The Curious Case of the Cursed Dagger (Curiosity Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 3)

by Constance Barker

  Clarence turned red. "Cecilia, that idea is absolutely and totally... I mean of all the crazy ideas you've come up with... that has to be the most absurd, suicidal, idiotic one yet."

  "So glad you approve," I said.

  "All the mayors get murdered."

  "With the artifact. So it will have to appear."

  "Which is really convenient if you are dead."

  "The previous mayors had no idea what they were getting into. They weren’t looking for an artifact to goad someone into killing them and didn't have special boxes to stuff the artifact into, neutralizing them. They didn't have a ghost buddy to watch their back and sense trouble." I winked at Edgar, who didn't seem as thrilled at my plaudits as I'd hoped he would.

  "I don't like it. It's putting your life on the line."

  "Can you think of another way to lure the artifact into showing itself?"

  He grabbed my shoulders. "Yes. We wait until someone takes the job that isn't you."

  "You saw how desperate Billy is. There aren’t a lot of volunteers and it could be a long, long wait. If that's your plan we better chat with Linda Blakely about buying a small house in town."

  His face grew dark. "Yeah, that’s true enough."

  "Besides, we'd be letting some innocent, unknowing person risk their life without realizing what they were dealing with. We’ve done this before. As long as we keep our heads, shore up our defenses, and go about this thoughtfully... well, we know to have storage boxes on hand. We will be watching for something to appear—either a dagger or something that shows us where the mystery dagger is hidden. When it appears, pop it in the handiest box and we can go home."

  "I suppose so. But while we wait and watch, what do I do, other than worry about you?"

  I stared at him. "I'm surprised at you, Clarence. I was sure you understood."

  "Understood what?"

  Edgar chuckled. "Bonehead. All the mayors were murdered by close friends or associates. So it's obvious, isn't it?"

  "No."

  I took his hand. "Clarence, you are my closest friend.” I saw Edgar’s eyes dilate. “My closest human friend, so you are the one the artifact will reach out to. You are the one that needs to have his eyes opened to where the dagger is hidden."

  It wasn't something that was in the least funny, and I did manage to force myself not to smile, but the stunned expression that covered his face when he realized we were serious was priceless. "I’m the murderer. The artifact will try to get me to murder you?"

  I nodded. “Try is the key word in all that. At least that’s what the evidence suggests. If we set the stage, eventually the artifact will do its job. Then, when the dagger appears, assuming it’s the artifact, we stick it in a box, quick like a bunny.”

  “While I try to kill you?”

  "We will try and see that you don't," Edgar said.

  Clarence didn’t seem to find that promise cheering. Not a lot, anyway. “Quick like a bunny? That’s an apt metaphor since I feel like we are falling down some sort of rabbit hole.”

  “If we don’t take the leap, nothing will happen at all, until a new mayor comes along. So, unless you want to follow Bel around and hope he finds it and that you can get it from him when he does, it’s our only shot. I’d rather do something.”

  That didn’t make Clarence any happier, but he had to agree. “I don’t have a better idea. If you’re sure...”

  I wasn’t, but I wouldn’t let Clarence know that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As they discussed their plan to trick the artifact into coming out of hiding, Clarence found himself thinking that he was agreeing to do something truly stupid. The plan was seriously flawed. They didn’t know what they were looking for or how it would manifest itself. There might not be time to “pop it in a box” even if they were expecting it.

  Unfortunately, try as he might, he couldn't meet Cecelia’s challenge to come up with a better plan. Like it or not, she was right that nothing seemed likely to make the dagger appear except the advent of a new mayor.

  And Cecelia, stubborn, impulsive, erratic Cecelia was also right that they had experience with the things. More than anyone else, at least. They usually knew when artifacts were around and, more importantly, believed they existed in the first place. The big question was if they could stay alert until it appeared. Who knew how long they’d have to wait? The artifact didn’t seem to have a timetable.

  Clarence didn’t like the idea of Cecelia being at risk that way. He didn’t like the idea that if they failed, he would be the one who killed her. The risk was real and thinking about it made his palms sweat. His experience with other artifacts told him that the power of the cursed objects was nothing to sneer at or take for granted. He couldn’t assume they would stay in control. If he was drawn to the object, resisting its will could take more strength than he could count on summoning.

  Edgar might be a help—he certainly had been before. Somehow, however, this time things were different. How he knew wasn’t clear, but he had the sinking feeling that capturing this artifact would be a challenge, a real test of their ability to work together as a team—all three of them.

  He wished he knew more about the artifact. Knowledge was power, wasn't that the way the saying went? If he knew its power, if he even knew what the artifact was, maybe he could prepare somehow. There had to be ways to shield yourself from the full force of the artifact’s curse but that meant understanding a little about the curse. The spectacles had distorted your vision of the future and Cecelia had used that to her advantage. But what could distort the present sufficiently to make him want to kill her, as it had made fifteen people want to kill thirteen of their friends and colleagues?

  Unwilling to leave any stones unturned, as Cecelia went to take her application for the job of the mayor of Traverse to Billy Walker, Clarence returned to the hotel. He went to his room, found the last warm beer, opened it, and sat on his bed, staring at the boxes of documents. Then he got out his phone and called Enid.

  "Goodness, what's wrong?" she asked.

  "Why do you think something is wrong?"

  "Because you called me."

  "And why is that alarming?"

  "You'll have to admit that just about the only time we have our little phone chats is when something isn't going well and you've decided to call for help. So what is it?"

  He knew Enid was right. He never called her to say hello or just talk. It stung that she had been so aware of that, and now he had an ulterior motive this time as well. "It isn't so much that something is going badly, or wrong, yet. In fact, not much has happened so far. I’m calling because I think things will go bad soon.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Oh dear, exactly. I called because I need to pick your brain, see if we can figure out what that bad might look like."

  "How delightful. All right, tell me what you've seen and done so far and what you can share your concerns."

  And he did, running through the history, his visit to the prison, Cecelia's chat with Kenneth, and the encounter with Bel. "Belial Hohenheim is his full name, in case that rings a bell."

  She clucked. "My, you two have been busy," she said. "Unfortunately, I don't recall that name at all and you’ll have to admit that it's the kind of name that would be difficult to forget. Now that I’ve heard it, even if he never showed up again, I expect that ten years from now someone could ask me: 'Do you know Belial Hohenheim?' and I'd have to say the name sounded familiar."

  "I suppose so." That part was disappointing. “He was as unusual as his name, so I was hoping that would shed some light on things.”

  "I’m sorry I don't know everything."

  "I know it wasn’t in the journal, but is there anything in what we’ve learned that might suggest anything at all about the nature of the artifact? With Cecelia taking the job of mayor..."

  "Cecelia Parish is doing what?"

  "Becoming mayor. There isn’t exactly a line of candidates and she decided there needed to be a mayor
before the artifact would appear. But we don't know what to expect so I'd be happy for a tidbit. I’m pretty sure the artifact is a dagger—one that has been killing mayors efficiently for fifty years and then going into hiding. If it isn’t the dagger, it might be the mayor’s office itself." He explained his thinking about the crime being so similar from murder to murder, with exactly the same result—a confession.

  "Oh, my. Could it be... it sounds to me like you might be hunting a temporal echo artifact. Does that seem right?"

  "Since I have no idea what that is, I assume it's entirely possible."

  "What you've described sounds like one. They are artifacts that only appear under certain circumstances and then produce predictable results. The person affected doesn’t act on information it provides, like we saw with the spectacles or the dice. Instead, when the artifact appears it compels a specific behavior.”

  “That sounds right.”

  “I don’t remember a lot about them. They are rather rare, somehow tied into time distortion, or time loops or something like that.”

  “Any idea how they work?”

  “Just the obvious. As you suggest, they have specific conditions stored in them and they operate or become active when those conditions are met. They aren’t necessarily simple conditions, but when they are met, and I have no idea how it processes that, assuming it happens within a certain distance of the artifact, the artifact comes into action.”

  “And how does it know that, as in this case, both the mayor and best friend are present?”

  “I suppose that would be one of the conditions. Keep in mind that we don’t know that it is an instant thing. The triggered artifact might take time to appear and start working. Or in a complex situation, the artifact might affect several people, and work on them individually, making them act out their roles, recreating, or echoing, previous events.”

  “That’s pretty tricky. So to be able to get it to act while we were paying attention, we’d really need to know all of the conditions.”

  “That’s true. In this case, it seems that one of the conditions, as you have obviously surmised, is the presence of a mayor and best friend in the office. There could be a dozen more."

  “And do you think the dagger would be the artifact we are looking for?”

  “I have no earthly idea, Clarence. But it seems as likely as anything, given that it’s never around otherwise.”

  "And you are sure you’ve never encountered anything like that, Enid?"

  "No, I can't say that I have. I certainly have never heard of an artifact that works to recreate deaths on a regular basis."

  "So, in terms of these conditions, at a minimum we need to get the new mayor and I together in her office and keep our eyes peeled for the dagger to show up?"

  "Or anything else unusual. Don’t get fixed on that idea of it being a dagger because we just don’t know. And, as I said, I’d imagine that there is quite a bit more to the conditions than that, Clarence. Otherwise, someone would’ve noticed before now. I’m quite sure these curses were cast by devious people and under the best of circumstances are seldom simple. I assume the artifact would need to sense several factors or conditions. How many and what else they might be is hard to determine. The truth is, we don't even know that the mayor's death is the intention of the artifact."

  "We don't?"

  "No. It’s quite possible that the artifact has some other purpose entirely. All we know, or think we know is that every time it has been activated, the mayor has been killed. Even a cursed object can only do what the curse tells it to. If the actual objective is different, it would be stuck there in Traverse performing its function, but trying to get a different outcome.”

  “So it could be a defective curse?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Regardless, given its track record, you are risking Cecelia's life with this plan."

  "I agree completely, but you know I can't stop her from doing this."

  "Not our Cecelia, I agree. Tell me, has anyone described the dagger to you? Maybe there is a clue in that."

  "Marvin, the last killer, said it was old, rather short, and the blade was maybe seven inches long. He thought the blade was made of steel."

  "Did he say what culture it was from?"

  "You think it's old enough for that to be obvious?"

  "Possibly. And that might be a clue."

  "Unfortunately, he didn’t notice a lot of detail. It seems he was caught up in the strangeness of wanting to stab his best friend to death. And then, after he’d done it, he doesn’t know where it went. He doesn’t remember putting it down, but he never saw it again."

  "Oh my, I'm afraid that isn't much help."

  "No."

  "I'd suggest that you make a close review of the events leading up to the last few murders and see if you can determine precisely what triggered the artifact besides the town having a mayor.”

  “Why?”

  “Look for commonalities that might help determine the full set of conditions. If you work them out then you could trigger it intentionally. That should be much safer than simply hoping to do it accidentally and never knowing for sure when it happens."

  "Sure. That makes sense. We'd be prepared."

  "Exactly. Oh, and Clarence, a favor, please."

  "Sure, Enid."

  "Please try very hard not to murder Cecelia. I'm rather fond of her. I know the artifacts can dominate people, so please do your best not to stab her."

  Clarence shuddered at the thought of hurting Cecelia. "Of course, I won’t kill her, Enid. I'll be careful."

  “Be alert,” she said. “And remember the spectacle. Sometimes it’s hard to know when you are being influenced. Your judgment seems right at the time.”

  He laughed. “I think I’ll know it when I want to kill and I’m cleaning my fingernails with a dagger.”

  “Don’t take this lightly,” she said. “Don’t treat this as something silly. Thirteen people have already died.”

  Clarence swallowed. “I get your point.”

  “Good. Now go find the artifact and you make sure the death toll doesn’t reach fourteen.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  My application for the office of mayor of the town of Traverse went through as smoothly as Billy Walker had predicted. He presented it at an impromptu meeting of the town council where it was met with no opposition, some dismay, and a general sense of 'here we go again' that would've been quaint if it hadn't been touched with a fair amount of apprehension and smothered in sinister sauce.

  The town council meeting lasted just long enough for them to ask: “Are you sure?” That was only a formality tantamount to asking: “Are you crazy?” When I claimed I was sure and not crazy, they immediately voted to waive any residency requirements and accept my application. Then, for good measure, they passed a motion to waive any other requirements they might have forgotten about, and then named me mayor.

  “I love the vetting procedure,” Edgar said.

  I could feel the sense of relief that flooded the room as we concluded the formalities. Billy Walker was the first to congratulate me the instant the judge (conveniently, she was a member of the council) swore me in. As I sat in my office chair, his congratulations still warm on his lips, two clerks began bringing in huge stacks of documents. Soon they covered my new, probably haunted desk with them. “These need your signature,” Billy said. “I’d like to say there’s no rush, but we need to get them signed and filed with the State so that we aren’t in violation of our town charter.”

  Thus, I began to understand the urgent need for a new mayor.

  During that afternoon other townspeople wandered into my office, wanting to meet between signings, and stare at the new victim/mayor of their fair city. The undertaker came by as well. He was a cheerful older man, but the way he looked me over I could tell that he was mentally getting an idea of my measurements. I thought that was efficient of him. It would save time later on.

  Finally, someone spoke to t
he elephant in the room. "I hope you aren't murdered like the last bunch were," the woman who ran the Chamber of Commerce and who owned a bakery said. She didn't sound convinced that I'd last long enough to become a decent friend or enemy. For that matter, I wasn’t sure her comment didn’t mean that she did hope I was murdered differently—some people just want variety.

  "The track record of this town isn't good," I said. "I know that."

  "The last dozen..." she said.

  "I read that it was thirteen killed over the last fifty years."

  She smiled. "Like I said, a dozen. A baker's dozen is thirteen and I'm a baker."

  “So there’s no room in that oven for me,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’d wind up sitting on the day-old Mayor’s rack.”

  She made a face. “Better there than on a gurney in the morgue.” Then she left.

  "Congratulations and...sincere condolences," a big man mumbled, shaking his head and not really looking at me straight on. He stood there for a moment, then wandered off muttering, "Damn shame, damn shame. Pretty young thing like that. It's just a damn awful shame."

  "I'd say you are a popular mayor, given that this is just your first hour in office," Clarence said happily as he arrived.

  "Right. This is probably the ideal moment to announce I’m running for re-election.”

  Clarence gave me a startled look. “Just kidding. The mortician is expecting an upturn in business and the rest are just coming by so that they'll recognize me at an open-casket service."

  "But they are being kind."

  “That they are.”

  “Speaking of kind, I called Enid. She sent you several of her best ‘oh dears,’ and a couple of ‘oh my’s’ to keep you in stock. She hasn’t any better idea of what we are dealing with than we do, other than she knows that when an artifact works as this one does, the hoi polloi call it a temporal echo artifact.”

  “A dangerous item by any other name would still be a cursed object.”