by Nic Saint
Chapter 18
We caught up with Skip at Safflower House. I was glad to see him. After watching his dead body being carted off like that, it was great to find him alive and well, knowing Valerie had merely killed one of his numerous clones.
Sam and Pierre were there, too, as they’d just dropped off Skip.
It was obvious Sam thought Petunia’s death was a suicide and for him the case was closed, as the homicide detective didn’t deal with regular suicides.
Oddly though, the moment he caught sight of Edelie, a blush spread across his cheeks. It was a little hard to notice, because of his tan, but a deep red spread up from his neck across his face when he laid eyes on my sister.
I had no idea what was going on, but then I caught Skip smirking broadly, and it dawned on me he might have told Sam of Edelie’s affection.
“Um…” Sam muttered as he stood before Edelie now. “Um, Edie?”
She stared at him. “Yes?” she finally asked. “What’s wrong, Sam?”
“Um, nothing’s wrong, but… um… when this is all over… would you… do you think…” He inserted a finger inside his collar and tugged vigorously.
He cast an annoyed look at me and Strel, who stood watching the scene with much anticipation, clearly wanting us to clear off already.
Edelie tilted her chin and folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, Sam? What is that you want to say?”
“The thing is…” He scratched his scalp. “Remember when we went out?”
“How can I forget?” she returned coldly. “How could I forget the man who never called me again, or who didn’t bother to get in touch all summer?”
“Yes, well… I was busy,” he said apologetically. “In the summer New York turns into homicide central. Temperatures rise, and so does violence.”
“I can imagine,” she said acerbically.
“Um… wanna give it another try?” he asked, giving her a look of hope mingled with embarrassment. There was a vulnerability there I’d never caught before. It took Edelie as much by surprise as it did Estrella and me.
“Um, yeah, sure,” she now said, dropping her guard.
He displayed a grin that was part victor’s grin and part relief. “Great,” he said, and abruptly turned away from her, which was beginning to become a very bad habit. Then he turned on his heel again. “I’ll, um… I’ll call you?”
“You better,” she warned.
He nodded, lesson understood. “No, I will,” he said. “And this time…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but it was obvious this time he wasn’t going to leave her hanging but give her the full Sam Barkley dating experience.
And this time it was Edelie whose face colored, her usually pale features flaming. Then she nodded curtly, and so did Sam, and then he stalked off.
“Hey, Sam!” I called out, quickly catching up with the cop.
He turned to me. “What is it?”
I didn’t know what I was going to say, but since Sam and Pierre were the only eyewitnesses to Valerie’s crime, maybe I could change their minds. If they dropped their testimony, perhaps Valerie could be a free woman again. Problem was, how to explain to these two cops that what they saw wasn’t Skip Brown being murdered but his clone? It was a very tricky thing.
“Look, Sam, Valerie didn’t kill Skip.”
“We know that,” Sam said, searchingly looking into my eyes. “He rode back with us, remember?”
I darted a quick glance at Skip. “Yes, I know. The thing is… what you saw in the garden wasn’t Valerie murdering Skip but…”
“Skip’s lookalike,” said Pierre. “We know all about that, Ernestine.”
“Yeah, we’re just on our way to try and find this illustrious lookalike.”
“You won’t find him,” I blurted out.
Sam’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“That dead body you saw?” I bit my lip. Damn, this was hard.
“Yes?” prompted Sam. He wasn’t making this easy.
“That wasn’t a body. It was a dummy,” I finally said, inspiration striking.
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this.
“A dummy?” he asked dumbly.
“Yeah, just a dumb old dummy my sisters and I whipped up.”
“A dummy,” Sam repeated.
“Look, we’ve been working with Valerie Gabby for a while now, right?”
“Right,” said Sam, eyeing me dubiously.
“Well, the thing is, she has anger management issues, so we figured we’d try to help her out as much as we could. Her husband treated her so badly she developed this… anger against all men, you see, so we made this dummy to help her channel that anger. To work it all off on this… this… this…”
“Dummy,” Sam said. “A dummy of Skip Brown.”
“Yes,” I said, biting my lip and giving him a tentative look.
“But why not produce a dummy of her husband? If that’s who she’s so angry with? Wouldn’t that seem like the most plausible thing to do?”
“I guess so,” I said with a shrug. “But Skip was the only guy around, and we had to make it look as lifelike as possible for Valerie to think it was real.”
Sam was still eying me strangely. “Look, the coroner came out to examine the body, and she never said anything about a dummy. Don’t you think a trained professional like her would be able to tell the difference between a human body and a dummy?”
“I… I guess we made Skip too lifelike?” I tried.
Suddenly, Pierre burst into jolly laughter. “This is rich!” he said. “A dummy! And you guys didn’t even tell us when we interviewed you!”
“Yeah, why is that, exactly?” asked Sam, who didn’t seem to think this was funny at all. “Why didn’t you mention this during the interview?”
I cast about for a reason. “Well, the thing is…” I was grasping at straws, and stared at my sisters, who’d joined me now, for support.
“The fact of the matter is that we didn’t know that Valerie had attacked the dummy and not the real Skip,” said Edelie, lying like a real poker player.
“You didn’t know?” asked Sam, incredulous.
“No, we weren’t here when it happened, remember?” she added.
“So when we got back and you said Valerie had killed Skip…” said Estrella with a quick glimpse at me. “We figured you must be right.”
“Which means that you agree that Valerie is a danger to others,” Sam said. “Men in general and Skip Brown in particular, apparently. Right?”
“This is one amazing story,” said Pierre, still chuckling lightly.
Sam was staring from me to Edelie to Estrella and then back to me. “This all seems very implausible, ladies,” he finally grumbled. “Why wouldn’t you recognize your own dummy? And why would you think Valerie attacked Skip when he was safely tucked away in Hartford Manor all this time?”
“That’s just the thing,” said Estrella. “We didn’t know Skip was at Hartford Manor. We thought he was right here at Safflower House.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s a crazy story,” he said, “but then again, I’m starting to see that with you guys crazy is simply par for the course.”
“But you can see that Skip is alive, right?” I asked as he started to walk away again. “So Valerie didn’t do anything wrong!” I added quickly.
“Oh, I can see that, all right,” he agreed. And he seemed sorry for the fact, which meant that Skip hadn’t made the best of impressions on the policeman.
“So are you going to release Valerie now?” I asked hopefully.
Without looking back, he called out, “Not a chance in hell!”
Pierre gave us a final apologetic shrug, and then he followed Sam out.
“You gave it your best shot, Stien,” Estrella said, patting me on the back.
“Yeah, you did the best you could,” Edelie chimed in. “Detective Samuel Barkley is simply too stubborn.” Then she sighed. “And too dreamy.
”
“Do you think this time your date will go off without a hitch?” asked Estrella, who was the most romantic of the three of us.
“There won’t be a date,” said Edelie grimly. “Not as long as Sam refuses to release Valerie.”
“Wait, what?” I asked.
“How can I go on a date with the guy if he keeps arresting our clients?”
“Well, client, really,” muttered Estrella, “but who’s counting?”
“We gave him a perfectly good explanation for Valerie’s behavior and he still refuses to release her. That’s not the kind of man I want to go out with.”
“Yes, he is,” said Estrella.
“Yes, he is,” admitted Edelie, “but I still won’t, just on principle.”
I rolled my eyes. We needed to fix this, or else Edelie’s love life would suffer a terrible blow, Sofia Gabby would grow up motherless, and Valerie would never inherit the millions her mother had intended to leave her.
I walked into the kitchen, where I found Gran. She didn’t look too happy.
“I thought I sent you back to Hartford Manor?” she asked Skip, who also ambled in, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I figured the girls needed me.”
“No, they don’t,” she said adamantly. “Not this time.”
He shrugged, and took a seat at the kitchen counter.
“Gran, we need to get Valerie out of jail. Isn’t there something you…”
“No, there isn’t,” she said decidedly. “Valerie Gabby is your client.”
“But Sam won’t release her,” I said. “He didn’t buy my story about the dummy,” I added miserably, staring at Skip, who was grinning at me. He seemed to think this whole thing was hilarious, just like Pierre had.
“Of course Sam Barkley didn’t buy your story about the dummy. The man, unlike you and your sisters, is no fool, and neither is Pierre Farrier.”
“Oh, God,” I groaned, placing my head on the kitchen counter. The cool surface against my brow felt good, and I hoped it might give me some new ideas. What use was it to have a grandmother who was one the greatest witches of her generation, if she refused to help us out? It was infuriating! I understood she wanted to teach us a lesson, but it still wasn’t much fun.
Petunia Hudson entered the kitchen, and when she saw Skip, she asked, “So who are you?”
“That’s Skip,” I said without looking up.
“Oh, hey, Petunia!” Skip cried. “So great to meet you! Big, big fan!”
“Hello, Miss Hudson,” Gran said pleasantly. “I’m sorry to hear about your… accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” said Petunia moodily. “Something made me jump, if you hadn’t heard.”
“Yes, I have heard,” said Gran, “and I’m truly sorry about your tragedy.”
“Do you know who did this to me?” asked Petunia, never one to beat around the bush.
“No, I’m sorry to say I don’t, dear,” said Gran, though I knew she was lying. I figured she had it all figured out, but figured we had to figure it out for ourselves. She has this annoying habit of trying to teach us stuff this way.
“Don’t bother,” I said, looking up. “Gran won’t tell you what happened. We have to find out for ourselves.”
“That’s simply not true, dear,” said Gran, shocked. “How could I possibly know who put this ghoul inside Petunia? Or Valerie? I’m not omniscient.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” I said, giving her a dark look.
Gran smiled at this. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dear, but you’re just plain wrong. Like you, I have to rely on intelligence, logic and a good dose of intuition to figure out the world around me.”
I knew for a fact that Gran was plugged into some kind of all-knowing stream of consciousness that pervades all life, but I wasn’t going to put her on the spot. Not in front of Petunia and Skip. Not if I knew what was good for me. I didn’t want to be on Gran’s bad side, for she could be tricky when she thought we needed to be taught a lesson. Before I knew it I could be in jail, next to Valerie. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.
“I think we better go and have that talk with your Blackguards now,” I told Petunia as I got up. “Are you coming, Skip?”
“Sure thing,” he said, hopping from his stool and casting a look at Gran.
She’d pursed her lips disapprovingly. She didn’t like the fact we’d hired a non-magical person to help us out and expose our secrets to. But then that was the purpose of an assistant, of course: to assist. And right now we needed all the assistance we could get, especially since Gran refused to give us any.
Chapter 19
Rupert had sent me a text to let us know he’d set up the interview with The Blackguards at Petunia’s, so we took a cab and were quickly whisked across town, back to Fifth Avenue. Her apartment had been released by the police, and was now the scene of a wake of her friends and admirers. When we arrived, the place was packed, and we could recognize at least a dozen other famous stars who’d shown up to pay their respects to the late rock star.
“Now this is what I’m talking about,” said Petunia appreciatively as she looked around. She’d wanted to attend her own funeral, and this was a nice precursor. Soon she would get to attend her own funeral, if she wanted to, though I didn’t know if she really wanted to go through with that. There’s a difference between attending your own funeral when you’re alive and well, or when you’re actually dead, I reckoned.
Rupert, when he saw us arrive, gestured to three ladies who stood consuming copious amounts of alcohol near the bar, and then led us into Petunia’s home recording studio, where she’d composed the hits that were now resting in her vault, her legacy to her daughter and granddaughter.
The Blackguards were three genuine rock chicks, who went by the names of Corina Hooke, Yesenia Heft, and Dot Drummond, not coincidentally the drummer of the band. Corina was the lead guitar player and Yesenia played a mean bass guitar. They looked pretty much alike, and a little washed out. As if years of living the rock and roll lifestyle had caught up with them.
They were the same age as Petunia, in their fifties, only less well-preserved. All three were black-haired, wore black clothes, and black looks on their faces when they caught sight of us. It was obvious they didn’t want to talk to us, and only did so out of respect for Rupert, or perhaps because they hoped he would be generous when Petunia’s will was read.
I wondered what would happen to them now that they were no longer Petunia Hudson & The Blackguards, but just… The Blackguards.
“So?” Corina asked. “What do you wanna know?”
They’d settled comfortably where the producer normally sat, behind the big mixing panel, and it was obvious they were right at home here.
“Well, mainly what your relationship with Petunia was?” I asked.
Corina stared at me with a hostile expression on her face. This was the woman who was into devil worship, if Petunia was to be believed. Judging from the small tattoo of a demon on her left temple, there might be some truth to this. She was the prettiest of the Blackguards, and the skinniest.
“Our relationship was just fine,” she said. “We were friends for years and years and years. In fact I think it’s safe to say we were her only friends.”
“Definitely her best friends,” agreed her bandmate Yesenia.
“Yeah,” the third Blackguard chimed in. “We were all bosom buds.”
“They’re lying,” scoffed Petunia, who was standing behind us, and was watching the scene with barely controlled contempt. “They hated my guts. Because I was the leader, and because I was more successful than they were.”
“Is it true that you dabble in the… paranormal?” I asked Corina.
She stared daggers at me. “Who the hell told you that?”
I wanted to tell her that Petunia herself had told us, but that was probably not such a good idea.
“A little birdie whispered i
t in our ear,” said Estrella cheerfully.
Corina shrugged. “It’s just a hobby. I like to collect Satanist stuff, but that doesn’t mean I’m into devil worship and all that nonsense.” She leaned forward, her black leather jacket crackling. “Why all the questions? What’s this all about? Who are you? Cops? Insurance?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yeah, who are you?” asked Dot, a powerfully built woman with a buzz cut and a skull tattoo on the side of her neck. “All Rupert said was that you were working for Petunia. So what gives?”
“Petunia was a client of ours,” Edelie admitted, “and we’re simply trying to tie up some loose ends.”
“Loose ends, huh?” asked Corina, who seemed to be something of the spokesperson for The Blackguards. “So why do you want to know about my hobbies? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just indulge us,” said Estrella.
“She’s lying,” hissed Petunia. “I can see it her eyes. She’s trying to dodge the question. Ask her what she knows about ghouls. Ask her!”
I wasn’t going to ask her that, of course, but I was going to try a little trick we’d picked up. It was a trick we’d agreed to try if The Blackguards proved uncooperative. So Edelie, Estrella and I quickly lifted our hands as discreetly as possible, and muttered the little spell we’d prepared.
“Spreconestio,” I muttered, and so did my sisters.
“Huh?” asked Corina with a frown. “What did you just call me?”
“Spreconestio,” I repeated, wondering why nothing was happening.
Corina wagged a finger at me. “You take that back! You take that back right now and apologize! You don’t get to call me names, four eyes!”
Dot, meanwhile, was cracking her knuckles dangerously, her lips turning up into a vicious snarl. I saw the letters ‘KRAK’ tattooed across her knuckles, probably because the tattoo artist didn’t have enough space for ‘CRACK.’
Then, suddenly, it was as if a hush descended upon the room, and the three Blackguards shuffled uncomfortably in their seats, sweat breaking out across their brows. “Christ, it’s hot in here,” grumbled Yesenia. She raked her fingers through her purple mohawk, then tugged at her black T-shirt.
