Library Cat Magical Mysteries Box Set (Books 1-3), page 27
While Sophie showered and brushed her teeth, I called Walter’s personal assistant. Her number was a Philadelphia area code, which meant she was in a different time zone, but it was still early enough to call. “Hello?” she answered.
“Hi, is this Jinny?”
“Can I help you?” she said. She yawned. It was nine o’clock where she was. Maybe it was too late to call.
“I’m calling about Walter Crabtree,” I said. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m the librarian that was hosting the signing and I feel absolutely horrible about what happened.”
“We all do. We lost a great mind,” she said. “I read all his books when I was younger.”
“Me too,” I said. Maybe not all his books. On around book twelve, the adventures of the Rogue Rangers all started to taste like beans. “Anyway, there’s one, um, small matter I’d like to take care of, with discretion, if possible.”
“Oh?” she said, sounding engaged in the conversation for the first time.
“When he was with me, before the awful murder, he, umm, how should I put this? When I asked about the stipend for his appearance, he asked me if I would make the check out to someone else. He gave me a wink and said he was old enough to know better, but the young ones always had expensive tastes. Of course, he could have his payment in any way he wished. He was about to tell me the name when Mrs. Crabtree walked up. He never got a chance to tell me. I know this sounds awfully crass, but was he seeing anyone? I’d like to honor his last request, even if some might see it as immoral. It’s not my place to judge, and I want to do right by the poor murdered man.”
I’d concocted the story earlier and was devilishly pleased with myself as I spun the yarn.
“You think he was having an affair?” she said.
“He said as much,” I said. “Unless I misinterpreted it. Do you know what he could have meant? Being his assistant and all.”
“I don’t think he was having an affair,” she said. “I took a lot of his phone calls and had access to his emails. He wasn’t the sort who would bother hiding it. If he had been, he probably would have had me running around town getting her gifts and paying her bills. Oh, bother.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Had she remembered a vital clue?
“Nothing, sorry, I just spilled some prune juice on my knitting. Is there anything else? I’ve got my episode of Murder, She Wrote paused. They’re just about to reveal who the killer was.”
“That’s all,” I said. “Sorry to bother you. I apologize again for my lack of tact. Please forget I said anything. I’ll remit his appearance stipend to Mrs. Crabtree.”
Walter hadn’t been having an affair? Or maybe he’d kept it a secret from his assistant. By the sound of things, Jinny seemed like a kindly old lady, and I’d just interrupted her episode of Murder, She Wrote to ask her a horribly salacious question. She’d said Walter wouldn’t have hidden an affair from her, but I wasn’t sure. Walter might have kept it from her out of an old-fashioned sense of decorum.
I started tapping out a text message to Fintan, feeling giddy already at the thought of talking to him. What was wrong with me? Was this what normal teenagers did? Would I have gotten my fill of passing notes and talking to boys if I hadn’t always had my nose in a book?
I’m forty-five years old. Is it possible that I’m just a late bloomer?
Chapter 10
The next morning, the Archives was a complete disaster. On the first floor, Victor Frankenstein had rearranged all the tables, chairs and shelves. He’d pushed every speck of furniture against the walls. With the newfound floorspace, he’d set up a makeshift laboratory. For someone who didn’t have a corporeal form, he sure was strong.
“Almost! So close!” he said. “Wait and see. The world will never be the same! My name will be on the tip of every tongue in the scientific community. They will speak of my genius in every corner of the world!”
“Do I want to know?” I asked. I kind of wanted to know. My curiosity was getting the better of me. He was a literary spirit and maybe he’d learned his lesson after the folly chronicled in the famous work.
“Not until it’s complete. Only then will I reveal my creation for all the world to see—and not a moment before!”
“That’s great and all,” I said. “And I wish you the best of luck. But I can’t open the library with all the tables and shelves moved like this.”
“Surely you must understand the importance of my work. Science! The backbone of our modern world! The solution to our biggest problem is within my grasp!”
This man was obsessed. “I want you to succeed,” I said. “But you of all people should sympathize with the pursuit of knowledge. The scholars and curious minds who come here seeking information and discovery, the way a starving dog seeks scraps of food.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I was so involved in my project, I lost sight of what’s truly important. Thank you. I’ll straighten up. But if I could ask one small favor?”
If there is a list of people that you should not do favors for, I would imagine that Victor Frankenstein is near the top of that list. But he’s a ghost. Is there a list of ghosts you shouldn’t do favors for?
“What?” I said. “I’ll do it if I can.”
“I need a tiny bit—a smidgen, really. Just the slightest amount of blood.”
“Blood?” I said.
“It doesn’t have to be human blood,” he said.
What could go wrong with that? It wasn’t like he was going to animate a violent abomination and unleash it on the town.
“No blood,” I said.
“Fine,” he said. “If you’re going to be uptight, then just get me a meteorite.”
“You want me to bring you a meteorite?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “They’re abundant on the Earth’s surface. A small one is fine. Five hundred grams will do.”
“I can’t get you a meteorite,” I said.
“What about a t-bone steak?” he asked.
“I have some iron tablets in my office,” I said, joking.
“I already used those up,” he said.
Victor was just a scientist, right? I thought back to my reading of the book. He was interested in alchemy—the transmutation of elements into other substances. Witches can do that quite easily, but poor Victor became obsessed with the idea… and its extension, which was transmuting human life. I hoped that in his new ghostly state he didn’t have powers that would allow him to complete his macabre experiments.
I went into my office to answer some emails while Victor cleaned up. A knock on my office door made me almost jump out of my skin. But it was Rend Redclaw’s face I saw when I looked through my door’s glass window.
I rolled my chair over and opened the door.
“Did you rearrange the furniture?” he asked.
I leaned back and looked around Rend to see the lobby. Everything was back, but not quite in its previous place. The effect was disconcerting, like a mirror-world version of the Archives. When I’d first met Hortensia, she’d jokingly said she’d take me to mirror world for a quick holiday. At least I hoped she was joking.
“A little,” I said. “For cleaning.”
“Anyway,” he said. “I wanted to let you know that Penny’s cleared.”
“That’s a relief,” I said.
“That your friend isn’t a murderer or that you can get your sugar fix in the morning?” he asked.
“Why does it have to be one or the other?” I asked. “Can’t it be both?”
“Of course it can,” he said. “I talked to her earlier. She’ll be back in business tomorrow.”
“Wait a second,” I said. The implication of Penny suddenly being cleared dawned on me. “If she’s not a suspect anymore, is that because you caught the killer?”
“I wish,” he said. He leaned against the doorjamb and rubbed the back of his bald head with his hand. “I got nothing this time. It’s so frustrating.”
“I’ve heard that Phil Towersmith knew Walter from a long time ago. They lived together in Texas. Phil was in the real-life Rogue Rangers and told Walter stories about his adventures. He feels like Walter stole his stories for the books.”
“He’s the real-life Thrill Kill Phil?” Rend said.
“He said that he tried to get a lawyer to take his case, but it was too hard to prove.”
“Feeling powerless and wronged, he poisoned his old friend?” Rend said. “I could see that. But poisoning a donut isn’t a very Rogue Ranger thing to do.”
“They should have had a duel at sunrise? Ten paces, turn and draw like in the cartoons?”
“Phil’s time in law enforcement would have taught him better ways to kill someone and get away with it,” Rend said.
“Do you know ways to kill someone and get away with it?” I teased.
“A poisoned donut is like something out of a murder mystery book,” Rend said. “Not something that an ex-ranger would do in real life.”
“You have a point there,” I said. “What do you think about Patrice Crabtree?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rend asked. “Have you been bothering that poor woman?”
“No,” I said. “I gave her a condolence basket and asked her for the Saguaro Estates key. Anyway, she was very stiff and unemotional. She had her hair and makeup done. I mean, who does that?”
“Not everyone can go au naturel like you,” he said. “Some women are like that. They like to look nice. Or maybe she was putzing around that empty hotel room and was trying to ground herself in routine. I won’t arrest her because she was wearing a little mascara.”
I hesitated for a second. I could tell him about the private detective report and Walter’s possible infidelity. But then I’d have to admit that I’d stolen it from her. Except… I technically didn’t steal it from her. I stole it from the kobolds…
“There was something more,” I said. “I’m not sure if it’s a big deal or not.”
“What, Francie?” he said. “Right now I’m at such a loss I’m about to investigate Phil Towersmith for death by donut.”
“When I was talking to Patrice,” I said. “I saw a paper sitting on the table.”
“Are you admitting to petty larceny?” he asked.
“I stole nothing from her,” I said. “Absolutely not. I would never. Not in a million years.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll wait for you to explain how you stole this paper without stealing it.” He crossed his arms over his hairy, battle-scarred chest.
“I noticed that the heading was from a private investigator. But I didn’t take it. I really didn’t.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“When I was leaving the hotel, I saw a trash cart and those papers happened to be on top.”
He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was lying or not. “I’m not lying,” I said, just to make things clear.
“You might not be lying,” he said. He took a step closer. His nostrils flared, while his eyes narrowed. “But you’re not telling me everything.”
A confusing mix of emotions swirled in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to confess immediately and beg for lenience, like a child in the principal’s office. At the same time, a deep-seated longing clawed around my stomach too, making me feel profoundly empty.
“It was in the trash,” I repeated. But this time my voice wasn’t so strong and sure.
“What was in this private detective’s report?” he said. “Do you plan on sharing it with the lead investigator?”
“Here,” I said. I snagged my purse off the desk and took the pages out. He scanned them quickly. His brow furrowed when he got to the page detailing ‘the subject’ going to a redacted female’s house.
“There might be something to this,” he said. He looked through the rest of the papers. “And you owe me.”
“I owe you?” I asked. “Isn’t it the other way around? I just brought you some useful evidence.”
“Whether this evidence is useful is yet to be seen,” he said. “And yes, you owe me. You’re butting into an investigation. You were withholding evidence, if I want to get technical.”
“I was going to tell you,” I said.
“It’s okay, Francie,” he said. “You can make it up to me. You and Lizzie. I have a job for you two.” He looked at his wristwatch. “After lunch.”
“But Sophie gets out—”
“If all goes well, we should be back with plenty of time to pick her up. Call your sister. I’ll be back at noon, and then the three of us are going on a field trip.”
- - -
At eleven forty-five, Hortensia banged open the doors to the Archives. “Read ‘em and weep,” she said. Her bathrobe belt was tight for once and she held out something between her thumb and forefinger of her natural hand.
“What’s that?” I said. “I’m going to leave soon. Rend’s coming here at noon.”
“Your little nooner can wait,” she said. “I got something important. Although, a nooner with Rend Redclaw. You know what? You’re right. I’ll come back.”
She turned to leave, but I tugged on her shoulder. “We’re going out of town to talk to a private detective,” I said. “With Lizzie.”
“A sting operation?” she said. “Hot dog. You’re getting lots of action today. First the nooner. Then the undercover operation.”
“I’m not sure what a nooner is,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not what you think it is.”
“Youth is wasted on the young,” she said. “You said noon? We got fifteen minutes. Check this out.” She put the tiny square in my hand and I held it up.
“Is this a chip?” I said.
“Yep,” she said proudly. “It’s a little thing called technology.”
“What’s on it?”
“Photographs.”
“Why didn’t you use your phone?” I said.
“Use your head!” she said. “What if it rang when I was breaking and entering? You’re not going to last five minutes as a voidwitch with that goody-two-shoes attitude.”
I turned the chip over in my hand. “I don’t even know if I can use this chip? Do I need a reader or an adapter? I don’t even think my laptop has a CD-ROM anymore.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll just have to tell you, though a picture is worth a thousand words, and there’s ten pictures, so listen up. But when this thing blows over, we’re going into Phoenix and getting some top-notch spy equipment. It’s the kid’s manuscript.”
“Romulo?” I asked. “He’s thirty-four.”
“And I’m three hundred. Anyone born after the Civil War is a kid to me.”
“And?”
“That author tore him a new one. I’ve seen kinder criticism from a pit viper with hookworms.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said.
“It means that the critique probably crushed him.”
“Romulo was proud of the book he was working on. He gave the first chapter to Walter. Walter slammed it.”
“Slammed is putting it lightly,” Hortensia said. “One of the phrases Walter used was ‘This isn’t fit to line the bottom of a bird cage.’”
“With his pride wounded and his dreams crushed, Romulo poisoned the old dime-novel hack who dared to criticize the work of his heart and soul?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said. “I was getting mad at old Crabtree just reading his comments. But I don’t know why we’re talking about this. I told you the other day. The cursed book is being read. I can tell. It’s not as powerful as the first one that killed whoever read it. It’s got slow-burn power, infecting the minds of the people who read it, one by one.”
“What do you mean by ‘infect?’” I asked. “Literally with a disease or with ideology or something else?”
“You know how they say you can boil a frog alive if the water heats up slowly enough? The frog won’t even notice.”
“That’s terrible and please tell me you never did that,” I said.
“Any frogs used in my potions were humanely slaughtered in accordance with all applicable local livestock welfare ordinances.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” I said.
“I’ve never joked a day in my life,” she said. “And the day that I decide to let one loose, you’ll know because you’ll be doubled over laughing, tears streaming out of your eyes and your stomach cramped painfully from the involuntary spasms of mirth and joy.”
“I can’t wait,” I said.
“Imagine it. Someone reads the book and goes nutty. No one notices anything different at first. But one degree at a time, the water’s heating up. A few more people read the book. Then a few more. And a few more. Then you blink your eye and the whole town is going to be like the Night of the Living Dead. Except not with slow-moving mindless zombies. Everyone infected by the book is going to be maniacally, ravenously insane.”
Chapter 11
“This is bad luck,” Lizzie said. “I won’t do it.”
Whatever patience Rend still had for me was wearing thin. We were walking to the Birth Canal, the only way in or out of town. Rend had just explained the plan. Lizzie wanted no part.
“I don’t have time for this,” Rend said. “I can always get a court order for the private detective’s records, but this way’s faster.”
“I’m surprised at you, Mr. Redclaw,” Lizzie said. “Isn’t this illegal? You won’t be able to use anything we get you as evidence at any rate.”
“It’s not illegal,” he said. “You think I’d spearhead an illegal operation?”
“This has to be at least a little illegal,” Lizzie said. Was it my imagination, or did she seem disappointed now that Rend had said we wouldn’t be breaking the law?
“Something can’t be a little illegal,” Rend said. “It’s either illegal or legal.”
“A smidgen illegal? A pinch of misdemeanor? A dash of felony?” she ventured.
“It’s not illegal to go into a private detective’s office and lie,” Rend said. “I’m sure most of his clients lie to him. Can you please crawl through the other side? I don’t want to take all day.”
