The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  “Some of this is European,” Shackleford said, pointing at the beds. “Those came over as prized possessions in the early 1700s. They survived the fires more than once, which is a miracle in itself.”

  “Valuable enough to keep?” the inspector asked.

  “Oh, yes. They should probably be in a museum, but the warehouse is climate controlled. It’s very close to museum grade.” He led them down a side passage that Roger would have walked by. “In here.” He opened a metal door and flipped on a light, revealing a room filled with red, metal cylinders against the far wall, all connected to a manifold above them. An electronic control box stood beside them with what looked like a thousand green lights arranged in a grid. “Waterless extinguishing. State-of-the-art sensor network.” He shrugged. “What was state of the art as of the turn of the century.” He looked at the inspector. “This century, not the last.”

  The inspector surveyed the room and walked over to peer at the labels on the bottles. “This is museum grade.” He turned to look at Shackleford. “In this building? It must have cost a fortune.”

  “Money isn’t that big a concern when you’re protecting something that’s priceless,” Shackleford said with a shrug. “I have plenty of money.”

  “Who else knows about this?” the inspector asked.

  “The company that installed it. Mr. Hedgecock here. You, now.”

  “Your niece?” the inspector asked.

  “I don’t know. I doubt it. It’s not exactly a secret, but it’s not a subject that comes up around the dinner table, now is it?”

  The inspector ran his hand over his mouth as if rubbing away a bad taste on his lips. “I suppose not.” He looked down at his feet, frowning at the floor.

  “Any other questions, Inspector Tinker?” Shackleford asked.

  Tinker shook his head. “No, sir. I think I’ve got all I’m going to get.”

  Shackleford nodded and stood by the door, his hand on the light switch. “In that case ...?”

  The inspector walked out, eyeing the furniture with a level of curiosity he hadn’t had coming in.

  “Hedgecock, walk with us, if you would?”

  The man nodded and lingered with Shackleford. Roger brought up the rear.

  “Any problems?” Shackleford asked, keeping an eye on the inspector ahead of them.

  “None, sir.”

  “How long did it take you to get here?”

  “Two minutes, tops. The fire was still burning but it died out within like five minutes.”

  “You didn’t see anything?”

  Hedgecock shook his head. “I heard a truck leaving when I came around the block, but I didn’t see anything.”

  “You tell that to the inspector.”

  “Yes, sir. Told them everything.”

  “Any problems with access?”

  “No, sir.”

  “They give you any guff about getting the alarm?”

  “Never questioned it, sir.”

  Shackleford nodded. “When they’ve cleared the scene, hire some people to clean up the glass. Let me know.”

  “Will do, sir.” He paused. “Think they’ll be back?”

  Shackleford stepped out into the sun and looked around before shaking his head. “Message sent. Message received.”

  “Any idea who it is, sir?”

  “I have suspicions, but none I’d hang a hat on.”

  Hedgecock nodded.

  “Let me know when the cleanup’s done,” Shackleford said again.

  “Yes, sir. Be at least a couple days, based on what the cop’s been sayin’.”

  “I figured as much,” Shackleford said. He put a hand on Hedgecock’s shoulder and stared into the man’s face. “No heroics, Stanley. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m serious. I’d rather the place burn down than you get in the way and get hurt.”

  “You think it’ll come to that, sir?”

  “No, but I don’t take those kinds of chances and I won’t stand for it if you do.”

  Hedgecock nodded once, a sharp downward jerk of his chin. “Understood, sir.”

  Shackleford clapped the man’s shoulder twice and then started back across the yard toward the gate with Roger on his heels.

  “You’re not planning on leaving town, are you?” Tinker asked as they passed.

  “No, Inspector. I’m not planning on it. Why?” Shackleford asked.

  “I just want to know where to find you if I have any more questions.”

  Shackleford nodded. “If something comes up, I’ll have Mulligan notify you. Will that do?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Roger opened the door to the Mercedes and Shackleford slid into the seat. Roger took his place in the driver’s seat and looked at Shackleford in the mirror. “Home, sir?”

  Shackleford looked out at the scorched building, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. “Yes, Mulligan. Something doesn’t smell right here, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “You have wards up on the building, don’t you?” Roger asked.

  Shackleford’s eyebrows did a little dance on his forehead. “Wards?”

  “Some kind of protective magic, sir. Like you do on the other buildings?”

  Shackleford seemed to consider his response for a few moments too long. “Yes, Mulligan. I do.”

  “What message do you think Naomi’s father is trying to send?” Roger asked.

  Shackleford shook his head. “I think he’s just trying to rattle my cage a little.”

  “So you think it’s Bruna, sir?”

  “He’s a thug. Always been a thug. This is just exactly the kind of thing I’d expect from him.” Shackleford glanced at the building for a moment before catching Roger’s eyes in the mirror again. “You be careful on your morning runs. It wouldn’t surprise me to have him send a message through you as well.”

  Roger nodded. “I’ll keep an eye open, sir.”

  “Then let’s get home. I suspect we’ll hear from Naomi by midafternoon,” Shackleford said. “Bet she doesn’t call for an appointment, either.”

  “I’m not much for gambling, sir.” Roger started the car and pulled it out into the street, cruising past the warehouse before taking a cross-street to get back on the road to Shackleford House.

  Chapter 13

  The phone rang as soon as Roger walked through the back door.

  “Shackleford House.”

  “Is this Mr. Shackleford?” A woman’s voice.

  “No, ma’am. I’m Mulligan, Mr. Shackleford’s butler.”

  “I’d like to speak with Mr. Shackleford, please.”

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “This is Dr. Littlefield’s office calling.”

  “One moment, ma’am.”

  Roger placed the phone on the small table and went up to the library, knocking before entering. “Dr. Littlefield’s office on the phone for you, sir.”

  Shackleford snorted and headed for the upstairs parlor phone. Roger considered how difficult it might be to get a phone installed in the library—or at least a cordless model in the parlor that he could carry to wherever the old man might be. It seemed a small enough upgrade that it shouldn’t upset the pixies and enough of a convenience that Shackleford might go for it. They’d had more calls in the last two weeks than the first three months of his employment.

  He followed after Shackleford, giving the man room to have a private phone call while still remaining within earshot in case Shackleford needed him. He paused outside the parlor door, waiting.

  Shackleford said something that Roger couldn’t understand and hung up the phone, the heavy receiver making a distinctive rattle on its cradle. Shackleford came out of the parlor, a frown on his face and his mouth screwed into a grimace. “Ah, Mulligan. Dr. Littlefield wants me to start taking some medications and adjust my diet.”

  “How can I help, sir?”

  “High blood pressure and cholesterol,” he said. “I need you to call them back
with the information on the pharmacy so they can place the prescriptions.”

  “And diet?” Roger asked.

  “Typical stuff. Same thing she said before. Less red meat, fewer saturated fats. More whole grains and green vegetables.”

  Roger processed that for a moment, rolling the menus over in his head. “That’s going to be difficult, sir. Your diet includes very little red meat already.”

  Shackleford nodded. “I know. I’ll leave it up to you, Mulligan. I don’t really notice food, to be honest.” He patted his chest. “This keeps stealing my attention away.”

  “You’ve been doing much better, sir.”

  Shackleford shook his head. “I’m not sure about that. I’ve had these periods in the past. I always pay for them in the end.” He sighed.

  “I’ll call the doctor’s office, sir.”

  Shackleford nodded. “Thank you, Mulligan. Carry on.”

  “Sir? About the telephone?”

  “What about it?”

  “There are wireless handsets. If we installed one here in the parlor, you wouldn’t need to come here to answer it. I could bring the phone to you.”

  Shackleford’s eyes widened. “That’s a good idea, Mulligan. See to it.”

  “Will it bother the pixies, sir?”

  Shackleford shook his head. “I doubt it, but we can always bribe them with a little whiskey.” He grinned. “Probably wouldn’t hurt to give them a little treat anyway, now that I think of it.”

  Roger nodded. “I’ll see to it this evening, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mulligan. Carry on.” The old man went back into the library. The door closed behind him with a snap of the latch.

  Roger went to his Bible and looked up the information for the preferred pharmacy. He took the book to the phone alcove and dialed the number for Dr. Littlefield’s office, waiting for the menu to push him through to a person.

  “Dr. Littlefield’s office. May I help you?”

  “I’m calling for Joseph Shackleford, one of Dr. Littlefield’s patients. I have the pharmacy information you requested.”

  “Of course, sir. One moment.” The line clicked onto hold music before a new voice came on the line. “Mr. Mulligan?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the pharmacy?”

  Roger read the information off the page.

  “Thank you, and can you hold for one moment? Dr. Littlefield would like to speak to you.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  The doctor must have been waiting because she came on the line almost immediately. “Mr. Mulligan? Dr. Littlefield here.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Have you ordered that defibrillator yet?”

  “Not yet, Doctor.”

  “You should consider doing that,” she said.

  “Is there something that I need to know, Doctor?”

  Her sigh came through clearly. “Nothing specific, Mr. Mulligan. Call it a hunch. He’s got some markers that I’m not happy about seeing in a man his age. Add the stress of his ...” She paused for a heartbeat. “The stress of his condition,” she said. “I’m worried about his heart. You know what having that device at hand could mean in terms of survival, probably as well as I do.”

  “Yes, Doctor. I’ll order one right away.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mulligan.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “The pharmacy will call when the prescriptions are ready. Do you have any questions about his dietary changes?”

  “He eats very little red meat already, doctor. Other than eggs, are there any foods I need to watch out for?”

  “Any saturated fats like cheese and full-fat dairy products. Any trans-fats like most commercial vegetable oils. You can find a lot of information online if you have access.”

  “We do, and I’ll look. Thank you, Doctor.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Mulligan. Good-bye.” The doctor rang off and Roger hung up the phone.

  He had some electronics to buy. He went back to his quarters and began researching defibrillators. If the doctor thought he’d need it, he was more than willing to spend a few of the old man’s dollars to get it and get it fast. With luck, he could get it and the phone on expedited shipping within a couple of days.

  * * *

  Naomi rang the front doorbell just as Roger dropped off Shackleford’s lunch tray in the kitchen. She breezed in as soon as he opened the door. “Is he receiving visitors today, Mulligan? Or should I make an appointment?”

  “He’s expecting you, ma’am.”

  She blinked hard a couple of times. “Expecting me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Roger said. “Just this morning, he predicted he’d see you by midafternoon.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No, ma’am. If you’d follow me, I’ll take you right up.”

  Naomi walked beside him, casting him sideways glances all the way up the stairs.

  Roger knocked twice and opened the door. “Ms. Patching, sir.”

  “Who?” Shackleford rolled out from behind his table.

  “Ms. Patching, sir. Your niece.” He stepped out of the doorway and Naomi walked in.

  “My niece is twelve years old. Who is this woman, Perkins?” Shackleford asked, peering at Naomi above his glasses.

  “Uncle, it’s me. Naomi,” she said, glancing at Roger with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Don’t you remember me?”

  Shackleford paused, sitting more upright in his wheelchair. “Naomi? My gracious. Is it you?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” She swept across the room to kneel beside his chair and take one of his hands in both of hers. “Yes, it’s me.”

  He stared at her for several long moments. “You look like your mother. How is she?”

  Naomi swallowed hard and blinked several times. “She’s ... she’s well, Uncle. She misses you.”

  Shackleford nodded. “I miss her, too.” He looked up at Roger. “Perkins, put a note on my calendar. We’ll go by the house and visit her. Next week?” He looked at Naomi. “Would that be acceptable?”

  “I’m sure she’d like that, Uncle.”

  Shackleford nodded, more a tremble than a full nod. “Yes, then that’s what we’ll do.” He looked at Naomi again. “What brings you to an old man’s side, my dear?”

  “I had a premonition that you might be lonely, Uncle. It’s been just ages since I’ve seen you.”

  “Well, I’m happy to see you. Would you care for a cup of tea?” He looked at Mulligan. “Perkins, tea and some of those shortbread cookies.”

  “No, Uncle. That’s not necessary.” Naomi drew his attention back to her. “Please. I can only stay a few moments. I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you were doing well.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Perkins can just pop down to the kitchen—”

  “I’m sure, Uncle,” she said. She released his hand and stood, leaning over to kiss his balding pate. “You just rest and take it easy.”

  The old man nodded. “If you’re sure. It would only take a moment.”

  “I’m sure, Uncle,” she said again. “I have an appointment to show a house in the neighborhood in a few minutes.”

  He smiled up at her and nodded. “Well, don’t let me hold up commerce, my dear. I hope they love it.”

  “I’m sure they will, Uncle.” She patted his shoulder. “You rest now.”

  Shackleford nodded. “Yes. I think I’ll take a nap. That sounds rather good. I didn’t get a good night’s sleep, did I?”

  “Probably not, Uncle.” She turned and smiled at Roger on her way out the door.

  “I’ll be right back, sir,” Roger said.

  Shackleford waved a hand and spun the chair around. “I’d still like a cup of tea.”

  “I’ll get it, sir.”

  “Thank you, Perkins.”

  Roger caught up with her on the stairs.

  “His geriatrics specialist didn’t see that side of him, I wager,” she said with the kind of smirk that Roger longed to s
lap off her face.

  “No, ma’am,” he said.

  “He smelled smoky. Has he taken up the pipe again?”

  “No, ma’am. We were called to a fire at one of his properties this morning.”

  She froze, midstride, and lowered her foot to the floor before turning to him. “A fire?”

  “Warehouse. Firebombed. The fire chief and arson inspector woke him.”

  “That was when he thought he’d hear from me,” she said, almost to herself. “Was he like this?” She waved a hand up the stairs.

  “No, ma’am. It comes and goes rather quickly on occasion.”

  She frowned. “What did the inspector have to say?”

  “Only wanted to know if he had any enemies and why the warehouse didn’t burn.”

  Her eyebrows shot up as her eyes went wide. “It didn’t burn?”

  “No, ma’am. Fire inspector supposes that it was some kind of warning. A message, I believe he called it.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Naomi’s eyes focused somewhere off to the side. “Why did he go?”

  “To the warehouse, ma’am?”

  “Yes.”

  “The fire inspector wanted him to point out the upgraded fire control systems.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Upgraded systems?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She shook her head and checked the dainty jeweled timepiece on her wrist. “I’ve got to go. You know he’s not all there, right?”

  “I know he has good days and bad days, ma’am.”

  “We still have a few months before we can ship him off to Colorado.” She said it almost to herself, before turning to Roger. “Keep him safe. You hear me?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  Roger held the door for her while she stormed out, feeling sorry for the client she was going to meet. He closed and bolted the door behind her before going back to the library.

  He knocked before entering, but Shackleford wasn’t there. On a hunch, Roger went to the master suite and gave a softer than normal knock before peeking in. The old man had apparently crawled into bed, making good on his threatened nap. Roger didn’t blame him. It sounded like a good idea. He froze when he saw the wheelchair beside the bed.