“No. Just a business meeting.”
She gave him a curious look that wrinkled her nose and made her nose ring stick out oddly. “A business meeting? With who? I mean what kind of business do you do at the prison?”
Clarence smiled at her. "Well, I work for a company that makes electric chairs.” She squinted, making a face. “The ones they use to execute people.”
Suddenly he saw recognition. “Oh, right. Electric chairs. I thought this state used lethal injection.”
“And that’s a travesty. I’d like to change that. See, I’m the regional sales manager and I promised the warden I’d bring by a brochure of our newest models. We are having some introductory specials and discounts on discontinued models. It’s a great opportunity to switch them over, so maybe I’ll make a sale.”
“That’s kind of cool,” she said.
He wasn’t sure what part of his story she found interesting, but suddenly he wasn’t sure the tall, bald guy was the only scary person in town. “Anyway, I better get going. I have this meeting."
She raised a hand and half waved. “Say, if your company has any openings...”
“Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know if something comes up. If I get the sale, we might want to expand.”
“Well good luck,” she said.
Despite being rather ugly and battered, the car he rented started up smoothly. He was headed to the prison where one Marvin Tossount, a mayor murderer, was being held for life with no chance of parole. "With him serving a sentence like that I don't need to rush," he joked as he got in the car, adjusting the mirrors carefully and making sure the gas tank was full. Happy that things were right, he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. As the town fell behind, Clarence was delighted to learn that the car ran well. It was a lovely day as he settled in for a pleasant drive.
At times like this, he sometimes found himself wishing that Edgar could leave Cecelia's side and travel more than the hundred yards or so that his invisible leash allowed. Edgar was often quarrelsome, but he could be interesting company at times too. If Cecelia had been along she would've given him grief for being so thorough in checking the car.
Fortunately, the scenery was grand and there was almost no traffic. Turning on the radio, Clarence discovered that the area had a wonderfully absurdist talk radio station. He didn't think they intended it to be absurdist, but by imagining that it had been written by Monty Python, Clarence managed to find the opinions expressed and the analysis they made of their opinions, incredibly entertaining. Good luck and the right attitude triumphed again.
When he arrived at the prison, Clarence's run of good luck continued. The powers that be had actually gotten his name on the approved visitor list and the guard told him that Marvin Tossount was willing to talk to him. "He's lonely and depressed. He loves visitors. Heck, he's happy when the prosecutor who put him away comes by.” Then the guard grinned. “Of course, the prosecutor is his brother-in-law."
"And the defense attorney was his sister?"
His grin grew even bigger. "His cousin. We have a small town here."
Marvin turned out to be a biggish man in his fifties, with the physique of a desk jockey. The orange jump suit didn't suit him, which was probably the point—officials select an outfit that doesn't look good on anyone and is highly visible. From his reading, Clarence knew that before becoming a murderer, Marvin had contented himself with selling insurance. Even in the jump suit, he looked more like a salesman than a killer. He came from the back room smiling as if Clarence was in dire need of a juicy life insurance policy.
The guard had been right. When he sat down on the other side of a pane of glass and picked up the telephone that connected them, Marvin seemed more than willing to talk—he was downright eager to tell everything he knew. The moment Clarence starting asking questions, answers poured out of him. "It was the craziest thing," he said. "I clearly remember thinking it through. Killing old Jacob seemed like absolutely the right thing, the only thing to do. It was as if killing him would be saving the world. I still can't believe I thought that but that was how it felt."
Clarence was taken by the sincerity in the man's voice. Or perhaps it was more the sound of honest disbelief. "Did it now?"
"It sure did. I still can't shake it either. Probably never will,"
"Any idea what you were saving the world from?"
"From Jacob. He changed after he took office. I wasn't the only one who saw that. He really got to enjoying his time in office. It gave him a little power. He'd never had much before, so I guess I understood it up to a point."
"So you killed him?"
"That wasn't the reason. It wasn't... I knew what he was planning, you see."
"What was he planning?"
"I don't remember. Still, no matter what it was, I shouldn't have done it. I liked Jacob. We'd been buddies since sixth grade and besides, he was a lousy poker player. We could've talked it out over a beer."
"So you regret it?"
"Of course I do. Jacob shouldn't have been killed that way. I shouldn't have stabbed him. It just... well, like I said, at the moment I felt it was the right thing, the only thing I could do."
"What else do you remember?"
"Not a bunch. We were in his office... the mayor's office. I saw a knife on his desk. It was fancy and I like knives. I even tried making them once after watching videos online. Too much work for me, to suit me, I mean, but I got an appreciation for blades that way. This one was something... a humdinger."
"A new one?"
"I'd say it was pretty old. You don't see knives like that. I'd never seen it before so I picked it up. Then I remember looking at it, turning it in my hand and watching the light reflected off the cheek." He looked at Clarence. "That's what they call the flat of the blade, a cheek."
"Thanks."
"Anyway, as I was doing that I started getting all worked up, thinking about how Jacob was abusing his power and running the town into the ground. He'd raised the taxes and was talking about some hikes to property tax so we could build a sports arena. A coliseum, he was calling it, as if a town this size needed one. He was trying to think big, and most of the time I appreciated it."
"Most of the time."
"Not that day, I guess. Next thing I know, I thought I had to stop him. I shoved that knife into him, yanked it out and did it again." He looked at Clarence in disbelief. "I stabbed my best friend to death because he raised our taxes. What kind of man does a thing like that?"
One holding a cursed object; a man under a spell. That's what Clarence wanted to tell him, but it wouldn't do any good. "And Jacob changing.... it started after he got elected?"
"No. After that."
"What happened?"
"It's that damn office. When Jacob was elected, there was some water damage to the ceiling... a pipe burst. For the first few months, he did the mayor stuff from home. After they fixed it up and he moved into the office... everyone knows there is something wrong with that office. He shouldn't have moved into it. I suppose it was expected, but still..."
"Marvin, one thing I don't understand. I read that you were the one who called the police after you stabbed Jacob."
"Yup. I thought they might get the paramedics over in time. Maybe they could save him. It didn't work out that way."
"And you were still in the office when the police arrived."
"Yeah, I was there when Billy Bob, the deputy, wandered in from the donut shop."
"And you never left the office?"
"Nope. I was trying to plug up the holes I'd made in Jacob."
"So what happened to the knife? The police never found it."
Marvin rolled his eyes. "I have no idea. I don't remember seeing it. I think I dropped it when I realized that I'd just stabbed Jacob a few times as if that would keep me from stabbing him again. I remember him hitting the floor." He paused. "The State Police came and interviewed me... we don't have fancy crime stuff in Traverse, so they handle serious crimes. They were
asking about the knife. It would've been all bloody... I mean I was covered in Jacob's blood, so you'd think there would've been a trail, but for all they could tell, I must've stabbed him with my finger." He held up a hand and looked at it as if he expected a finger to turn into a blade. "I have no idea what happened to it. Of course, I have no idea where it came from either. And see, that's funny too."
Clarence perked up. "What is?"
"Where it came from. When I first picked up the knife from Jacob's desk, he gave me a puzzled look and asked where I got the knife."
"He did?"
"I told him it was on his desk. Then he looked at me with real surprise and said he'd never seen it before."
They talked for a while longer, but there wasn't anything else useful or informative that the contrite and confused Marvin Tossount could tell him, so Clarence said goodbye and wished the man well. He seemed like a nice guy.
Clarence left the prison knowing he was well informed about the events from the most first-hand source imaginable, but no wiser about what had happened to the knife—or even where it came from. Who had put it on the desk?
"Marvin must've blacked out. He must've gone into a fugue state and hidden it." Then he smiled to himself, happy that he'd come up with a nice, tidy explanation. It was perfect as long as he ignored some minor details such as the lack of a blood trail to the hiding spot, the fact that everyone agreed that Marvin had used the time calling the police and rendering first aid, and no one had seen him leave the mayor's office during the middle of the day, although the receptionist was sitting outside the door the entire time. For now, he put those out of his mind. They could be sorted out later as they learned more.
On the ride home, Absurdist Discussion Hour had given way to a less rousing Hillbilly Music program, brought to him by Linda Blakely Realty. A familiar voice assured him that her office was, "the very best place to go when you want to find a home, or a home for your business, in Traverse or the surrounding area."
Clarence allowed himself a smile. There was something oddly reassuring in that small town advertisement and he was glad for it because the interview with Marvin had unsettled him. It took most of the drive back for him to figure out what it was, of the many unsettling things Marvin had told him, that had gotten to him, but he finally got to it. He knew that finding the knife was critical and that the only place worth searching was the now-vacant office of the Mayor of Traverse. And Marvin had said it was cursed. Not that he thought it was cursed, but that it WAS cursed. Clarence had never read about a cursed room before, although he knew for a fact that the Grand Storehouse, which was an entire basement hidden under the fabled Winchester House in San Jose, CA was cursed. So why not an office?
Clearly, he needed to search the office. The police would have done it many times already... thirteen times, at least. But they would have been looking for a knife that looked like a knife. They would have used their eyes, not the sense of wrongness, or a compulsion, that a person felt when they came close to one of the artifacts.
He wondered how a cursed object would feel if it was inside of another one. He couldn't remember feeling the objects in the Grand Storehouse, so perhaps it masked them, kept them hidden until they were needed.
That made a sort of perverse sense. So he'd take a look. But not without Cecelia and Edgar there as backup. In dealing with these things, knowing how they distorted your perception of the world around you, he wanted other eyes, brains, and hearts backing him up.
Yes, as much as he wanted to swoop in and finish it, close this case, the knife would just have to wait until the entire posse could go after it together. There was strength in numbers and all that. So when he got to town, he'd call Cecelia and insist that she meet with him. He'd insist that they go check out the mayor's office. It wasn't much of a plan, but unless Cecelia had wormed something out of Kenneth, assuming she'd caught up with him, that was all they had.
Chapter Nine
I met up with Clarence outside the town hall building. "It's in there," he said, standing with his back to the building and jerking his thumb to indicate it over his shoulder. “The dagger is in there. I'm sure of it.”
I looked at the building as if I might catch a glimpse of the dagger. “Then why hasn’t anyone found it in fifty years?”
“Maybe Edgar was right in thinking it isn’t the artifact. It’s there, and when the artifact starts working, when it wants the knife to be used, it appears. Then, once the deed is done, poof."
"Poof? As in, it goes poof and disappears?”
“Should I have said abracadabra?”
“So how do we find it?"
"As far as I can see, the only way we can work is to try to sense it.” He looked at Edgar. “How’s the old artifact nose working?”
“It is working fine, thank you very much.”
“By the way, most of the people I’ve talked to think the office is cursed in some way. I was wondering if there is anything in that. I don’t think the office killed them but..."
"You sound like you agree that it’s cursed."
He nodded. "I think there's a chance. It wouldn't be the first place we've encountered that had been cursed, or enchanted, as Enid prefers.”
“We decided that the word enchanted is just for good spells.”
“Right. Assuming there are any good spells. They all seem to have unwanted, if not downright unpleasant side effects.”
I laughed. “We agree on that.”
“Well, right now I think we have to go in the office and tough this out. We need to see if we can find the artifact without any messing around. And while we are there, Edgar can see if he gets a hit off the office itself."
"You look nervous,” I said. “Has this got you spooked?"
"Not really." He grinned and nodded at Edgar. "You are the one who is spooked."
"That's a cheap shot," Edgar said, sounding indignant. "Cheap and very uncivilized of you. I expected better."
Clarence made a face. "Yeah, well, everything is a little off in this town. Tell me, do you sense anything coming from the building, Edgar?"
"So now I'm your friend and I'm supposed to help you?"
Clarence looked at him. "Yes you are my friend or I wouldn’t tease you. And please help me, us."
The nice words seem to calm Edgar down. "Unfortunately, anything evil that might be coming from that building is completely overwhelmed by whatever else is being radiated in this town," he said. "My spooky object-detector sense is overloaded."
"Maybe it will be easier inside," I said.
Edgar bowed stiffly. "We can see. After you."
So I led the way to the second floor. The building was mostly empty. We heard people working in a couple of offices, but no one seemed to care who was walking up the stairs. The mayor's office was at the end of the hall on the second floor. "The door is open," Clarence said, sounding surprised.
That didn’t surprise me. "There’s no mayor. Why would they lock it?" I went in. "The place is totally empty. I doubt anyone has been in here since it was scrubbed out after the murder."
"I saw a show once where the murderer, a serial killer, was a woman who cleaned murder scenes," Clarence said. "If that's the case here, she could hide the artifact and put it back as needed."
"I'll take that theory under advisement if you will acknowledge that she'd probably have to be in her eighties now."
He wrinkled his nose. "Could be the job has been passed down generation to generation." He didn’t think that—he was just being stubborn.
He also had a point. "It’s easy enough to find out who cleans the office and check that theory out."
“Fine,” he said. So we poked around the empty office but there was nothing much to see. "Boring," Clarence said. "All I see is a plain Jane office without so much as a secret compartment or passage to its name."
"Plain Jane?" Edgar gave us a curious look. "The office has a name?” He looked from my face to Clarence’s. “You said you saw a Plain Jane office." Then he
smiled. "Oh, I see, that is a colloquial expression.”
“Plain Jane, means ordinary,” I told him. “Plain, as in nothing special. Jane as in Jane Doe... one of the most common female first names.”
“I forget that you’ve twisted the language so egregiously."
"And more to the point, this ordinary office has nothing special about it that’s visible,” I said. “And no mysteries or even interesting objects, least of all a dagger.”
“There is something wrong here, however,” Edgar said. “I just can’t say exactly what. There is either something here, or this office has a power, but I can’t say which.”
“And unfortunately I don't see anything that looks out of place or the least bit suspicious."
"There isn't very much anything here at all. There isn’t enough stuff for anything to be in or out of place," Clarence said.
He was right. The room wasn’t simply neat and empty, it was rather barren. There were a couple of reports of town council meets in plastic binders sitting on a shelf, a wooden desk, a wire trash can, and a nice chair. That was it. Unenthusiastically, I opened the desk drawers one at a time. "There are no knives in here either. Not even a paperclip."
“I guess we’ve exhausted this lead,” Clarence said. “I so sure...”
As we stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind us, a man in a sports coat walked up. "Hello there. How do you like that office? I think it's a nice office myself. Nicer than mine. And it's available." He clutched a manila folder under his arm.
"The office is available?" I asked. "We thought this was the mayor's office."
He nodded. "Yes, yes, it is."
"Are you renting out the mayor's office?"
He laughed. "No." Then he stopped. "Well, Linda might be trying to rent it, but I don't think so. What I meant was the office of mayor is vacant. The job is open. We really need to fill this office.”
"Who are you?" I asked
"Sorry. I'm Billy Walker. I'm the town manager."
"And you want us to know the mayor's office is empty. But why?"
"I wondered if either of you would like to be the next mayor of Traverse. It’s a sweet little town, with lots of potential and we really, really need a mayor."
The Curious Case of the Cursed Dagger (Curiosity Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Page 8
