The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  She gasped. “You can’t be serious.”

  “As a heart attack,” he said, grinning at her. “You’re not that much younger than I am. You know what I’m talking about.”

  She shrugged. “I’m planning for the end, yes, but I’m not seeking it.”

  “You don’t have a chain around your neck that will kill you the next time you take it off.”

  “Granted,” she said. “But still.”

  He waved her off. “Nothing like that.”

  “Sir, there is no way I am on board with anything involving you taking that thing off,” Roger said.

  “You did get that device the doctor recommended, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s in the pantry, but that’s a ‘Hail Mary’ tool when nothing else will work.”

  He nodded. “I understand. At my age, you like to have as many ‘Hail Marys’ in your pocket as you can.”

  Barbara frowned and reached across the table to touch his hand. “I didn’t mean anything ...”

  He chuckled. “I know.” He patted her hand, his gnarled, liver-spotted hands looking odd against her smoother, lighter skin. “If, by some twist of fate, you find me dead on the floor, do not pick up the necklace with your hand.”

  “Could she help herself?” Fidelia asked. “Could you resist when you first saw it?”

  The amusement drained out of Shackleford’s face. “I had it around my neck before I even realized I’d picked it up.”

  Fidelia shrugged. “So, it’s basically a time bomb for the rest of us as well.”

  Shackleford looked down and ran his fingers over his mouth. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Enough of this,” Fidelia said, slapping the tablecloth with her palm. “You’re not going to die between now and next week. We need to get one of your legal beagles on this trail and find out what she’s planning. Do we have anything like discovery in this, or do we have to wait until the trial?”

  “I don’t know,” the old man said. “You’re right. Mulligan, would you book me an hour with Julia Rexwood. She should be in your book under legal advisors.”

  “Julia Rexwood, sir,” Roger repeated, pulling out his notebook and writing the name. “As soon as I’ve cleared, sir.”

  Shackleford looked at the ormolu clock on the sideboard. “Her office should be open now. We can take care of ourselves while you make the call.”

  “Of course, sir.” Roger went to his quarters to look up Rexwood’s number and copy it into his notebook before going to the new phone in the cubby off the kitchen. Part of him missed the old black rotary with its weapons-grade handset, but punching in the numbers and hitting Dial made for a less error-prone method, since it allowed him to check the number on the screen against the one in his notebook.

  The phone rang once before the call connected. “Julia Rexwood. What can I do for Shackleford House today?”

  “Good morning, Ms. Rexwood. My name is Roger Mulligan. I’m the Shackleford butler. Mr. Shackleford asked me to book an hour of your time to look into a summons he’s just received.”

  The line went silent for a moment, long enough that Roger looked to see if the call had disconnected. “Yes,” she said. “Do you have the docket number and court?”

  “Mr. Shackleford has it. I can get it for you.”

  “Please do.”

  “One moment.” Roger pushed the hold button on the handset and went back to the small dining room. “She would like the information from the summons, sir.”

  Shackleford nodded and pulled the document from his pocket, holding out a hand for the phone. “Let me talk to her.”

  Roger released the hold and said, “Mr. Shackleford, ma’am,” into the handset before handing the phone to the old man.

  “Julia?” He listened for a moment and then read off the docket number and court information. “Yes, competency. Preliminary hearing.” He nodded several more times without speaking. “If you need more than an hour, take what you need.” He listened for a few more moments. “Let me know. Mulligan can drive me down to your office if you need me.” He nodded a few more times. “Thank you, Julia. Good-bye.” He handed the phone back to Roger. “She’ll track it down and get back to us, probably later this morning.” He folded the summons back up and slipped it into his pocket. “So where were we?”

  “You’re not going to die,” Fidelia said. “At least not around us.”

  Shackleford nodded. “Fair enough. And bed and breakfast?”

  “We need to hire a marketing team,” Barbara said. “Do you have one of those in your book, Mulligan?”

  “I can check, Miss Barbara. Would anyone like more coffee?” Roger made a fast pass around the table picking up dirty dishes and the now-empty carafe. “I’ll make another pot.”

  Shackleford nodded. “I’d have another cup.”

  Roger nodded and headed for his quarters again, stopping at the kitchen to drop off the dishes and telephone handset. He had a suspicion he’d need it again soon. He picked up his Bible and checked the table of contents for consultants, finding “Consultants, Marketing” as a category with half a dozen entries under it. He shrugged and took the book back to the dining room. “It seems we have our choice, sir.”

  “How many?” Shackleford asked.

  “Six, sir.”

  Shackleford held out his hand. “Show me, please, Mulligan.”

  Roger took the book to him and opened to the pages.

  Shackleford took the book and tilted his head slightly upwards to read it. “All right,” he said. “Most of these are sales agencies. They specialize in targeting advertising.”

  “Don’t you need to know markets to do that?” Barbara asked.

  “Yes, but they specialize in creating the ad campaigns once the markets are established. They’d be useful once we determine if there’s enough interest in the bed and breakfast idea, but my concern is that they’d take the idea and try convince us to give them a million dollars to sell it before answering the question ‘Should we?’ I can’t blame them. From their viewpoint, the answer is always ‘Why not?’ They’re good. I recognize the names.” The old man shook his head. “This one. Badger Ltd. Horace and Hecuba Badger. Brother and sister team, if you can believe it.”

  “Oh, I know them,” Fidelia said. “Horace is a lovely man, and Hecuba’s razor-focused and sharp as a new blade.”

  Shackleford handed the book back to Mulligan. “Call them. See what kind of availability they have, would you, Mulligan? You can drive Barbara and Delia over to see what they have to say.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You’re not coming?” Barbara asked.

  “No. This is your plan. I’ll bankroll it, but it’s up to you three to hash it out.” He eyed Barbara over his spectacles. “Assuming you’re interested in this to begin with.”

  Barbara opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it again without saying a word. She looked at Fidelia. “What do you think I should do?”

  “I think you should follow your heart, my dear. Anything else is simply wasting your time.”

  Barbara looked at Roger. “Mulligan? Any opinion?”

  Roger shrugged. “You’ve been paid for a week’s worth of work, or will be. Spending it planning the house’s future doesn’t mean you need to be here for it.” He paused for a moment. “It will just make it more difficult to walk away from a project you’ll have invested yourself in.”

  Barbara blinked and stared at him for several moments. “Just like you can’t walk away from being the butler,” she said.

  “Precisely, Miss Barbara.”

  Barbara nodded. “All right then. Let’s build the plan. What do we do if we find the idea of a B and B is untenable?”

  “Ask the Badgers what they’d recommend,” Fidelia said. “They’re bound to have ideas on how to leverage the estate.”

  “One step at a time,” Shackleford said. “Go meet with them.” He nodded at Roger. “Give them a call, Mulligan. Get it arranged for this afternoon if po
ssible, but as soon as they can fit you in.”

  “At once, sir.” Roger left them sitting at the table while he went to the kitchen and called the number listed.

  The phone rang three times before being picked up. “Badger Limited. How can we help you?” a young-sounding man’s voice asked.

  “Good morning, My name is Mulligan and I work for Shackleford House. We have a marketing research problem that we would like you to address.”

  “Shackleford House? Mr. Shackleford needs us?”

  “Technically, a working group he has designated to lay out a future for the residence, but yes, Mr. Shackleford will fund the project.”

  “One moment, please, Mr. Mulligan.”

  The line went silent with a click.

  After maybe thirty seconds, a new man’s voice came on the line. “This is Hector Badger. To whom am I speaking?”

  “I’m Roger Mulligan, Mr. Badger. Butler at Shackleford House.”

  “Mulligan. I see. Is Mr. Shackleford available?”

  “Yes, sir. One moment.” Roger took the handset to the dining room, offering it to Shackleford. “Mr. Badger would like to speak with you, sir.”

  Shackleford took the phone and said, “Hector. How’s the family?” After a short conversation he handed it back to Roger. “There you go.”

  He took the handset and said, “Mr. Badger. Mulligan here.”

  “Thank you, Mulligan. I needed to make sure you were who you said you were.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “We have an hour open this afternoon at 2:30. Can you make that?”

  “Of course, sir. 2:30 it is.”

  “Excellent. I’m looking forward to hearing what this project is about.”

  “We’ll be there. Good-bye, sir.” Roger hung up and nodded to Barbara. “We have an hour at Badger, Limited, at 2:30 this afternoon, Miss Barbara.”

  “You’ll want to organize your thinking, perhaps lay out a series of questions you’d like to submit to them,” Shackleford said.

  “Do we have something like a notepad in the house?” Fidelia asked, looking at Mulligan. “Some loose sheets of paper?”

  “Reams of printer paper, ma’am.”

  “Printer?” She looked at Shackleford, her eyes wide. “I’m impressed. I don’t suppose we could use your computer?”

  “Mine might be easier, ma’am. It’s a laptop. I believe you could set up wherever you like in the main house.”

  Shackleford took the last swig of coffee from his cup and placed it back on the table, laying his napkin beside it. “That’s my cue.” He rose and smiled at Barbara. “I’ll just get back to my research and leave you to it.”

  “You don’t want to be involved?” Barbara asked.

  “Oh, I will be, but I’m most interested in seeing how you tackle this problem.” He smiled at Fidelia. “Don’t corrupt her too much, Delia.”

  The old woman smiled back at him. “You know I don’t go in for half measures, Joseph. Thank you for letting me be involved. I think this is the most fun I’ve had since planning my last safari.”

  “Kilimanjaro?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “That was fun, too, but I went back a few years later and took a photographic safari into the high veldt. More of a trek, really, along the trail between Royal Natal and Cathedral Peak. Afterward I took a side trip into the Kalahari. Fascinating culturally, and the scenery?” She sighed. “Breathtaking. Not in the literal sense like above 14,000 feet, but amazing.”

  “Is there any place you haven’t been?” Barbara asked, her eyes wide.

  Fidelia shrugged. “Oh, lots. I haven’t been to the Australian Outback yet. I may combine that with an Antarctic expedition. They’re very hard to arrange unless you’re willing to take the commercial tourist route.”

  Shackleford chuckled. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.” He looked at each of the two women with a broad grin. “Although I can’t imagine what you two might need the likes of me for.”

  “Would you like anything, sir?” Roger asked. “I’ll be up shortly for the morning chores.”

  “No, thank you, Mulligan. Just call me for lunch.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Shackleford shared a smile all around and headed toward the library.

  “You mentioned a laptop?” Fidelia said.

  “Would you like it in the upstairs parlor?” Roger asked.

  “If that’s convenient.”

  “Of course, ma’am. I’ll fetch it immediately.” He took a stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen on his way through to his quarters. His morning routine would suffer for this diversion, but he couldn’t help feeling excited by what it could mean for the house.

  Chapter 18

  The offices of Badger, Limited, occupied the fifth floor of a brick commercial building in the old part of town, not far from Shackleford’s automobile warehouse. The receptionist—a twenty-something young man wearing a navy business suit, a crisp, pale blue button-down shirt, and a foulard tie—walked them to a freight elevator and took them up. “This used to be a factory,” he said. “Aircraft engine assembly during the war, and then a food processing company took it over in the 50s. You can still smell the spices in the basement when the weather is damp.”

  The elevator let them out onto a vast open space with tall windows running from floor to ceiling. The polished concrete floors gleamed as if they were marble; sturdy concrete columns perhaps twenty feet high held up the roof.

  A gray-haired couple met them as the doors opened. “Delia?” the woman said, a broad smile blooming on her face. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Delia led them off the elevator, offering a double-cheek kiss to the woman and to an equally pleased-looking man. “Hecuba. So lovely to see you. You, too, Horace.” She turned to Roger and Barbara. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the project team.” She grinned. “This young woman is Barbara Griffin, a long-lost Shackleford relative who’s got some questions we’d like you to answer.”

  The Badgers each took a turn to offer a hand and greeting.

  “The old man finally found an acceptable heir?” Horace said, his eyes dancing.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Badger. Ms. Badger,” Barbara said. Roger caught the slight squinting of Barbara’s eyes and the way her shoulders lost some of their tension afterward.

  Fidelia waved Roger forward. “This is Roger Mulligan. The new butler at Shackleford House.”

  Horace offered his hand. “We spoke on the phone, I believe. Nice to meet you, Mr. Mulligan.”

  Roger shook and gave a short nod. “And you, sir.”

  Hecuba followed her brother’s lead and shook Roger’s hand as well. “You’re part of the project team?”

  “I am, ma’am.”

  Hecuba looked to Fidelia with a question on her face that she didn’t give voice to.

  “After Perkins passed away, Mr. Mulligan took over looking after Joseph and the house. He’s intimately familiar with the workings of the household and should prove invaluable for his insights,” Fidelia said. “He’s aware that we all share certain gifts and abilities.”

  Both Badgers’ eyes widened in surprise and a small amount of alarm.

  Roger gave them a small nod. “Discretion is key to my position. While I’m occasionally surprised, I’m equally delighted to find so many talents that I never knew existed.”

  “Well, let’s go see what we can do to help Shackleford House today, hmm?” Hecuba said, recovering her equanimity. “If you’d come this way ...?” She led them across the open space, her footsteps echoing from the concrete surfaces all around.

  She stopped at an oval conference table near the harbor-side corner of the building. A taller building a couple of blocks away obscured a bit of the view, but the afternoon sun shining on the working harbor made for a picturesque backdrop.

  Hector took a seat on one long side and waved them into chairs. “So? What’s the pitch?”

  Barbara and Fidelia took turns laying ou
t the situation. Roger watched as Fidelia managed to pull Barbara out of her shell and push her forward as the project lead, handing more and more of the explanation to her.

  “So, that’s it,” Barbara concluded. “Mr. Shackleford would like to know what to do with the mansion. It’s an amazing building, and keeping most of it unoccupied isn’t really useful. Among the three of us, we believe an English estate theme with butlers and footmen, a cook and parlor maids, might be an appropriate use of the site, but we’d like to get a better idea of whether or not the project is viable from a marketing perspective.”

  “You’ve determined that the house can support it?” Horace asked. “The building is sound enough?”

  “We believe so, yes,” Barbara said. “We’ll probably need a structural engineer to sign off on it.”

  Roger took out his notebook and made a note.

  “Parking?” Hecuba asked. “How many guests are you thinking of?”

  “There’s a large loading dock at the end of the east wing,” Roger said. “The drive and paved area together are big enough for at least ten cars, perhaps a dozen. We could park a few more behind the main house, and there’s room for expansion in both areas if there’s a need.”

  “So? Call it a dozen guest rooms with room for a single vehicle each. Six in each wing?”

  “We’d need to see how the floor plans look,” Barbara said. “The house isn’t exactly symmetrical. I think we’d need to maintain at least a few of the family bedrooms, but yes, for planning purposes, call it twelve rooms.”

  “You’ll have to check with the city codes office,” Horace said. “I’m not sure what restrictions they’ve managed to saddle that neighborhood with as part of their gentrification.”

  Roger took out his notebook again and made another note.

  “First things first,” Barbara said. “If it’s not a viable project from a marketing perspective, then we’d have to revisit.”

  “If you discover something that might be more useful or more interesting,” Fidelia said, “we’d be interested in hearing about it. I suspect we’ve overlooked a great number of possibilities.”