Toil & Trouble

by Emery Belle

  At that, I straightened up in my seat. “Your cousin? Then why was she being so…”

  “Coy?” Sebastian supplied, and when I nodded, he laughed. “Tamara’s so used to flirting with every guy in earshot that she can’t help herself. Sometimes she forgets who she’s talking to.” Then his face grew serious as his eyes roamed over my face. “I told you, Wren. You’re the woman for me. You can trust me on that, can’t you?”

  I met his gaze, searching his eyes for a lie. But they were liquid and sincere and intense, and focused on me, like they always were, like they had been since we’d first met. So finally, I nodded.

  Chapter 6

  The next day, the entire hospital was buzzing with news of Gerald’s arrest. Like me, no one could believe that the bumbling little gnome could be responsible for a murder, and as I ate lunch in the breakroom, the last place I’d seen Gerald on the night in question, I listened to the other members of the housekeeping staff trade theories and discuss rumors they’d heard about the crime.

  “He’s as guilty as an ogre caught with his hand in the worm jar!” a goblin shouted, his pointy ears growing red with anger. “One time I caught him swiping a sandwich out of my lunch sack, and do you know what he did when I confronted him?” By now, the goblin’s entire face resembled a fire engine. He smacked his gnarled hand on the lunch table. “He ate it right in front of me!”

  “Carl, you stole that sandwich from Gerald in the first place,” a stout witch chimed in, wagging her finger at the goblin. “And didn’t he bring one in for you the next day, thinking you might be hungry?” She looked around the table pleadingly. “I’ve worked with Gerald for twenty years, and he has a heart of gold.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “No one’s going to convince me otherwise.”

  “According to Kellen, the murder took place at eight-thirty in the evening,” I chimed in. “At the exact same time, I saw Gerald sleeping in the breakroom, so it’s not possible for him to have committed the murder.”

  A yeti nodded solemnly. “Looks to me like Kellen’s put the cart before the unicorn again. He likes to make a quick arrest, thinks it makes him look good.”

  He took a ferocious bite of his possum-head sandwich, and an eyeball popped out and skidded across the table toward me. “We need to take matters into our own hands!” he roared, and the others cheered their agreement. The yeti turned to me. “So will you do it, Wren? Everyone knows you’re the best investigator on the island, Kellen included, though he’d never admit it.”

  I flicked the eyeball back toward him, then nudged the purse at my feet, which held my trusty investigation notebook. “Already on it. And thank you.” I smiled at the assembled creatures, all watching me eagerly, and decided to start by appealing to the collective wisdom of the group, many of whom had known Gerald for years.

  “Can anyone think of a reason why the victim, Auggie, would tell the police that Gerald was the one who stabbed him?” I paused, frowning. “And does anyone know who Auggie actually is?”

  There was a murmur of assent around the table, and the yeti spoke. “Auggie was a great guy—funny, kind, would give you the clothes off his back if you needed them.” He lowered his gaze to the table and fiddled with the ear of his possum-head sandwich, flopping the lobe back and forth. “Back in the day, I worked at his butcher shop to earn a few extra silver coins on the weekend so I could take my lady friend on a trip to the Frozen Island. He’s a leopard shifter—or, I should say, he was—and so he always imported the best cuts of meat.”

  This was the first I’d heard any kind of description of the victim, and I flipped my notebook to a fresh page and poised my pen over it. “Let’s switch gears. Does anyone know why Auggie would be murdered? Did anyone hold a grudge against him? Any bad relationships? Did he owe anyone money?” As I’d learned over the past few months, the reasons for murder were as varied as the grains of sand on the island’s shoreline.

  There was silence for a few beats. “I’d start with his roommate, Pete,” the stout witch chimed in, looking around the table for support. “He’s a nutter if I’ve ever met one.”

  She turned to me and shook her head. “Used to work here… oh, about a decade ago, I’d say. He was the paranoid type, always thinking folks were after him. One day, a werewolf being treated for moon mange growled at him—as they tend to do when they’re turned—and he had a nervous breakdown. Climbed right out the window, threw himself to the ground, and ran away. And that was the last we saw of him here at the hospital.”

  “Sounds like as good a place to start as any,” I said, jotting down Pete’s name and slapping my notebook shut before glancing at my watch. “I’m done here in a few minutes, and I’m planning to kick off the investigation by visiting Gerald at the jail to get his side of the story. That is, if Kellen will let me within a hundred feet of him.”

  “Here,” the yeti said, waggling the possum in my face. “You’re going to need your energy if you plan to take on Kellen. Go on, take a bite.”

  I politely demurred, not wanting to hurt his feelings—though he assured me the possum was well-seasoned—then collected my things and removed my cleaning smock. Before heading out for the day, though, there was someone I needed to see.

  His room was dark when I entered a few minutes later, and at first I didn’t see the man dressed in black robes seated at his bedside, reading to him in a low voice from a magazine he’d grabbed from the waiting room. When he heard my footsteps, his head whipped around, and his silver eyes landed on mine. They darkened with displeasure, and he immediately got to his feet and swept over to me. His eyes were reflective in the dim room, and I felt a shiver crawl up my spine as I met his gaze.

  “You have returned despite my warnings.” His face was rigid, his jaw set. “Have I not told you that you have no place in our world? To step into it would be to put yourself in danger.”

  My eyes lingered on Cole’s motionless form. “I don’t care,” I whispered.

  The man with the silver eyes stepped forward. “Hear my words, and take them to heart. Cole is a solitary man, by choice as much as by necessity. He will not love you. Not then, not now.” He paused and leaned toward me even more, until I could feel his breath whispering against my lips. “Not ever.”

  Then he cut his arm through the air, and my neck was suddenly on fire with a thousand red-hot coals. I reared backward, clutching my neck, checking to see if my throat had been slit, but I found no blood, no wound. He raised his arm again and I stumbled out of the room, tears of pain and embarrassment blurring my vision. Keeping my head down, I hurried along the hallway, taking deep breaths to neutralize the pain of the invisible flames still scorching my skin, until I ran headlong into Andrei.

  “Whoa, whoa,” the vampire said, gripping me by the arms. “What’s going on, Wren?” He looked over my shoulder toward Cole’s room, and his brow furrowed. “Who is that man? Did he hurt you?” He started forward, but before I knew what I was doing, I had pulled out my wand and aimed it at his throat.

  “Just leave it alone,” I said, blinking furiously against the tears. “Please.”

  Andrei held his hands up in surrender, and in the distance, I could see the man with the silver eyes fading back into the shadowy room.

  Kellen wasn’t at the police station when I arrived, and though the officer at the front desk raised his eyebrows at the sight of me—I’d probably visited the jail attached to the station more than most of the island’s criminals—he didn’t try to prevent me from seeing Gerald. As I walked the long, gray, depressing corridor lined with cells, keeping my eyes averted from the creatures that barked, hissed, laughed, and tried spitting at me as I passed, my heart sank lower with each step. This was no place for a gnome like Gerald. I needed to get him out of here, and fast.

  When we arrived at Gerald’s cell, the second to last on the block, I peered past the crisscrossing red lights that served as bars, trying to see inside. The dim cement cell housed a threadbare bed, single toilet, and a battered metal food
tray with what appeared to be the remnants of breakfast—hardened scrambled eggs, curdled milk, and a muffin that looked stale enough to give someone a black eye if used as a weapon. I didn’t see the gnome at all, though a soft snuffling sound in the corner eventually alerted me to his presence.

  “Gerald?” I called softly, leaning forward but taking care not to brush against the red lights. The unseen occupant of the next cell over giggled and repeated my word in a mocking, singsong tone, and a shiver of fear ran over me. Edging closer to the officer who’d accompanied me into the jail, I added, “It’s me, Wren. I thought you might like some company…”

  No response. The officer illuminated the tip of his wand with a whispered spell and aimed it into Gerald’s cell, sweeping the light into each corner until it finally landed on the gnome. I exhaled sharply at the sight of him—he was huddled against the bare wall in the corner furthest from us, dressed in a rumpled and stained dark green prison uniform. His hair was dirty and matted, his eyes were dull and red-rimmed, and he was shaking uncontrollably. When the light fell across his face, he let out a sharp whimper and curled into a ball, then began rocking back and forth and moaning.

  “Oh, Gerald.” I fell to my knees outside the cell and reached for him, but the officer knocked my hand aside just before my skin hit the red lights.

  “What are you trying to do, barbecue yourself?” he scolded, then threw Gerald a look of disdain. “Get up, you miserable wretch. Can’t you see you’ve got company? Not that you deserve it,” he added, curling his lip.

  “Don’t talk to him like that,” I snapped, glowering at the officer. “Look at the state of him!” I jerked my thumb toward Gerald’s pathetic form. “What kind of a place are you running here?”

  The officer shrugged, twirling his wand between his fingers. “He doesn’t want to eat or bathe, I can’t force him to.” He eyed me up and down. “I know Kellen thinks you’re crazy”—I shot him a dirty look—“but you seem like a nice lady to me. So why don’t you go on home, okay? Leave the criminals to the professionals.”

  “He’s not a criminal,” I shot back, unable to tear my gaze from Gerald, who by now had stopped rocking back and forth and had poked his head out from his arms to watch us through eyes that looked blank and unseeing. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You think so?” the officer said with a snort of laughter. He waved his arm around, indicating the creatures surrounding us. “Funny thing is, every man and woman in here thinks they’re innocent. They’ll swear up and down until their face turns blue that they’re being set up. You know what I think?”

  He lowered his face to mine, and I could feel his hot breath on my cheek—stale and stinking of old cheese. “I think they’re scum, and that includes your little friend. He’s the most pathetic of them all.”

  Anger burned in my stomach, hot and potent. “Leave us alone,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Suit yourself.” The officer turned on his heel, still idly twirling his wand, then glanced back at me. “But don’t come crying to me when he tries to wring your pretty little neck.” And then he was gone, his boots echoing sharply off the floor, the jeers and catcalls of the cells’ occupants following him long after the prison door had shut behind him with a heavy clang.

  When the noises finally died down, I looked around, spotting a plain folding chair at the end of the cell block. I pulled it over to Gerald’s cell, wincing as the metal legs scraped and screeched against the floor. Settling myself into it, I leaned as close to the bars as I dared and tried again. “Gerald, it’s Wren. Can we talk?”

  His whimpering grew louder for a few moments, and then, with great difficulty, he dragged himself off the ground and made his way over to me, slowly, heavily, as though each step took more effort than he could bear. His cheekbones were hollower than I remembered, and his face had lost its rosy glow. The prison uniform he wore was at least three sizes too big, adding to his emaciated appearance.

  He squinted at me through the dim light, shielding his eyes as he approached the front of the cell. “Wren Winters? Is that you?”

  “It’s me.” Wincing at the state of him, I rummaged through my bag for a few moments before producing a half-eaten chocolate bar. I pushed it toward the crisscrossing red lights, trying to find an entry point, before noticing a thin horizontal opening at the bottom of the cell, presumably where the food trays were pushed inside. Bending down, I stuffed the chocolate inside, then yelped and jumped back when it melted on contact, along with what felt like a not-insignificant portion of the skin on my middle finger.

  “They magic the trays in,” Gerald said, looking wistfully at the puddle of melted chocolate on the cell floor while I sucked hard at my stinging finger. “But thanks for the thought.”

  He settled himself cross-legged on the floor in front of me and rubbed at his eyes, his filth-coated hands leaving a smear of dirt across his forehead. “Everything okay at the hospital? I never thought I’d miss cleaning bedpans so much—or, I guess, telling you what bedpans to clean.” He let out a forlorn laugh, then quickly stifled it when the other prisoners began mimicking him loudly, their shrill laughs bouncing off the walls.

  “We’re fine, Gerald, but we miss you. I saw you in the breakroom, and I know you’re innocent. Everyone is behind you one hundred percent.”

  My tone was fierce, but the gnome merely shrugged and picked at the frayed cuff of his uniform. “Not a lot of good that’ll do. I told Kellen I was sleeping at the hospital all night, but he isn’t listening to reason, and so I’m stuck here until my trial.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” I pulled out my notebook and set it on my knees. “I’m going to do everything in my power to get you out of here, Gerald, and that’s a promise.”

  He shrugged again, his shoulders drooping sadly. Undeterred, I pressed on. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the victim, Auggie Atwater. What kind of relationship did the two of you have? Any idea why he would say your name before he died?”

  Gerald gave a long sigh as he removed his glasses and rubbed at a smudge on the lens with his fingers, only making it worse. “I only met him one time in person—he came to my workshop because he wanted to hire me to invent something that would help him propose to his girlfriend.”

  I frowned, jotting down this new information. “And did you?” When Gerald nodded, I asked, “What sort of invention was it?”

  “It was a device that would allow his girlfriend’s familiar, a beaver, to skywrite the proposal to her at dusk over the ocean.” Gerald looked wistfully off into the distance, as if picturing the scene, while I tried hard not to laugh at the image that conjured up.

  “I told him it was a difficult request—beavers are tricky, you know, especially magical ones; they have a mind of their own, and wicked-sharp teeth—but that I’d do my best. I worked on it day and night for two weeks, and when the time came, I shipped it to him with explicit instructions not to send the beaver up into the air without asking his permission first. He might get scared, try to wriggle out of it…”

  His voice drifted off, and the wistful look was replaced with one of anger. “And he must not have listened, because the beaver jumped out, just like I said he would.”

  I clapped my hand over my mouth in horror. “Was he okay?”

  I couldn’t imagine the terror Auggie’s girlfriend must have experienced watching her familiar hurtle toward the sand. Had she been quick-thinking enough to cast a spell to save him? Or was she a witch-in-training, like me? I could at least assume she had a working wand. My blood turned to ice as I imagined trying in vain to save Pierre while my wand backfired.

  Gerald shook his head. “I never got the chance to ask. Auggie called me one day, screaming his head off, threatening to sue me until I lost my house and was out on the street. A few weeks later, he dies, and I get arrested for his murder.” He swept his arm around the cell. “And here I am. In the finest hotel suite Magic Island has to offer.” The joke fell flat w
hen his face crumpled and he dropped his head into his hands.

  I fell silent as his body shuddered with sobs, but my brain was working in overdrive. The connection between Gerald and Auggie was interesting, to say the least, but what, if anything, did it have to do with Auggie’s murder? Surely Auggie wasn’t so furious with Gerald that he put a dagger through his own heart, just to frame him for the killing? There had to be another link, something I wasn’t seeing…

  But nothing came to me, at least not right away. Sighing, I closed my notebook and stuffed it back in my bag. Sometimes a little distance was the best way to overcome an investigative roadblock, and besides, my allotted time with Gerald was drawing to an end.

  I got up to leave, dragging the folding chair back to the corner before returning to the cell one last time to say my goodbyes. Gerald’s sobs had subsided, and he had an air of defeat around him as he raised his hand in a limp wave.

  “Tell the housekeeping crew I said hello,” he said in a morose voice, his nose hovering inches from the red lights as he watched me sling my bag over my shoulder and prepare to leave. “Hopefully I’ll see them again someday.”

  “You will,” I said firmly, offering him a warm smile. I turned to leave, and then another thought occurred to me. “Gerald?”

  “Hmm?” He had already retreated to the very back of the cell, huddling in on himself once more, and his voice sounded very small as he poked his head up to look at me through bleary eyes.

  I slid my notebook back out, along with my pen. “Auggie’s fiancée. The woman whose beaver familiar was injured. Any idea what her name was?”

  Gerald thought for a moment, tapping the end of his nose, which was red and chapped from all the time he’d spent blowing it. “I can’t be certain, but I think he said her name was Meryl.” He frowned at me. “Why?”

  “Just another person to talk to,” I said, careful to keep my voice nonchalant despite my racing heart. I waved goodbye once more and began the long walk down the cell block, though it took all my willpower to keep from dancing. By now, I could recognize a lead, and this was a big one. I may not have known who killed Auggie, but I did know one thing.