The Chimera Charm

by Pearl Goodfellow

  A pair of yellow eyes floated from the shadows at the bottom of the bar.

  “Shade, me lad,” Horace said with a big toothy grin. “I’d ha’ figured ya’d be wit’ Ms. Poof for the length a’ the night.”

  “That makes two of us,” I admitted, settling back in my stool.

  “Well…you both ain’t wrong,” Shade said, jumping up to take the seat next to me. “But my lady’s getting more sensitive to my moods, you know what I mean? With this case we’re on, my mind is overrun. So, when Ms. Poof notices my …. performance issues, I--”

  “Enough!” I held up my hands. I had no idea why my Romeo cat loved to share his sexual prowess with others, but I didn’t want to hear about it. Horace laid down a saucer on the bar and poured some Hippocampus Milk into it in for his newest furry customer. “And ya told her, what’s been on yer mind, yeah?”

  “Well…not all of it,” Shade said between licks. “But I did get around to mentioning how my human’s feeling down and how I really want to help.”

  I reached out to give Shade’s head a brief rub. “Thanks, buddy. Glad you’re on my side.”

  Shade smacked his lips into a milky lather as he looked up at me. “Well, there’s more. Ms. Poof’s circle may not be in my bro Midnight’s league, but she did give me some serious intel. Shade’s head bobbed down to his saucer of cream again. “Mmmm, this stuff is good,” he chirped.

  “Shade. Intel, please?”

  “Sorry, boss. So, yeah, Poof overheard a conversation in the private offices of her home. Her human and some others were deep into a discussion about the new Chief Warlock.”

  “New? There’s a new one?

  “Yep. And, guess who it is.”

  “Shade, I don’t know, just tell me --” I slammed my mostly drained Griffin’s Beak onto the bar as the lightbulb went off and I growled: “Gideon Shields.”

  “So, maybe Chief Trew-Love’s not too far off base, with him thinking that Shields is more involved in these recent murders than we have the evidence to prove,” My Romeo cat did a faceplant in his hippocampus milk, guzzling with abandon from the fresh offering. His head shot up suddenly, milk spittle flying. “Wait! There’s more,” he said. “Ms. Poof’s human managed to get a peek at Morag’s will, and Poof happened to be sitting on his lap at the time of his perusal.”

  “Now how’s tha’ possible?” Horace asked, absently using a rag to wipe milk splatters from the bar. “The Devlin lasses lived on Cathedral and this, lest ye forget, is still good ol’ Glessie.”

  “Don’t have those details myself, my man,” Shade said, shaking his head and sending more white blobs of liquid flying. “I just know that the human got a peek and found a detail that looks way hinky. See, in the event of Infirma’s death, the Devlin fortune goes straight into the coffers of a certain charitable organization. Biggest act said charitable organization has pulled off this year is get Cagliostro school some Futura cauldrons. You know, the time capsule event that Morag attended? Apart from that little publicity stunt, this organization hasn't spent another red cent of their overflowing wealth.”

  I shook my head and frowned. “ Okay, so the charity is dodgy … nothing terribly strange about that. Most are”

  “Might change your tune when you find out that the head of this foundation is none other than one Barnabus Kramp, boss. Given what we already know about that cat, I say it’s as hinky as Loki Liesmith French-kissing a goat.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. Charities were a favorite cover for dodging the taxman both here and on the Mainland. I flashed back to those large payments in the mystery ledger and wondered if there was a connection to this.

  “Sounds like we’ve just got a motive for someone wanting Infirma dead,” I said. “Okay, so the Devlin estate is a dump, but the land? Worth a couple of million Sol’s, for sure,” I added.

  “Refill?” Horace beamed, happy to be watering me as I made discoveries.

  I slid the tankard across to him, and another of my cats jumped onto the bar. Midnight.

  “Got anymore Hippocampus milk, Brother Mangler?”

  Horace’s response was to place both a Griffin’s Beak and a fresh saucer of milk onto the bar. Midnight gulped the cream and shot his head up suddenly. Horace had just finished cleaning the bar of Shade’s milky splatters, and now his work had begun again.

  “Okay, we’re a little short on time. A certain city official I’ve been following all morning is on their way here right now.”

  “Sincerity Jones?” I asked Middie.

  He nodded, a plump drop of milk from his whiskers landed on the bar in front of him.

  “And, she looks pretty nervous for whatever reason.”

  “Let’s make ourselves less obvious. Shade, go grab a table in the corner over there, and we’ll join you,” I said, grabbing my bag.

  Horace backed us up. “Go now, ‘n’ I’ll bring over some fresh brews.”

  Shade, Midnight and I took our seats in the back left corner of the bar. The location afforded us a sweeping view of the whole inside of the Fingernail Moon. We watched silently as Mayor Sincerity Jones walked into the pub.

  “Ah, Yer Honor!” Horace boomed, coming from behind the bar with spread arms. “What’ll it be?”

  Sincerity gave him a nervous smile, while her head darted to the door she just walked through. “Hello, Horace. Is my usual table available?”

  “Oh, aye, aye. Follow me, m’ lady.”

  Mayor Jones ‘usual’ table just happened to be three tables over from us. Thankfully, she didn’t even glance our way. All her attention was directed toward the front door. Her elegant fingernails tapped out a nervous rhythm on the beer-soaked table top.

  I frowned. Unlike the Mayor's predecessor, Sincerity Jones had been a boon for Glessie; above board and committed to good local government. The thought that she could be just as corruptible as the other politicians I’d been around in recent months was too despairing to think about. I told myself to handle that theory as I usually did: wait for the facts to prove or disprove Sincerity’s involvement.

  Barnabus Kramp entered the bar with the air of a lord of the manor coming to check on his peasant workers. Horace gave him no greeting, just glanced up from the bar and jerked a thumb towards Mayor Jones’ table. Barnabus paid the landlord no heed, just walked up to the table and took a seat with Sincerity.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked by way of greeting. “Your message said it was urgent.”

  “It is,” Sincerity said, swallowing hard.

  “Well, what—“

  “It’s over, Barnabus.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Come again?”

  “What we have…had…it needs to stop. Today, right now…when I walk out of this bar, I never want to see you again.”

  His mouth flew open; he seemed torn between being taken aback and angry at the Mayor’s surprise statement. “What brought about this change of heart?”

  “Somebody knows, or at least suspects. I’ve had a local private investigator tracking my movements over the last few days. Maybe YOU can hide in the shadows, but I am a public official. People trust me, depend on me.”

  “So why did you and I carry on at all, then?” Barnabus asked, looking and sounding genuinely hurt.

  Sincerity took Kramp’s hands in hers and squeezed. “At first, it was…exciting, you know? I’ve been working in public service all my life, and I never thought that…”

  Then she pulled her hands away and added, “But you’re still married and, ‘this’ isn’t fair to Zinnie. Your wife. It would destroy all of us, so I’m ending it now.”

  “Honey, how many times have I told you?” Kramp asked, making a play for the mayor’s hands once more. “My marriage is over already. All I need is a—“

  Sincerity yanked her hand back. “—a little more time? You’ve been saying that for over a year now, and you haven’t lifted a finger. How much more time do you need if it’s already over, Barny?”

  “I told you,
it’s complicated,” Barnabus pleaded, spreading his hands. “Do you think I wouldn’t have divorced Zinnie already if it wasn’t?”

  The mayor’s posture stiffened as she rose to her feet. “No…no, I don’t think you would…not anymore. Goodbye, Barnabus.”

  With that, Sincerity Jones strode toward the exit. Kramp was too stunned to do more than stare after her. Then he quickly rose from the table himself to catch up, but he was met with Horace Mangler’s bulk.

  “Her Honor’s made her decision, Mr. Kramp,” Horace said. “Ya best be respecting it or else. Savvy?”

  Barnabus glared at Horace but left in a huff without another word.

  “Midnight,” I said.

  “I got it covered,” he assured before jumping off the table to follow the departing couple.

  Shade nudged me with his paw. “Looks like that uncool cat left something behind, boss.”

  I looked where my kitty’s nose was pointing. A brown leather case lay on the floor underneath Barnabus’ newly vacated seat. It must have dropped out of his pocket when he jumped up to try to catch up to Sincerity.

  I opened the case to find a check book between the fine leather cover. The ledger was crammed full of deposits and withdrawals carefully noted by date and, in some cases, time. The amounts noted struck a chord with me. I’d seen these numbers before. I flipped a few pages to confirm my idea wasn’t just coincidence. I’d have to cross reference, of course, but already, I knew I had stumbled onto something.

  By then, Horace walked up to me and said, “Mighty careless a’ Mr. Kramp to leave somethin’ tha’ valuable behind.”

  “Horace, say nothing about this for right now, okay?” I said, pocketing the check book and making a beeline for the door.

  “Yo, boss, what’s up?” Shade asked, hurrying to keep up with my stride.

  I barely heard him. All I could think about was how coming to the Moon had turned out to be one of the most inspired moves I’d made all week.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I tried David’s personal line at GIPPD at least five times. I hung up in frustration after I heard his brusque recorded greeting for the fifth time. Finally, I called the front desk and spoke to Spinefield.

  “Hi Hattie, yeah, CPI Trew is in meetings all day.”

  “Budget meetings?”

  “You know it,” the desk sergeant chuckled. “Someone has to explain all the funds used by this department.” Spinefield giggled again, “Between you and me, I saw the chief nearly pulling out his hair in that meeting room.”

  “Thanks, Spinefield,” I said. “Tell the chief to get in touch with me as soon as he’s done, yeah?”

  “That I will, Ms. Jenkins, enjoy your day.”

  I hung up and decided right then I’d pay a visit to Buntie’s Blooms, to perhaps pick up a well-arranged bouquet for Infirma before she was released from Howling Mercy today. Yeah, a flower shop seemed like a nice place to spend an hour or two. I couldn’t stop the swirl of thoughts clanging around in my head from seeing Barnabus Kramp’s check book at the Moon.

  I advised Millie and the Infiniti I’d be popping out for a while, and the clamor from my crew was deafening. I held up my hands.

  “Guys, chill. I’m going to Buntie’s Blooms … to pick up some flowers for Infirma, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” Gloom muttered. “Boring.” My grumpy cat stretched herself out to full length behind the counter and closed the one eye she had open to me.

  Onyx pinned me with an intense stare before I managed to make my way out the door.

  “Flowers can tell you a thousand useful things,” is all my mind-reading cat think-said to me.

  “Okay, sure, O,” I mumbled and headed out.

  I walked in the perfect sunshine to Buntie’s, enjoying the autumnal breeze that buffeted around my neck and ankles. I felt a kind of nervous energy building in me; we were close. I knew this. From hitting a series of dead ends, I could feel that elements of the case were slotting into place, and I felt that familiar tingling excitement I got when a case was drawing to a close. Sure, I still had PLENTY of questions: What was with all the Warlock presence of late? I mean, we were all so focused on the Fae activity, that this sudden Warlock action and talk of the Warlock Chief threw a curveball into our investigation. The last thing we needed was Fae mischief AND Warlock hostility. Did Shields really have anything to do with this murder, and indeed, as David suggested, possibly Millicent Ponds’ murder? I wouldn’t have put it past the slimy governor, but, I couldn’t see the connection. I called Portia Fearwyn as I walked, and relayed to her what Kramp had dropped at the Moon.

  “Sounds like there is a corollary connection between Kramp’s account and the entries in the Devlin ledger, but likely nothing that could be proved just yet.” Portia fell silent for a second. “But, all the same, I’ll do some digging this end to see if I can pull up some answers.”

  “Great, thanks,” I said. “Oh, and would you happen to know why Morag’s will was doing the rounds at Gless Inlet’s Townhall? Or, more specifically, why it was passed among the cabinet members there?” I explained how Shade’s main squeeze had glimpsed the document as she sat on her owner’s lap.

  “I do, as it happens. Verdantia pulled this info up today. Our very own Sincerity Jones had requested that the will be made public -- at least amongst officials -- I think she probably suspected Kramp of wrongdoing and wanted everything out in the open, in case she was implicated.” Portia concluded.

  “You think the mayor suspected that Kramp had Morag offed? Because of the contents of the will?”

  “I believe so, yes. Sincerity Jones is a good woman. She might well have been led astray, but she’s not the type to stay astray. Let’s just assume that Ms. Jones put two and two together on her own, and took matters into her own hands.”

  “That makes sense,” I said as I crossed the threshold into Buntie’s. “Well, listen, I’m just picking up an arrangement for Infirma before she heads home today, so talk later?”

  “Certainly. Have you heard from Brother Trew?” The old witch asked. “I was expecting his attendance at the Custodian meeting this morning, but he didn’t show up, which I found to be both disrespectful and unsurprising,”

  “Oh, yeah, David’s been in unscheduled budget meetings all day today. Might not be as important as a Custodian gathering, but he has to see things through if he’s going to remain Chief of the Para Police Department.”

  “Quite,” Portia’s voice was clipped. “Let’s keep in touch with any news, then.” The witch Fearwyn hung up.

  Thaddeus Peacefield wasn’t the person I’d expected to see behind the counter at Buntie’s.

  “Rev?” I queried as he sorted through a bunch of gerberas.

  “Hattie Jenkins, how lovely to see you here. Are you shortly going to give me the opportunity to create a floral masterpiece for your good self?” He grinned.

  “You work here?” I asked, still surprised.

  “Heavens, no,” the vicar chuckled. “But, you might say this place is like a second home to me. All of the floral arrangements you see at Pens? All my own work. I purchase the stock from Buntie, and she permits me to use her space here to create my own arrangements. It’s terribly relaxing.”

  “So, Buntie’s got you pulling some shifts for using her space to work?” Still confused as to why you’re behind the counter wearing a florist’s apron.

  “Haha, Buntie’s no slave-driver. No, I help her out from time to time when she needs to take time from the shop,” the peaceful man said. “These times are some of my happiest.”

  “I can see I’m in good hands then,” I beamed as I walked toward the pious man for a hug. Thaddeus reached across the counter and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me in a fatherly embrace. I immediately felt a warm tide of beautiful compassion flow from the reverend.

  He pulled back and smiled at me. “An arrangement for Infirma, perhaps?”

  I nodded, not surprised that the vicar knew of my intentions. Thaddeus go
t to work straight away, pulling a riot of colored blooms and contrasting foliages from various containers, and laying them down on the counter. He whistled while he snipped the ends off of some willowy stalks.

  “You up to date with Father Brown now, Rev?” I asked, eager to get Thaddeus’ opinion about a particular episode.

  “I am not, my dear,” he confessed. “I’m one of those poor souls who starts a series, and then not halfway through, start a whole NEW series. I have tv mysteries coming out of my yin yang!” I laughed hard at that. I knew the pain of this phenomenon. “I have come a long way with the Midsomer Murders, though,” he said. “I admit, I find it hard to believe that Midsomer even has one resident left. It’s a tiny village, and every week, without fail, someone is murdered!” The Reverend chortled heartily.

  “You’re too funny,” I said, truthfully.

  “Still, it would have been nice if you guys had have joined Hinrika and me for the show,” he said, not looking up from his botanical work.

  “Excuse me, Rev?” I said, already feeling the hot weight of shame plunge in a downward motion through my body.

  “Surely, it must have been drafty, and, well, quite frankly, boring up in the Belltower?”

  “Y-y-you knew?” I stammered, channeling Fraidy.

  “My dear, Saint Pendragon’s sits atop one of the most powerful and dangerous collections of magical artifacts in the world. His protection charms are strong, and, as guardian of this church and of its Avalon Vaults, I have had in excess of twenty years training on how to detect and handle intrusions.” The Reverend reached across the foliage and placed a warm hand on mine.

  “I-I don’t know what to say, Thaddeus,” my eyes dropped to my feet.

  “Ah, my dear, I knew your intentions were good. Or else I’d have cut short your first visit when you were in the first of the vaults.” Peacefield kept snipping at the stalks before him. “I hope your kittie was okay after being flung from the trap door? I must get those hinges seen to; they surely must contain some kind of deterrent magic.” The reverend’s smile sparkled. I burst out laughing.