Murder, Magic, and Moggies

by Pearl Goodfellow

  Dogs were an entirely different animal, however. I looked down at Remy’s shaggy head and tried to look in the general vicinity of where his eyes might be under all that hair.

  “Remy? Sit.” I kept my tone firm and even, and with probably a little more bass than tiny little Amber could muster. Remy obliged and sat promptly… on my foot. His tongue lolled lazily from the side of his mouth.

  “He’s probably just mad at me because the last time he saw me, I took him to Violet’s to get a bath,” Amber suggested, attempting to smile.

  I chuckled. “I wouldn’t doubt it. I’m sure he’ll get over it, though. And it’s very sweet of you to take him in,” I praised.

  Amber’s eyes popped wide. “Chief didn’t tell you?”

  I narrowed my gaze. “Tell me what?”

  “That besides your prophetic little dream, Hattie, Remulus may be our only witness in this case. He may be able to identify the killer.” Chief Trew interjected as he strode back into the room.

  Over our shoulder, Amber exploded in a sudden fit of coughing. She had taken a bite of the collard greens that had been waiting patiently on her lunch plate. Obviously, they had quite disagreeably gone done the wrong pipe. Her face tinged a dangerous purple.

  I scrambled to offer her a glass of water. She quickly grabbed the glass and took several grateful sips.

  “Oh, my goodness gracious, Hattie! Thank you so much. I don’t know what happened!”

  “I’m just glad you’re alright. You should slow down, though. Chew your food.” I turned back toward Chief Trew. “Now, what’s going on with Remy? It almost sounded like you were about to suggest I…”

  “Babysit him until this case is over,” Chief Trew kindly completed the thought. Though, I’m not sure “kindly” is a word I would have chosen.

  “What?!?” I exclaim.

  “Amber can’t take him,” the Chief continued. “She lives in that shoebox of an apartment over Gabrielle’s bakery.”

  Had I been a little less flustered, I might have smiled at the mention of Nebula Dreddock’s former golem. After the Dreddock investigation, Gabrille had been freed, had claimed her true name, and now operated a very successful bakery; Celestial Cakes, on Main Street.

  “And, besides,” the Chief continued looking at the dog in question, who was, in turn, looking lovingly and longingly up at me. “It seems he’s really taken a shine to you, Hat.”

  “I can’t take him! Did it slip your mind that I room with not one, but eight cats? Bringing a dog the size of a small horse into the house will not go over well. Can you imagine how bad it will be when Gloom gets hold of him?” I instinctively reached down to pet the poor dog’s head, as soon as I thought of my one female cat dishing out all kinds of unfair punishment to the mangy mutt.

  As if to add insult to injury, Remulus suddenly initiated a slobber-filled, fur-flying shake. A fat, wet glob of moisture landed on my face. A drifting fluff-tuft landed, sticking to the still-warm spittle.

  Chief Trew stifled a chuckle. “Come on, Hattie. Do me this favor. For old times’ sake?”

  One of these days, I swear, the good Chief’s marker was going to run out. I didn’t care how cute he was.

  “Fine. But, just for a day or two! Then I’m calling the folks at Mutley Crew. They can find him a home.” I just hoped the cats wouldn’t put me out on the stoop in the meantime.

  “Speaking of Mutley Crew,” the Chief began. “Amber, do you know what announcement your Aunt was going to make at the gala? Violet Mulberry indicated she was scheduled to reveal some big news.”

  “I can’t say that I do, Chief. Aunt Spithilda didn’t share a whole lot. Except with Alban Dewdrop.”

  “Alban Dewdrop?” The Chief cocked his head at the mention of the unfamiliar name. “Who’s Alban Dewdrop?”

  Amber chewed another bite of the greens and swallowed. “Alban Dewdrop is the Chair of Mutley Crew. He sends out the monthly newsletters from the organization. You know, to let the supporters know what events are coming up for the charity and how contributions are benefitting the abandoned witch dogs throughout the Isles. Aunt Spithilda was the organization’s largest benefactor, and so I believe she was kept abreast of the charity’s every move.”

  Chief grabbed his trusty notepad and pen. Hopefully, this new information could shed some light on our investigation. Especially now since Rad had flown the coop.

  “Did Spithilda know Mr. Dewdrop personally?” Chief Trew asked.

  Amber shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think they mostly communicated by email. As far as I know, they never met face to face.”

  “Okay,” Chief Trew said. He flipped his book closed. “Amber, I want you to schedule a meeting for me with this Mr. Dewdrop. Call me as soon as it’s set. I need to track down Rad Silverback. I still have some unanswered questions for him. And, did we manage to crack the password on Spithilda’s laptop yet?”

  The inspector’s assistant shook her head in the negative. “Cyphers department are still on it, chief. Not looking good. There’s some seriously deep code that’s keeping any prying eyes far from glimpsing what’s in that computer.” Her shoulders slumped, as if she felt the weight of letting the Chief down. Again with the fiddling of the ugly pendant.

  “Ok, well let me know as soon as they crack it.” David looked less than hopeful as he added quietly: “Or, if they crack it.”

  “Sure thing, Chief!” Amber chirruped brightly. “I’ll get right on it. And, Chief? Thank you for everything you’re doing for Auntie Spithilda.”

  The Chief gave her a warm smile. “Of course, Amber. You’re family. We have to look out for each other.”

  Amber gave a sad little smile in reply and disappeared into the warren of cubicles to pursue the task the Chief had assigned her. Chief Trew left the precinct via the front door. I stood, deserted, in the middle of the bullpen holding a three-foot high, one hundred eighty pounds drooling mass of peppered black and gray fur.

  The humidity of Remy’s heavy panting had soaked the left leg of my pants. “Well, then, Remy. I guess it’s you, me and eight other crazies, pal.”

  He turned a shaggy head toward mine, and let out a nervous whimper.

  “So, ready for some fun?” I looked down at my new houseguest.

  “Wuff!” Remy barked.

  I sighed. “I know. You’re right. This is gonna be ‘wuff.'”

  I gathered up the slack in his leash and headed toward the outside evening with the monstrous hairy wolfhound in my hand and toward my humble abode and the waiting apocalypse of black fur.

  “Holy Himalayas! Look what the human dragged in!” Although, I could barely hear Jet’s exclamation of startled surprise over the crashing of breaking glass.

  I suppose it was foolish of me to hope for a peaceful integration of my new house guest with my eight furrily quirky roommates. As soon as the bell had jangled on The Angel Apothecary’s door, Remy slammed past me and galloped, full-tilt, toward Carbon, who, up until ten seconds previous, had been curled, moaning pitifully on the hearth. What on earth was troubling my little fire-starter, I wondered? I didn’t have much time to ponder Carbon’s ills, however.

  “Grrrr-rowf!” Remy leaped on my combustible kitty in a tumbling fit of good natured play. Carbon, for his part, exploded into a black burst of vertical thrust. In an expert reversion of gravity, he clung to the underside of Grammy Chimera’s old chandelier. The crystals tinkled together madly as the wildly swaying light cast shadowy specters the length and breadth of the shop.

  “Incipit Flamma!” Carbon yowled from his precipitous perch. A perfect ball of orange-yellow fire rolled end over end through the air and glanced off Remulus tail. A single spark caught a wiry strand of fur.

  “Yowp!” Remy cried, crashing headlong into a shelf populated by glass jars of cinquefoil, feverfew, and vervain, just to name a few.

  “Millie!” I cried out in alarm, both for poor Remulus whose dark eyes had widened to their whites and for my precious inventory which threatened
under Carbon’s little fireball fit.

  "No worries, Hattie! I got it!" Millie hopped to it with Jet’s water bottle and deftly extinguished the would-be blaze.

  “Not bad, Mil,” Jet quipped from a high step on the stairwell. “If Hattie ever cans you, you have a promising career at the Gless Inlet Volunteer Fire Department.”

  The catty retort earned him a fat, wet dose in the puss from Millie.

  I rushed to hook a finger under Remy’s collar and stroked the scruff under the poor dog’s neck. "Now, Remy, you can't go jumping on the cute kitties. I know you just want to play, but these guys just aren’t used to alpha dogs.

  Jet chuckled sarcastically. “Alpha? He’s more Zulu, I’d say.”

  Onyx slinked into the room, drawn by the ruckus. I'm sure he felt it rested on his furry shoulders to ensure I didn't decimate Granny Chimera's shop and destroy the Opal legacy.

  "I'm not certain bringing that furry oaf into our little shop was your wisest decision, Hattie," he gently admonished.

  I considered his words. Then I considered the last forty-eight hours I'd had. First, there was the bizarre prophetic dream. Then, I had been tricked into using magic by Shade. I had been forced to open Granny Chimera's old grimoire and craft a dangerous werewolf potion so Chief Trew, the would-be love of my life, didn't get his face chewed off by Rad Silverback. I'd been required to pay a less than congenial visit to Portia Fearwyn's Hall of Horrors. (I mean, what were those claw marks about?) And, now… this disaster.

  I looked around at the strewn contents of my inventory littered all over the floor. I decided to serve Onyx a piece of my mind. In fact, I served up the whole darned elderberry pie!

  "Our shop? Our shop? I'm pretty sure it's my shop since Grammy Chimera left it to me! And, while I appreciate your opinions, you know what opinions are like. Everybody's got one and nobody thinks theirs stinks. So, stick yours in your tuna can, Onyx. I can pretty much let anyone in my shop I darn well please. Besides, with Spithilda gone, Remy's all alone in this world, and Grammy Chimera taught me if someone needed your help, you give it...without reservation."

  “Speak for yourself, hun,” Gloom treaded softly into the room. She yawned apathetically. “Care to know why there aren’t more canine familiars in our magical little world?”

  “I suppose it won’t matter if I say ‘no,'” I groaned.

  Gloom leaped into Grandpa Opal’s old blue wingback. “Not a speck.”

  She started to groom herself with a disinterested paw. “You may recall a nasty bit of magical history known as the Salem Witch Trials.”

  Fraidy, who had disguised himself as a muff around Millie’s neck when all the hullabaloo started, shuddered. Millie was now sporting bright purple curls, by the way. And, just for clarification, it was not my creative toner that was responsible for her grapealicious do. The recent brush with bold color extremes had somehow unleashed Millie’s self-expressionism. This color was called Great Grape Ape. Probably from the Florid Lights range. To each his own, I guess.

  “The Salem, gulp, Witch Trials?" Fraidy shivered. "Who could ever forget? What do you think started the Wars in the first place?”

  The Burning Times was a sore topic of conversation for many magical folk. It was a dark period when the Unawakened perpetrated unspeakable acts of horror, against magic and non-magic folk alike. Ignorance was the most dangerous weapon ever placed in the hands of man. And, indeed, witch. Because didn’t we have our own brand of prejudices, blaming practices and suspicions, much like the Unawakened in those dark times?

  But, for as much evil that was effected on humans suspected of witchcraft in that era, the tragedy of the so-called “familiars” was as equally crushing.

  Gloom licked a paw and smoothed a ruffled hair like she was The Divine Sarah about to deliver a monolog from Zaïre. She daintily cleared her throat.

  “Druida Stone was telling me just the other day about a gruesome Massachusetts incident back in 1692. One poor pitiable pup got himself executed. Snuffed. Annihilated. Why? Because some cuckoo, little curly-haired thumb-sucker accused the dog of trying to bewitch her. I mean, come on. He was a dog. They still haven’t grasped the concept that they can’t catch their own tails, let alone master the artistry of witchcraft.” She sniggered looking at Remy in a focused stare. Good grief, her reign of terror has already started.

  "Rowf?" Remulus cocked a confused head sideways.

  “Aren’t you a regular cup of sunshine,” Eclipse observed as he glided into the room. Sometimes, I had half a mind to ask Eclipse to blank Gloom’s memory. This was one of those times. Maybe she wouldn’t remember what a pill she could be.

  “Anyway,” Gloom continued., ignoring Eclipse’s challenge. “The local padre declared the dog innocent afterward. He figured if the dog had really been the Devil in dog’s clothing, he wouldn’t have kicked the bucket. And, if that wasn’t enough to put you off pastrami sandwiches, another resident dog in Salem Village was suspected of involvement with the dark arts, and they dispatched that poor pooch tout de suite."

  Remy had ceased his dogged pursuit of my kitties and seemed nervously riveted to Gloom’s sinister saga. Gloom, for all her negative naysaying, was thriving under the sudden attention. Even if it was from a dog.

  “And, did you know,” Gloom elucidated further, her black, fuzzy tail twitching back and forth over the cushion of the chair, seemingly just to add more tension to the story. “Did you know they even used dogs to find witches?”

  Remy shook his furry head in disbelief.

  “’Fraid so, my flea-infested friend. Misguided townspeople fed them a special ‘witch cake.' But, trust me, it wasn’t butterscotch flavored. Silly, Unawakened thought it was ‘countermagic,'” Gloom scoffed. "Supposedly, the charmed sniffer dogs ferreted out each wicked witch. The 'special recipe' was supposed to cause great pain to the witch in question. If you ask me, that recipe woulda caused Anthony Bourdain 'great pain', and that man eats anything!"

  "Okay, that's enough!" I threw my hands up in exasperation. "No more scary stories! No more fighting! And no more Food Network!"

  I directed that last to Gloom who turned a fluffy derrière to my face and plopped unceremoniously on the counter.

  Millie swatted at her with one of the apothecary brochures. "Scooch, Gloom, you big pain!"

  Gloom scooted. The annoyed cat gave a half-turn. "I was only trying to be helpful." With Gloom, there was always a fine line between 'help' and 'annoy.' Sometimes the best magic trick was trying to figure out which was which!

  "You want to be helpful, Gloom? Go see if the old gray blanket has been washed. Remy's going to need a comfortable place to sleep."

  "Whoa, Hattie! Slow down! I'm all for peace, love, and shared living space, but come on! That cat's a, well...DOG!" Jet meowed plaintively from the wall shelf he’d jumped to.

  "Um, Boss Lady?” Shade slithered into the conversation out of nowhere. Typical.

  "What do you need, Shade? I'm a little busy here right now." Remulus squirmed in my grasp, tales of terror already forgotten. He was again more interested in tails of the feline persuasion.

  "Have you seen Midnight? I sort of need his advice on something."

  I looked up at the Tempus Fugit Westminster ticking placidly on the wall behind Millie.

  Tempus Fugit. Time is fleeting. Indeed it was. Just like the time we had left to get to the bottom of Spithilda’s murder.

  "Well, it's only eight-thirty. I doubt he's even vertical yet."

  "Oh, okay then," Shade mumbled. "Well, let a cat go on record as saying I am totally for letting our new pal, Remulus, cop a squat in our humble abode. Come one, come all, I always say." Shade yammered a little less smoothly than his savoir-faire self. And his tail didn’t swish. Instead it was stiff and erect behind him. He was hiding something.

  I narrowed a baleful green eye at him.

  "What are you up to, Shade? I’ve already ix-nayed having any more overnight guests of the feminine variety. Old Lady Bristlethwaite called Ch
ief Trew out the last time! And, don't think Midnight's going to help you sneak anybody in," I warned.

  Shade gave a downward glance and four-toed the floor, but remained uncharacteristically silent.

  Jet couldn't help himself. "Come on! Whatsamatter, Shade? Cat got your tongue?" He howled with uncontrolled abandon. So much so, in fact, he rolled off his shelf perch and into a bowl of Seaside Morning.

  Colored bits of potpourri clung to his fur. I stifled a snigger as he stepped, then shook a paw and stepped, then shook a paw, all in a vain attempt to rid himself of the invasively clinging scented bits.

  "Mmmm," Gloom sniffed the air as he walked past. "You smell as fresh as an ocean breeze, Jet."

  "Oh, go play with the toilet paper, Gloom," came Jet's sharp retort.

  I turned my attentions back to Shade who had begun to slink his way back out of the room. I handed Remy off to Millie and hustled after the fleeing feline.

  "Oh, no, Sunshine," I fussed, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. "What’s up with you?"

  I waggled a warning finger under the sensitive triangle of his nose. "Fess up, or the lady cats in this town won't have a ghost of a chance of ever seeing you again."

  Shade laughed nervously and shrugged. "Funny you should mention ghosts. You see, the strangest thing happened to me today when I was skulking around town. You know, just doing my thing. Spreadin’ the love. Anyway, there I was, at Maude's morgue. Thought I'd stop in for a treat. Slide Hector some cauliflower I picked up outside Verdantia’s market, you dig? That woman, man she’s got the face of an angel and the body of a Maine Coon; hot damn! Anyway, after Maude’s, I headed over to the station to swap a joke or two with Officer Spinefeld at the front desk. He's so ‘humerus’ don't ya know..."

  "Shade!" I stopped his ramblings cold in an effort to save myself from any more details about both his social life and his love life. "What happened?"

  "Here’s the thing. I started feeling like I was being followed, which, for me, is weird because, well, I'm usually the one doing the following. So, when I got home, I guess I wasn't all too surprised when I turned around and she was there."