Toppo stared at his son, slack-jawed. "But…but Craig, what for?"
"I want to marry her!"
Darlene clapped her hands to her mouth. "Oh!"
No one said anything more for several moments. Perhaps the curse was touched by all the emotion. It held off on an attack, but it still glowed a vibrant red.
Craig turned and gripped Darlene’s shoulders. "Your mom hates me. I figured if I had a secret collection, she’d be impressed. Maybe I could even give it to her."
"Marry? You stole a mummy to impress a girl?" Toppo found his feet. "Why the hell did you hire the environmental company? You could have just gone out there and found the crate like I did!"
Craig answered by hugging his beloved tight, tucking her head under his chin. "Because I couldn’t find it! I needed an excuse to be out there day after day using the Bubble or people might figure out that something valuable was there. I also thought that if I involved Better Green, they’d see how useful the Bubble could be. Maybe then they’d stop hassling us about the endangered tuna gills being part of the design."
"Only your dad had already been out there and found this interesting crate," I said.
"If inventing a Bubble isn’t good enough for Darlene’s mother, I say you dump the girl!" Toppo said.
Craig ignored him. Darlene pulled back from his embrace and looked up at him adoringly. "Oh Craig!"
"Where did you get the mummy?" I asked.
Craig didn’t even look my way. "I paid a dealer. I don’t know where he got it. When the ship went down, I didn’t think there was much of a chance I’d even find it." He kissed Darlene’s forehead. "I put the environmental donation in your name, because it was all for you."
"Oh Craig," she bawled.
The curse didn’t have eyes, but it swiveled towards me. I showed it my empty palms. "I can check and see if Craig actually left the country. But if he did pay someone to ship it here, then he isn’t your actual grave robber."
Charles took this moment to push me aside. "Let me tell you what we can offer! Silk! Marble!"
The curse swiveled back to the kissing couple, and then back to me. Its color faded slowly to a bright yellow. It moved back to the sarcophagus.
Charles followed, rambling about security and climate controlled environments, punctuating his design by drawing wildly with his hands.
After a few moments, the curse edged around him, back to me. It didn’t look angry anymore.
"Do you want to move to the museum?" I asked.
It bobbed up and down, once.
Charles let out a happy, "Urk!" and yanked his com from his shirt pocket.
The glow stayed in front of me, oscillating back and forth. Finally it dipped in close and gently brushed my cheek. It didn’t burn, but it did tingle.
"Well. Harumph." I do believe I may have blushed.
Dearly Departed
A Max Killian Investigation
Maria E. Schneider
When the medium from across the street walked into my detective agency, I had the ridiculous urge to yell, "Take cover," and run. Charlinda would likely mistake my reaction to her army boots and camouflage as a compliment to her reputation, but it wasn’t wise to chance insulting an elf, even if her only inherent power was speaking to the dead. I kept my mouth shut and gave her a wary nod of greeting.
"I need to hire you, Max." Asking me for help must have cost her; Charlinda looked like she had swallowed one of her own earrings. Every bangle contained magic of some sort, and her arsenal was probably enough to blow up my building.
I can’t do a lick of magic, but I’m very good at discerning magical objects and their nature. I can smell the dead too, so I thanked my luck that she wasn’t acting as a medium at the moment. If she had been, I’d have had to put up with the smell.
"Me?" I ran a hand over the day-old stubble on my chin. "Your own guys can’t help you out?" I nodded towards the window and my elfin competition across the street. Charlinda dressed a lot like the exorcist that worked over there, but nothing like the three male investigators who tended toward suits.
"I’m being sued," she snapped. Her red hair was on an electrical escape from under a mashed brown beret, and her face was flushed. "If anyone in my agency digs up evidence on my behalf, ain’t nobody gonna buy it."
"Sued." I tried not to curl my lip.
She waved a hand. There was only one ring, but it was big enough to leave a crater in my head if she landed a swing. "I’ll simplify."
Her insult deserved a half salute. "Max Killian at your service." She missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it.
"I was hired to speak for a baby that supposedly died about three months ago. The baby was all mom Swarsbock had in this world. Dad apparently didn’t stick around to make any claims. Swarsbock wanted to make sure her kid Robbie knew he was still loved."
"The baby wasn’t old enough to talk?"
The elf shrugged. "Somewhere between newborn and a year. Swarsbock was sure she’d hear the words "mama" again."
We stared at each other, uncomfortable. I knew I had to ask, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way what would happen if she ripped off an earring and threw it in my lap. "So, uh, what went wrong?"
"The baby ain’t dead."
My eyebrows lifted under my too-long brown hair.
The elf slammed her palms against my desktop. It creaked ominously. While it was real hardwood, I did get it out of a dumpster. Charlinda yelled, "That lying sack of a human is claiming I couldn’t reach her child and is suing me for fraud!"
Dealing with an angry woman was hard enough, but when that female was an elf…escaping was impossible because she was between me and the door. With a sigh, I said, "You want me to prove the baby is alive?"
She twisted her hand and flicked two gold pieces onto the desk. "Your rate, right?"
"Plus expenses," I said out of habit. She had just given me double my usual daily rate.
"Fine!" She jabbed her finger in the air above my nose. "You prove that kid is alive. You shut down this lawsuit."
Charlinda gave me directions to little Robbie Swarsbock’s farmhouse out past Leander, on the edge of Texas hill country. Since Robbie’s resting place was near the farmhouse, I waited for nightfall. No sense in giving mom Swarsbock any idea I was investigating.
# # #
The marble monument was easy to find in the half moonlight because of the tall, ornate black iron fence around it. I kept low coming out of the oak trees and stayed crouched to study the grave site. From the potted flowers and plastic toys, it was obvious someone cared deeply about this grave. Unfortunately for me, they didn’t care quite enough.
When my left leg began to burn, I knew I was in trouble. I sucked in a breath so sharp, I should have been able to smell the kid even if he were buried a hundred yards away under the foundation of the house. It was all I could do to contain a yelp of pain.
My jeans were too narrow to roll up far enough to stop the damage. From the sharp stabbing, it was clear the fire ants were going to eat through my leg.
Cursing mom Swarsbock for not putting ant killer around the grave, I yanked off my hiking boot along with one side of my pants. I slapped at my leg while hopping as quickly as possible back to the oaks.
I had to make sure all the ants were off my leg, and that meant using a fairy light. Even with the light, it was impossible to see if there were more waiting inside my pant leg. Of course there were.
A shotgun blast nearly solved the problem permanently. The spray from the first shot got my ear. The second shot took down a dead branch, which smacked me on the head as I ran. Porch lights came on. I held onto the free pant leg and tried to keep the waistband up high enough to run without falling. I heard the next shot, but didn’t stop. Ants bit my hand, and I stepped on a cactus. Screaming would only make me an easier target.
I half-jogged, hopped and cursed to the barbed-wire fence at the back of the property. The only good news was that I was making double gold pieces for the j
ob. The bad news was there was no body in that grave, and it was my job to prove it.
# # #
The government in its infinite wisdom assessed higher taxes on those with special abilities, which is why I kept mine a secret. Luckily, Charlinda didn’t ask nosy questions when I gave her the news about the grave being empty. Instead, she took off an earring and pointed at my ear. At first I thought she wanted me to imitate her style, but as soon as she tossed it to me, I could smell the healing spell.
"I forgot to tell you about the shotgun," Charlinda said gruffly. "She chased me off with it when the call to Robbie didn’t work."
Before I could grumble, she paid me for three more days of work and stomped out.
I tucked the gold away and laid out a plan.
The first two days were for spying. Mom Swarsbock left for work every morning at seven thirty. She was back by noon. I never saw junior anywhere.
Wednesday morning, I parked behind a short brick wall at the front of the neighbor’s long dirt driveway. My solicitor bag held several hundred advertisement flyers made from pressed cornstarch. If anyone spotted me, I was just a hard-working Joe, distributing flyers to each household--flyers that would dissolve within a few days, leaving no trace of my visit. In a special side pocket of the bag, I kept lock picks, key card entry picks, a camera and a few other tricks of the trade.
Mom came out on the front porch, right on time. From atop the brick wall, I snapped a couple of photos of the frizzy, graying forty-year old. The camera zoom could capture a fly from 200 yards, but more importantly, I could tell that there was no child seat in her transporter. The kid had to be at the farmhouse, unless, with my luck, he was off with grandma for the summer.
I hopped off the wall and took out one of the flyers. Inserting it into the neighbor’s mailbox, I noticed the name on the box for the first time. "Swarsbock, FM 1400."
I blinked, taken aback by my lack of observation. If Swarsbock’s neighbors were relatives, they might be watching the kid. They might also notice me as I carried out my plans for the day.
I needed to be more careful.
Shaking my head, I walked to Mom Swarsbock’s unlabeled mailbox. After leaving a flyer, I crossed the cattle guard and walked up to the house as if I had more solicitations to offer in person. There was just enough tree coverage to hide most of my movements.
I knocked and then peered through the front windows as though hoping someone were home. My efforts yielded no clues. I went around to the back, flyer in hand.
The kitchen, mostly clean, was empty. The next window showed a bedroom. It might once have served as a child’s room; that is to say there was a twin bed with rails, but there was also an old wheelchair, a port-potty, what might have been a broken air conditioner and boxes.
The next room had no bed and different junk. The master was messy with more clothes than boxes. I took pictures, but as I did, I frowned. There was no evidence of dancing mobiles, toys, or a changing table.
Completing the circuit, I found a living room, a sitting room, and a bathroom.
Even if the kid were elsewhere, what about a crib? Or one of those walker things?
I scanned the yard until I found a metal trashcan, but it was no help. There were no diapers, no baby food jars, nothing but soup cans and pizza remains.
My heart grumbled. This wasn’t looking like an active baby house.
Working faster now because this was taking more time than I had planned, I checked the grave site again. The marble block shaped like a teddy bear held no clues, not even a date. One line was engraved across the surface, "We love you."
Breathing deep, I smelled no dead. As I walked away, I made a point of kicking the ant mound.
To be thorough, I checked the old barn off to the back of the house. To my surprise, a long two-by-four was chained across the doors. Way out in the middle of nowhere, she had to lock her barn? What was stored here that was so valuable, yet not enough so to be in the house? The barn wasn’t new and didn’t look particularly water-proof.
It was easy for me to peer between various loose boards, but with the lighting difference it was impossible for me to see anything.
I took another deep breath and sneezed, but it answered my question. No dead bodies.
A quick tour around the structure yielded several boards that were severely rotted near the bottom. It would be a tight fit. I pried one board completely free and pushed my solicitor bag through.
On my belly, I crawled. It was worse than I expected. Two boards dug deep into my back. I was halfway inside when I sneezed. The boards just about cut out a kidney.
It got worse. Someone nudged me from behind. "Uh-oh." Shotgun.
I heard a low grunt. Whoever it was grabbed my shirt and started tugging. Another hand grabbed my pants.
"I’m unarmed," I yelled. "I’ll come out!"
No avail. Whoever it was yanked on the other side of my shirt. With a loud rip, my t-shirt gave way. "Hey!" Half blind because of the dusty, dim inside light, I twisted. Through the cracks, I got my answer.
Goats!
"Aaaaggh!" Before casing any joint, I made sure there weren’t dogs, but I hadn’t thought of goats. I crawled forward, desperately trying to get traction. I sneezed in protest against the old hay. One goat started chewing on my jeans. A second landed on my bottom to get at the end of the ripped t-shirt as I pulled inside the barn.
"Git," I yelled. "Git!" I yanked my feet inside and backed away. What was left of my shirt was marred by teeth marks and goat dribble.
The goats butted their heads at the loose boards. If I didn’t get out of here soon, they might take the whole building down. The lock on the door made more sense now, especially since it appeared most of the barn contained hay.
I pulled a fairy light out of my bag. Dust motes danced and small feet scurried. The first stall contained an overturned bucket. The second stall--now this was not what I wanted to see.
A crib. Complete with a perched teddy bear, not at all like an active baby would leave it. If Mom lost her child, maybe she couldn’t stand to see the crib…I sighed and held the light up high.
There were stacks of black three-ring binders and a baby book. I opened the baby book and stared at the holographs. It was one thing to put a crib in the barn to keep the reminders at bay, but the pictures? There were two or three with him sucking on a pacifier, and several of him crying.
I picked up one of the binders. More pictures were in it, but mostly it was filled with plastic printouts, full color. A few of the articles were on rare pieces of actual paper, but each of those was in a plastic sleeve.
The name in the first article was right, Robert Swarsbock. But…I nearly tore the plastic sheeting. The dates were all wrong. Page after page of Robert’s kidnapping--eighteen years ago.
"What!?!" I flipped through more pages. There were reward offerings and a ransom note on real paper. I flipped faster.
It was with relief that I read little Robert was found. But if he was found, then why the medium? I tried several more binders, but they were mostly pictures.
Robert had been found alive and healthy and returned to mom and dad. Dad? There was even a picture of the happy threesome. The pictures were old and mom Swarsbock was now eighteen years past them. The Swarsbock in the picture didn’t much resemble the lady that left for work this morning.
I blinked. I sneezed. I didn’t know what was going on here, but I took a several pictures from the baby book and stuffed the binder containing the news article and ransom note in my bag.
I zipped back to the hole.
It would have been easier to get out of the barn had someone been waiting with a shotgun. With the goats, it was flap my arms to fight them off, then squeeze forward an inch. One of the goats got my bag.
I yanked the bag back, but the goat got the binder. "Hey!"
Goat didn’t care what I thought. With amazing dexterity, the creature nibbled at the plastic and pulled out one of the rare papers. The goat calmly ate the
page.
I pushed with my feet. One goat got a grip on my hair. "Aaaah!" It pulled me forward more effectively than anything else I had tried, my body straining to stay with my hair.
There was no time to fix the board. Let Swarsbock think the goats did it.
I took a blow from hooves as I grabbed the binder.
Three goats galloped after me. The smallest one bleated. The largest ran next to me, yanking on what was left of my flapping t-shirt.
I swung the green solicitor’s bag. The goat dug in its heels when I smacked it in the head. My shirt gave way at the sleeve and collar.
I was left with a choker rim and one sleeve as I jumped across the cattle guard--goat guard. The critters bleated in disappointment. I staggered to my transporter. Once again, half naked and panting, I left the premises.
# # #
First thing I did when I got back to my office was look up the court case. Charlinda was being sued by someone named "Swarsbock Henderson" for monetary damages related to "severe distress." I found not one, but two cases by Swarsbock Henderson against mediums. Apparently Charlinda wasn’t the first medium that Swarsbock had contacted.
"Planning on taking money from every medium in the county?" I wondered.
The baby had obviously existed. I checked birth certificates, and I checked death certificates. There was only one Robert Swarsbock born in the area. He was nineteen years old, and had not died three months ago or ever. If the address search was correct, he had recently moved to Seattle to attend college. His parents were Sarah and John Swarsbock. There was no Henderson mentioned anywhere, at least not until I started going through the binder.
Robbie Swarsbock had been taken from his crib early one morning eighteen years ago. A huge manhunt ensued. The maid was suspected, but there was no evidence other than the minute she was accused, she crossed the border into Mexico.
One of the dear neighbors, Patty Henderson, began a drive to raise money to help locate the child.
Tracking Magic Page 4
