow over the back. “You better talk nice to me, Cronyn. I have a gun in my pocket.”
“Uh huh. I thought you were just glad to see me.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Without warning, the man’s chair collapsed, dropping him to the floor. While he was still sitting there among the kindling, puffing and blowing and trying to figure out what had happened, Astraea felt around in his coat pocket and pulled out a pistol. She handed it to me. I put it into my coat pocket.
“Pretty lucky that happened,” I said, contemplating Astraea in a whole new way.
“Coincidence,” she replied suggesting it was no such thing.
Our waitress came over to see what the rumpus was. She looked a little worried. “That’s never happened before,” she said after she’d apologized quite a bit.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “My friend will survive.”
“Oh sure,” the man said as he climbed to his feet. He pulled over another chair, sat down in it kind of gingerly, and smiled at her.
“Free coffee and muffins all around,” the waitress said and went away, taking our bill with her.
While he got comfortable with the idea of sitting, the man split his attention between Astraea and me.
“Let’s start over again,” I said. “You know my name. What’s yours?”
“Nosmo King,” the man said.
“And you work for Dr. Heather Hamish at PrestoCorp,” I said.
King nodded. “I guess you think you’re pretty smart,” he said.
“About average. I guess despite her big talk Dr. Hamish doesn’t like me sniffing around.”
“That’s right.”
“I guess that means she has something to hide.”
“She didn’t kill Misty, if that’s what you mean.”
“What else might I mean?” I was slicker than a guy trying to sell himself insurance.
King thought that over while the waitress, smiling nervously, set down three cups of coffee and three muffins—cherry walnut by the look of them. King continued to think while he carefully peeled the paper from his muffin. Astraea and I didn’t touch anything. We just watched him.
Eventually he made a decision. “Dr. Hamish hired me to find out what Misty was doing. That’s all.”
“And you failed or you two wouldn’t be so sensitive about it.”
“In a manner of speaking. I got so far as to make a copy of her laboratory log. Actually I made two copies, one for Dr. Hamish and one for me.” He preened as if he’d just returned from the first flight to Mars.
“How did you do that? Imps were guarding the drawer in which she kept it.” I was just guessing, but I thought it was a good guess. What else would the imps be guarding?
King enjoyed my curiosity while he chewed. He sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair again. “I dated her for a while. Sometimes she left stuff lying around.”
Assuming what he told me was true, they were probably mercy dates. I hoped so. I hated to think of Misty falling for this guy.
“So are you off the case?” he went on.
“No. I still don’t know who murdered her.”
“All right, then,” he said. “I see you’re a pretty smart guy. I’m figuring that you and me should ought to work together. Whatever you learn about Misty’s project you give to me so I can pass it along to Dr. Hamish. See?”
“If you have her log, don’t you know everything there is to know about Misty’s project?”
For some reason that question made King squirm. “Not exactly,” he said.
“Meaning what?”
“It ain’t important. What is important is that whatever information you get goes through me. See?”
“I don’t give it away,” I said, though at the moment I had nothing to sell. Then a clever idea struck me. “You stole her papers,” I said. “Maybe you killed her, too.” He goggled at me just as he had goggled at Astraea, but this time without the crooked smile.
“Maybe you killed her,” King suggested right back at me.
“If you think you can make that stick, give it a try. But I’m not the one who dated Misty so I could get into her laboratory.”
“Laboratory, pants—what’s the diff?” he asked. He winked at Astraea. His sophistication seemed to have no effect on her.
“I’ll explain it to you when you
’re older, if we’re still acquainted then. Meanwhile, I believe you mentioned Misty’s lab book.”
“Did I?” he said off-handedly.
“Don’t go simple on me, Nosmo,” I said. “You want my cooperation. I’m willing to give it to you for a little reciprocation. You show me the book and I promise to go through you, should I ever again have the urge to report to Dr. Hamish at PrestoCorp.” I didn’t think I ever would, but I could have been wrong.
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because you have no choice. Unless you’d like the police to come around with difficult questions. PI’s license all up to date? Any outstanding parking tickets?”
He looked up at the corner of the room while he twisted his lip to help him think that over. “I don’t carry the book with me,” he said at last.
“Large, is it?”
He chuckled knowingly. “See you in an hour at Finks on LaBrea. Bring your friend.” He winked at Astraea again. “Can I have my gun back?”
“Maybe later,” I said. “You’d better go. We don’t want to have to wait for you at Finks.”
King nodded, got up and swaggered out of the restaurant.
* * * *
“Thanks for disarming Mr. King,” I said.
“I am Justice,” she said. “You are the mechanism by which criminals are brought to me.”
“That’s all saving me meant to you?”
She grinned. Very nice. “You are a good man, Turner. I like you.”
I nodded. I felt good. More than that, I felt that I could trust her, and that she would be a good person to bounce ideas off of. Maybe she would give me the morning line straight from the mouths of the gods. She was Justice, after all. And she liked me. Well, well.
“I like you, too,” I said. “And if you’re really interested in helping me you could share what the gods know about Eulalie Tortuga.”
“What makes you think they know anything?”
“That’s no answer. They wouldn’t be gods if they didn’t have special knowledge.”
Astraea took some time touching her tongue to the tip of one finger, and using the wet tip to pick up a muffin crumb from her plate and putting it into her mouth. I liked watching her do it, but the performance wasn’t getting us anywhere.
