Murder, Magic, and Moggies

by Pearl Goodfellow

  “You know, it was your grandmother who actually taught us Ogham,” Cressida said, with a somewhat glazed expression. “Nebula wasn’t so sure about learning it. I mean, no one on the Mainland even uses it anymore so why learn a dead language, right? But, but, but, but…”

  Each 'but' seemed to dim her enthusiasm a little. Then taking a breath, Cressida finished with, “But, I sold her on it by saying that if we ever needed to pass a message between us that was just for us, Ogham would be a good choice.”

  A frown tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I never forgot it. But I wonder if Nebula did.”

  I glanced at David. He nodded at me.

  “So, how did you know my grandmother?” I asked, taking a seat across from her. David stood in the corner while Onyx quietly laid down under the table itself.

  Cressida licked her lips before saying, “We did a few odd jobs for her at the Angel Apothecary to earn some money.”

  “Grandma Chimera raised me,” I said carefully. “I don’t remember either of you being around the shop.”

  Another quick smile came on Cressida’s face. “I think this was before you came to live with her, dear. I have absolutely no doubt that I would have remembered a pretty little girl like you, no matter how bad my head gets.”

  The smile dropped away, to be replaced by a confused grimace. Shaking her head, she continued with, “Your Grandma Chimera…she taught us all about herbs. Nebula did most of the asking, but I listened just as close as she did. We found out how Rosehips were a really good source of Vitamin C, and that you could harvest them from around the edges of the old pond, you know where the ice cream parlor now stands right at the end of main? We found out how basil tasted amazing on pasta, but also of its anti-inflammatory and mood lifting properties. We learned so much. So much…so, so much.”

  On a hunch that it was an important question, I asked, “Was there anything Nebula ever paid close attention to when Grandma was talking about the herbs?”

  “Oh, yes,” Cressida said, pulling her head back head in the manner of a too-serious-for-her-own-good little girl. “When your grandma talked about stuff that would keep you from aging—like frankincense and Wraithsgourd—Nebula was glued to the spot. It was the only time that my sister’d be asking for more details on the stuff. And, the only time I remember her actually writing down what she learned.”

  “Why was that?” I asked, leaning in with interest.

  Cressida’s head shook a little, and her breathing got a bit ragged. While it could have been just a natural tic, I had the suspicion that Onyx’s magic was doing its number on her. Finally, after a few seconds of this twitching, she said, “Somehow—and I don’t know how—Nebula came upon some photos of Rita Hayworth. Before and after pictures.”

  “Before and after what?” David asked from his corner.

  I impatiently held up my hand and glared at him. The last thing we needed was him interrupting the confused woman's flow.

  “The first one showed her on a bed, all red hair and lingerie with that coquettish smile on her face,” Cressida explained. “Something Stephen King wrote about another picture of her, what was it? Yeah…‘woman in heat.' That was this photo too.”

  “And the other one?” I asked gently.

  Cressida swallowed. “Not so nice. It was taken years after her silver screen days; when she was old and alone.”

  She looked at me with a look of heartbreaking pity stamped across her ragged features. “She went mad, you know? Not ‘Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?’ crazy, but worse. Much, much worse. She didn’t have a sister to torment or much of anyone else. She had that husband, Orson Welles, for a while, but ... So…so, so, so she started hurting herself and finally she died. Ugly, old, alone and scared. Even I remember how ghostly and empty her eyes looked in that second photo.”

  Cressida looked down, tears starting at the edge of her own eyes. “That’s all Nebula could think of. How old and ugly Rita Hayworth was when she finally died. She told me right then and there that she would never be that ugly, no matter what it took.”

  “I’m sorry, Cressida,” I said, sliding my hand over to hers.

  Cressida gave me a wan smile as she grasped my hand. “It’s okay, Hattie. I’ve…I’ve not really had anyone I could talk to about this stuff in a long time. I mean, the doctors hear me but…it’s like they stopped listening a long time ago, you know?”

  “Well, can you tell me how you felt about those photos you were just telling me about?” I asked, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “How did they make you feel?”

  The confusion came back on her face, but the grip on my hand was just as tight as ever. “It’s, it’s, it’s…it’s all a bit jumbled in my head. Sometimes, I can see some things from…before clearly. But most of the time…it’s like it’s wrapped up in cotton, and I can’t see it, though I can feel it.”

  Her eyes suddenly got wide. “Something I remember…about Avery Flute. Do you know Avery?” she enquired.

  My own eyes got wide. I nodded in the affirmative “What do you remember about him?”

  “Well, Avery, he knew about Ogham too,” Cressida explained. “I was the one who taught him. Nebula couldn’t be bothered…she was just too busy planning her ‘Great Escape to the Mainland’ she always called it. But thanks to me, Avery was able to pass love letters back and forth between himself and Nebula, the kind no one but them could read.”

  “And you,” I pointed out.

  “And me,” Cressida agreed. “Maybe that, that, that, that…that was why…I got so jealous of what they had. They were living the fairytale life of love and cherished commitment, and I was just on the sidelines, wondering why I’d been left out. So…” Her eyes were glassy; evidently reliving some true love scene from the distant past.

  Cressida looked as though she was fighting to keep her words in, but Onyx’s presence was not to be denied. “So I…I wrote a letter asking to meet Avery somewhere private. He and Nebula had been there before, a little out-of-the-way hut where we could…get acquainted in peace. Do you know the little abandoned cabin down by the Sugar Dunes? I think the kids call it the Sweetie Lodge?”

  I nodded again and read between the lines. “You mean you fooled Avery into thinking he was meeting Nebula?”

  “Of course,” Cressida said, looking at me as though I’d ask if she needed food to quiet the hunger in her stomach. “I was her twin, and I knew her schedule enough to know that she wouldn’t be anywhere near us when…when we met.”

  “So, you spent the night together at the abandoned cabin in the dunes,” I said, not a question. I had to admit that, sucker that I am for doomed romances, Cressida’s story was getting to me. I was also wondering who actually owned that cabin. I knew that someone was staying there right now; I'd overheard a conversation in the library that there was a tall stranger from another shore occupying the run down dwelling.

  “Yeah, we did,” Cressida said. “The thing is…the thing is Nebula caught us. Red handed. I still don’t know how. Probably isn’t important, but she caught us. After that, she and Avery broke up. But…”

  The tears were starting to finally flow down her cheeks. “But he couldn’t forgive me for lying to him. So I didn’t get him either. Nebula never forgave me for that…ever. I doubt she ever will.”

  Especially now that she’s dead. I said nothing.

  “All that wasted love…I think it’s what gave me the notion of wanting ... wanting to be Nebula,” Cressida said. “I mean, if…if I’d actually been Nebula, Avery would still have loved me, right? And, if were my sister, then there is no way I would have brushed Avery off so readily as she did. So maybe if I could be Nebula…”

  She broke contact with my hand to rub the tears from her eyes. “Only…something went wrong. I know that it took me years and years to prepare for what I tried to do. But, but, but, but…all that planning just went…wrong.”

  That wasn’t really a surprise, given the scrapbook Portia Fearwyn had handed us. Syncretic rit
uals can work out if the proper correspondences and energies are tapped and channeled correctly. But, combining multiple traditions in any kind of magic application can be as dangerous as the wrong mixture of herbs. Call upon the bad energy, push it in the wrong direction and/or offend the wrong god and the whole thing can turn as toxic as a Mainland nuclear waste site.

  “Is that why you keep leaving Midnight Hill? So you can practice and carry out the ritual?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Cressida said, leaning back in her seat. “Yeah, I know I did wrong. I know I did wrong by my sister, by myself. So, every once in awhile, I just, just, just, just…I just go out to see if I can make it right. The doctors never like that. They tell me every time I come back that there is…nothing I can do to make it right. They’re always so upset when I’m gone. The other patients aren’t, though.”

  “Why is that?” David asked.

  Cressida gave David a nervous eye and stammered, “They-they-they just don’t understand. When Nebula’s on-on-on the telly, I have to see her. When there’s memorabilia to be-be-be gotten, I have to get it. I-I-I love my sister…still. Even if she doesn’t love me, I love her. Nobody understands that I could live her life and I could live it right. If I just had the skills and the freedom to do so ...”

  She sighed, looking down. “I just wanted to show everyone. To show them that I could be Nebula, and that happy endings are possible. But now…now I’ll never get that chance.”

  David swallowed hard, no doubt anticipating another screaming fit on the horizon.

  “Please, Officer, you can relax,” Cressida said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t want, want, want, want…want to think that what you told me was true. But…Nebula really is dead, isn’t she?”

  “I saw her with my own eyes, Cressida,” I said sadly. “I am so sorry.”

  Cressida closed her eyes, the tears coming out like a fountain stream.

  David came away from his corner and began to ask, “Did you ki—“

  His mouth clamped down at the word. Clearing his throat, he tried again with, “Did you harm your sister in any way?”

  “No! Never!” Cressida screamed with outrage. “I only wanted that scroll that I had had the first time I tried the Soul Snatcher charm. I knew that it was my only chance at success. I just, I just, I just, I just…”

  I got up from my seat and held her close. Below, I could see Onyx rubbing her legs and giving her reassuring purrs.

  “But…but it can’t bring her back, can it?” Cressida asked as we rocked together. “I wanted it to…but it couldn’t. And I know that I can’t be her. She was perfect…still…always. I’m not…not perfect…never will be perfect, never can be perfect.”

  She kept talking like that for a while. I stayed with her, waiting for her distress to fade away. David walked out of the room, looking absolutely furious at himself for having caused what he was walking away from.

  Chapter 12

  Onyx and I left the interrogation room about an hour later. David’s expression was still pretty glum. Mine was downright livid.

  “You knew she didn’t have anything to do with this,” I said, accusation behind my tone.

  David’s eyes flashed a little anger my way. “If you're asking did I know she didn't kill her sister, then, yes. But, I wanted to see if she'd offer up some more valuable information about other suspects. I'm an officer of the law, Hattie. I have to scrape information from where I can. Even if it's painful for the person offering it.”

  “An officer who has had to rely on a civilian to do most of the legwork for this case,” Onyx pointed out. “I daresay that Hattie has earned herself a say in your methods.”

  “When you left the room, Cressida started talking to me a bit more,” I said. “She told me about getting up to the Spires on foot yesterday. She spoke with the golem, passing herself off as Nebula. The golem asked her if something was wrong, probably because of how much more aged Cressida is than Nebula—”

  “But she was able to talk her way around it,” David added, continuing the narrative. “She grabbed the scroll from the library and fled with it.”

  I gave him a look to tell him that I knew there was more.

  “Yeah, we’ve got evidence to back up what Cressida told you,” David said wearily. “Maude’s autopsy puts Nebula’s time of death as being three hours before you showed up. Add in the golem’s eyewitness account of someone claiming to be Nebula showing up when Nebula herself was at rehearsals until late in the evening, and Cressida never was a serious suspect.”

  “But you still put her through all that,” I said, not willing to let it go. “And for what?”

  “I told you … information,” David said in exasperation. “Anything, really. We’ve yet to get any solid leads that point us to a prime suspect and Cressida was Nebula’s only living relative. I thought maybe that…”

  David didn’t finish his sentence, just sighed as he rubbed his face.

  “Well, that still leaves the Khepri amulet unaccounted for,” I pointed out.

  “Indeed it does,” a familiar voice suddenly said from nowhere.

  Rabbi Issac Goldsmith suddenly stood between us as he added, “Therefore, I would like to offer my able assistance in its recovery.”

  David didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the rabbi’s arm and slapped cuffs on him within the space of a few seconds.

  “Really, Chief Para Inspector?” Goldsmith asked, unperturbed. “Is this necessary?”

  “You’re a suspect in the murder of a prominent citizen of the Isle of Glessie,” David said. “What did you think was going to happen when you suddenly appeared in my station house?”

  “He’s here for the golem, David,” I said, holding up a hand. “He’s the one who actually made her.”

  “Is that the same golem who endured abuse night and day from Nebula Dreddock until her death?” David asked, unconvinced. “Sounds like a good motive for killing the golem's owner to me.” He was clutching at straws right now. I wondered just how tired he really was.

  “I take the commandment of ‘thou shalt not kill’ quite seriously, sir,” Goldsmith said, his calm demeanor not cracking whatsoever. “What possible profit would it have been for my creation if I had struck Nebula Dreddock down?”

  “As soon as I get that poor woman in my interrogation room back to her cell,” David said. “You and I are going to have a chat in there.”

  “I shall gladly tell what you wish to know. But first, there is a matter of the missing amulet and the thief that took it.”

  “Venetia,” I said. “His house had all sorts of Egyptian artifacts hanging in it. I just wrote it off as Nebula’s tacky interior design at the time. But now…”

  “Yes,” the rabbi sighed, glad to hear the voice of reason. “Now, Mr. Venetia is attempting to flee your jurisdiction for the relative safety of Nanker Isle with at least one of those artifacts in tow. He’s already booked a ticket on the afternoon ferry, which shall leave promptly at one.”

  “Sergeant Lawson!” David called out.

  The sergeant came back in a hurry. “Sir?”

  “Put this man in a cell,” David said, handing off Goldsmith to his officer. “Also, get some of the lads to watch the docks —Hattie has the file on Venetia — and make sure he doesn’t board the ferry to Nanker. Or to anywhere. Send some boys out to Venetia’s address that Ms. Jenkins will provide you too.”

  “You’ll be looking for this man,” I said, pulling Venetia’s file out of my basket.

  Lawson blinked in confusion over my having the file in the first place.

  “Well, are you going to gawk, man, or are you going to follow orders?” David asked with uncharacteristic harshness.

  “Sir,” the sergeant acknowledged. “If you’ll follow me, miss…”

  Vincent Venetia was brought into custody in less than two hours. He’d spotted the constables outside his house and tried to bolt for the docks. One mud trap charm later, they got him in a squeeze play that dirtied up the fine Armani sui
t that he was sporting. Even though David didn’t tell me one way or another, I suspected that the constables had dragged him through some more dirt and mud to make those clothes dirtier. He was hauling several artifacts from the house, including the as-yet-seen Khepri necklace.

  David had wanted to question Isaac, but the urgent need to stop Venetia had superseded that for the time being. Now, with both of them in custody, he decided the time had come to squeeze his most recent catch.

  “Watch him from the glass,” David said as he walked towards the interrogation room with the Witch Fearwyn’s scrapbook under his arm.

  Onyx and I looked in on our charming con man, who was looking less than pleased to be back in custody. Onyx, in reverence to the Lemniscate code, would not perform another truth-hack. He could only use it once per whatever scenario he was trying to extract the truth from. He looked on, in between washing his paws and face. David couldn't have known that, but I was still feeling a little frustrated that we didn't use Onyx for the Italian rake behind the glass now.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Venetia?” David asked after closing the door.

  “I want a lawyer,” Venetia replied with a smirk stretching across his nauseatingly handsome face.

  “I want a day my job no longer becomes necessary,” David said back. “Guess we’re both going to be disappointed, eh?”

  Slamming the book down in front of Venetia, he turned the pages until he got to the one showing the amulet. Jabbing a finger at the page, David snapped, “What were you doing with a piece that was last seen at Nebula Dreddock’s house?”

  “What does anyone do with priceless artifacts?” Venetia asked with a shrug. “I was going to sell it off.”

  “After you killed its rightful owner, you mean,” David said.

  “Porca vacca, are all you policemen so stupid?!” Venetia exploded. “I swindle old women out of their valuables, not put them in the ground that is just around the corner for them anyway. And, really, inspector, if your face looked like mine, would you do anything. Anything whatsoever to risk putting looks this good behind bars? No! No, you would not!” Venetia’s delusion was so completely sincere that the mere hint that he would risk his good looks being locked away from sight was an absolute affront to him. His face was crimson with indignant rage. David, much to his credit, remained nonplussed.