Three Charms for Murder (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 5)

by Honor Raconteur

  I was never sure whether to shake hands with another woman, or curtsy, or what. Julia didn’t give me time to question as she grasped both my hands and smiled at me warmly. “A great pleasure to meet you, Detective. I’ve heard much about you. Come meet my husband, Graem.”

  Graem was ruddy in the cheeks as if he’d imbibed too much alcohol in his life, with the beer belly to match. He lumbered to his feet, not at all graceful, but with a wide smile. “So glad you could join us this evening. The children are running a little late, but they’ll be with us in a moment. I say, Ronte, excellent of you to bring the portrait now. I was about to ask for it.”

  Julia went to it immediately. I noticed they’d pulled an art easel out from somewhere so they could put the portrait on it for display. Ronte, the butler, carefully did so before stepping back.

  Bending at the waist, Julia looked the painting over carefully. “I don’t see any damage.”

  “No, none,” Henri assured her. “I examined it carefully myself to make sure.”

  “Well, I am relieved. And this will be the last time I commission a smaller portrait. I’m sure the thief stole this because it was portable enough to run off with.”

  She likely wasn’t wrong. It was just the right size to tuck under an arm and carry about.

  “Julia said you’d found it at the Open Market?” Graem inquired of Henri. “Do sit, tell me the full story.”

  We sat and proceeded with our retelling, which was interrupted by the Cromwell children arriving from upstairs and joining us. Elise, of course, was the subject of the portrait and obviously glad to have it back. Zebediah, looking much like his mother, if a taller version, peppered me with questions about police work. Which was an odd thing for a twenty-something-year-old to do, but I finally figured out he’d never seen a female detective before and was genuinely curious. Not malicious, just fascinated with the idea of women working cases.

  In between fielding his questions, more people arrived. Neighbors, and Elise’s suitor, and an aunt who lived nearby…that’s when it dawned on me this was a dinner party. I had assumed four people or so. Oh, boy, was I wrong. Glancing at Henri, I saw the resignation on his face and gave him a sympathetic smile. No wonder he’d been ambivalent about coming here this evening. Parties weren’t really his scene.

  I waggled my eyebrows at him. It was fine. I could handle this. He stared back, perplexed. But he’d see in a minute.

  Ronte announced dinner, and we moved to the opulent dining room. Our hostess directed where people should sit, and we arranged ourselves accordingly. A thin soup was served, which tasted like cool cucumbers and mint, rather lovely.

  The aunt piped up as she dipped her spoon in the soup, “But how was the portrait recovered again?”

  I fielded that question with a smile. “Oh, that’s quite the story. Henri and I were at the Open Market, you see—”

  Of course people started asking about why we were in Deems to begin with, which led to the Atwood murders, which led to how deplorable the Deems PD had handled both murders and burglaries, and really, what were they even doing? I kept them talking, with Henri only participating here and there as he liked. Naturally, he caught what I was doing, his smile at me both thankful and amused.

  I knew very well he’d grown up in this environment, that he was used to such dinner parties. But just because you grow used to something doesn’t mean you enjoy it. And he was already stressed out enough as it was. Already grieving. He didn’t need more on top of all that. I could buy the space for him to sit, eat his soup, and not have to participate in a conversation that was already repeating itself.

  After dessert, Julia put her hands together in a sharp clap. “Everyone, I’m too happy to sit still for much longer. How about a few rounds of dancing? Graem will play for us, won’t you?”

  I blinked at her. Graem played an instrument? Really? He did not look like the sort.

  I was proven wrong rather quickly as he immediately nodded.

  “Excellent. To the ballroom!”

  Oh, boy. Um, was this okay? I knew maybe three dance styles here in this world. Two were similar to a waltz, and one was something you’d only do at a dance club.

  Henri took my arm and slid it into his elbow as he whispered, “Just follow my lead.”

  Follow his lead…how? Did he have a good way of getting out of this? I was okay with sitting around looking decorative and breathing. Really, no hardship after the past few days of running around.

  The ballroom wasn’t as massive as I feared, although it still had a good size to it. An instrument with a black, shiny exterior sat in the corner of the room. It looked rather like a harpsicord but with a longer body.

  Graem sat at the bench like he’d been born in that exact position, gave the keys a quick warm up, and started in on something brisk and lively, a merry little tune. Well, color me purple. The man could play, and play well.

  People quickly formed up partners, and to my surprise, I was one of them. Henri took my hand and twirled me into position so expertly I gaped at him. And then he moved us in a gentle, swaying spin, joining the rest of the dancers in a smooth glide.

  “Henri,”—I looked around us as if doubting all my senses—“you dance?”

  “Of course I do,” he answered, amused by my expression.

  I was sure that at the moment, it was a good one. I felt rather gob-smacked. “No, seriously, you dance? Since when do you dance?!”

  “It’s one of those social activities I grew up doing.” He gave a slight shrug, as if this was not the big deal I made it out to be. “It’s a pleasant enough pastime. I certainly prefer it over the endless small talk and rounds of cards some people prefer.”

  “So, are you saying you like to dance?”

  “It’s nice, with the right partner.”

  Ladies, gentlefolk, ferals, and domesticated cryptids, we have our answer. I had been wondering for the past year how to get Henri more active, to figure out what he would be willing to do, and failed utterly. The trick was to find something he didn’t consider exercise. Why this had not dawned on me before, I did not know.

  Would I capitalize on it now that the epiphany was upon me? You bet your britches. “So…you’re saying you’ll take me dancing? On a regular basis?”

  “If you wish.” Another turn, perfectly executed. “I should have realized, I suppose, that you’d enjoy dancing. I just didn’t realize you were comfortable with this world’s dances.”

  “Only know three. Which is why I’m glad you’re so good at leading.”

  “Ah. I suppose Seaton taught you?”

  “Yup. Gibs, too.”

  “Well, I’ll teach you others as we go along. It’s wise for you to know the most popular ones, at least.” He said this as if only just realizing it. “Being a Kingsman consultant, we’ll likely handle more high society cases.”

  “Odds are good,” I agreed. I kept the evil cackle down in my core, not allowing it to escape.

  Another song started up and we transitioned into a slower, more sedate dance. This was something between a waltz and a slow dance, and somehow the music changed the tone. I swayed in time with him, closer now than we had been before, our cheeks nearly brushing. His hand around my waist pressed steady and comforting, and I could smell the slight spice of his cologne. It was another of those moments where I became abruptly aware of him. Aware of how attractive he was.

  Frustration battled in me, too, and impatience. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t seem to find the right moment. And it might be an odd place and time to try and clear the air, but I was always in the middle of an investigation, it seemed. The perfect timing hadn’t fallen into my lap yet. I was sick of waiting on it to do so.

  I sucked in a deep breath—for courage, or maybe to settle those butterflies duking it out in my stomach. Then I drew back enough to look Henri in the eye, those pretty dark eyes of his that saw so much. “Henri. Answer me truthfully. Do you want to try?”

  He didn’t pretend to misunder
stand. His mind must have thought along the same lines, as he cottoned on to my meaning immediately. “Not here. Let’s go to the balcony.”

  Fair enough. I didn’t want to discuss it with people dancing around us either. He twirled us to the edge of the room in three sweeping spins—which was fun—and then stopped long enough to open the balcony doors and slide through. He kept hold of my hand as we slipped outside and I closed the door behind us.

  It was cooler out here, night air sweeping past me in lazy circles, but it wasn’t really cold. I was willing to stay out here for a few minutes and sort this out.

  Henri turned, his hand still in mine and a lopsided tilt to his mouth. “You ever surprise me, my dear. You choose now to ask me?”

  “We’ve been dancing around this for a while,” I pointed out. “At least, I feel we have.”

  “Indeed, we have.” Henri drew in a breath, and I recognized that breath as one similar to the one I’d taken earlier. “We’ve spent so much time together. I know your tastes, your likes and dislikes. I know you ache for home and yet you focus on those you can help. I’ve seen you utterly disarmed by your own body and still rise. I’ve entrusted my safety to you and watched you do the same to me. I know you as a partner, as a colleague, as a friend. I very much would like to know you as a lover. May we court, Jamie Edwards?”

  “I would love to. I can’t imagine anything I would like better.” Those words were so perfectly what I felt, all that I felt. My eyes burned, heart aching with a sweet pang. Was it any wonder I had to kiss him?

  Henri reached for me as I reached for him, our mouths finding each other in a sweet, lingering kiss. A small part of me wondered at it, even as I learned the taste of his mouth. Was this really happening?

  Then he changed angles, his hand coming up to cup my cheek in a tender gesture, and I melted a little further. Kissing Henri Davenforth was a distinct pleasure I could happily indulge in. And I did, my arms around his shoulders, teasing at his nape with idle fingers.

  He pulled back enough to rest his forehead against mine. We were so similar in height this was easy to do, and I smiled as I let my head rest against his. “Thank you,” he murmured in soft tones. “I’ve wanted to ask you, but I could never seem to find the right timing.”

  “I gave up on the right timing,” I admitted cheerfully. “And how long have you been thinking about it?”

  “Since…” He paused, and I could tell he actually had to think about it. “I think I was aware of my heart for a while. But it wasn’t until our investigation into the Burtchell murder that I realized. Seeing Belladonna’s notes sparked the thought in me that there was a very real possibility we’d never have met without that woman’s madness. And it was a terrifying thought. For you?”

  “It was around there. Gibson realized it and kept poking me, and I wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. And was a little worried about trying to go from friends to lovers. I’m ecstatic, frankly, that you’re on the same page.”

  Henri lifted his head to look at me with a softness in his expression I always loved to see. “Even though we’re partners, I intend to court you properly.”

  “Of course you do.” I wasn’t even surprised. Henri was very much the type to do things by the book.

  “With you,” he murmured, leaning back in for a kiss, “I will take no chances.”

  We returned to the hotel much later than I anticipated. Mostly because the Cromwells wouldn’t let go of us. They were far too excited in general. When we finally did get back, I indulged in a long kiss goodnight with Henri before finally taking myself to bed.

  Or I tried, anyway.

  It’s funny how even as an adult, getting a boyfriend was still exciting. I think the heart never really became immune to the thrill of it all. Henri hadn’t wanted to let go of me either—I’d seen his reluctance. And if not for the fact we had a case to still investigate, I don’t think either of us would have been able to convince the other that we needed sleep.

  I slipped into comfy PJs, then pondered the problem of my bed. All three cats sprawled on it, and as much of a bed hog as Clint was? Try having three of them. I had to roll and flip two of them to buy myself half the bed and counted myself lucky I managed it. Once under the covers, though, I found myself too antsy to sit still. My body was tired, but my brain was wired, sort of situation.

  Grabbing the pad, I wrote out a quick message to Ellie, Penny, Regina, and Colette. Collette was probably asleep, but Ellie kept mad hours while working on a project. Regina, who knew? Queens were sometimes up at all hours. I gave it good odds she was still burning that midnight oil.

  Since I was totally the type to kiss and tell, I started there: I kissed Henri tonight.

  No answer. Ah, well, I suppose I really should try to sleep anyway—oh wait. Here we go, Ellie was up.

  Ellie: Are you serious or joking?

  Serious.

  To my surprise, Colette joined in. Wait, you are serious?! How did Henri respond?

  Kissed me back. Ladies, we are now officially dating.

  Ellie: ?!?!??!?!

  Penny: About time!

  Regina: You should have done this earlier!

  You know, that’s sort of how I feel about it.

  Ellie: I’ve always wondered, is Henri a good kisser?

  He is.

  Colette: He is.

  Penny: Wait a minute, Colette, how the frack would you know?

  Colette: Now, how do you think I know?

  Regina: Wait, you kissed him too?

  They tried kissing once, I reported, amused at this turn in the conversation. Swore they’d never do it again.

  Colette: Too much like kissing a brother. But I’m glad for you, Jamie. He’s clearly gone on you, has been for a while. I’m not sure what the holdup was.

  Says he couldn’t find the right timing.

  Ellie: Ahhh. I can see that.

  Regina: I can too. You’re hard to keep up with.

  It is not my fault people keep murdering each other. Anyway, we should all be sleeping. I just wanted to share the news.

  Ellie: Tell us all the details later!

  Colette: Yes, I want to hear them.

  Penny: ALLLL the details.

  Regina: Girls’ Night?

  Girls’ Night, I agreed.

  I put the pad down, satisfied. Alright, now I felt like I could sleep.

  I was sound asleep, dreaming of dancing with a certain beautiful woman, when I heard a loud knock at my door. Groaning, I rolled out of bed, my eyes not even properly open enough to tell the time. It was dark outside my window. Oh dear. No one woke anyone up at this deities’ forsaken hour to spread good news.

  Cramming my arms into a robe, I tied it hastily shut even as I hurried toward the door. “A moment.” I pulled it open and stared at the hotel manager, who was also mussed from sleep and wearing a robe. “What is it?”

  “Doctor, I’ve got the fire chief downstairs in the lobby,” he relayed rapidly, the words nearly tripping over themselves. “The Atwood residence is on fire.”

  I swore. “Go wake RM Seaton immediately.”

  With a nod, he spun on his heel and raced to the other end of the hotel. I darted across the hallway and didn’t even bother to knock. If Jamie hadn’t heard the knocking on my own door and responded, then she was very much dead to the world and wouldn’t be stirred easily. Sure enough, she was still heavily asleep, an arm curled around Clint, her foot dangling out from under the covers. Clint’s head came up, his golden eyes shining in the dimness of the room.

  I reached past him for her shoulder, shaking her urgently awake. “Jamie. Dearest, wake up!”

  She groaned, head rolling on the pillow, and grumbled in a slurred manner, “Something had better be on fire.”

  “Unfortunately, it is. The Atwood residence.”

  The cop in her went from dead asleep to abruptly awake in less than a second. She popped up onto her elbow, eyes blinking rapidly as she flitted from dreamland to the waking world. “W
ait, did you say the Atwood house is burning?”

  “Yes. The fire chief is downstairs to talk to us.”

  She bit out several choice words, throwing back the covers. Assured she was awake and moving, I darted back out, heading for the lobby. I needed information first, clothes second. A light patter of paws on carpet followed me and I looked down to find Phil running at my heels. Somehow, I failed to be surprised.

  The fire chief was a stout looking half-dwarf with a red beard down to his chest, and he too looked as if he’d been yanked from a sound sleep and dressed in a hurry. His buttons weren’t aligned properly. He saw me speed walking towards him and turned, eyes sharp below his thick brows. “You part of the investigation team?”

  “Yes. I’m Henri Davenforth, Magical Examiner with the Kingston PD.” I stopped for a second to catch my breath. “The Atwood residence has burned? How badly?”

  “Still putting out part of the fire,” he answered. “We got the bulk of it down. We’re laying suppressive fire over a stubborn spot. I suspect a lot of accelerant was used there. I came to talk to you once we had it under control. This just became an arson investigation as well as a criminal investigation.”

  I groaned. That hadn’t struck me as I was rushing about, my mind still struggling to come fully alert, but he was correct—this just became even more complex.

  I heard her before I saw her, as Jamie’s run was distinctive to my ears. Turning, I waited for her to descend the stairs two at a time and then cross to us as if the distance meant nothing.

  “Jamie, the fire’s mostly subdued now,” I reported. “Chief, this is my partner, Detective Edwards.”

  Jamie held out a hand to shake with him. She’d pulled on pants and shirt in place of her pajamas, but nothing else. I was selfishly relieved another man didn’t see her in a worse state of dishabille. Clothed was far better. “Chief.”

  “Detective.” He returned the handshake. “Jacint McCoy, pleasure. Just told your partner this is now a joint investigation, as it’s become an arson case too. I can’t say officially until I get in there and poke around, but I’ll swear this fire wasn’t accidental. Made the mistake when first on scene to try water. Turns out it was a Class B fire. We made it worse before we realized the mistake.”