Magic Outside the Box

by Honor Raconteur

  “Of course.” She looked avidly curious but not alarmed as she gestured us closer to the counter. “What do you need to know?”

  “Was RM Burtchell one of your customers?”

  Understanding dawned over her face. “Oh yes. Everyone in town is. The nearest locksmith aside from us is a two-hour drive.”

  Perfect. “Can you confirm for me how many sets of keys he had made for his house?”

  “I certainly can. One moment.” She stepped into the backroom for barely a minute before she came back, a file in hand, which she laid down on the counter so we could all see it. “It looks like we only have three orders from him. He had locks especially made for the house when he first bought it, several years ago. Not all locks are compatible with warding spells, you know.”

  No, actually, that was news to me. But then, I had a very faint grasp of everything magic could do. Partnering with Henri was teaching me the plethora of spells available, but I didn’t always grasp magic’s limitations. “And he gave you the exact specifications, I take it?”

  “Oh yes. We wouldn’t have been able to design them ourselves. That order took six weeks, it looks like. And then we created a set of keys for him.” She flipped to the next page. “He ordered another set a week later for his housekeeper. Then about six months ago, he ordered a third set. Those were delivered to his solicitor. I believe they were meant to be held by the firm in case of his death. Part of his will, you know.”

  I understood that to be standard practice from anyone who didn’t have relatives, or someone who had a designated estate executor that required access after the owner died. A solicitor kept the keys to the estate until it could be dissolved and dealt with. Hearing this meant RM Burtchell likely didn’t have any close family, but I still needed to get in touch with his solicitor. It was on my growing list of things to do. But if that’s the case, then I could account for all three sets of keys. “Do you mind telling me which firm has his keys?”

  “Booker and Merritt,” she supplied. “It’s on Main and Cherry Avenue.”

  Penny made a note in her book before asking, “And there’s absolutely no one else who had a set of keys?”

  “No, not that we’re aware of.” Cautiously, she inquired, “Is there some issue?”

  I might as well tell her. The papers would splash the news any day now, and she might have a hint of how the murderer got in and out. “When RM Burtchell was found in his home, the wards were up, his keys in his house, and both doors locked.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I’d heard he’d been murdered at home, but not that last part! I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I only know of the three people who possessed keys.”

  It had been something of a long shot. I gave her a professional smile, struggling to not grimace. “Yes, well, thank you.”

  Penny surprised me by asking, “The keys. If the locks were specially made, were the keys that way also?”

  “Yes. A magical element in them raised and lowered the wards.” She snapped her fingers. “I should have thought of that. Wait here. I can get you the designs for the locks and the key, if that would help?”

  I thought the boys would cry tears of joy to have something to go off of. “If you would.”

  She immediately turned and bustled back into her file room.

  Giving Penny a nod, I praised, “Good thinking. I’m still wrapping my head around magic.”

  Her cheeks flushed a bit under the praise. “Two heads and all that.”

  “Yup.”

  The clerk came back out with an envelope, which she handed to me. “Here are the designs. I hope it helps catch whoever did this. RM Burtchell was a nice man. He did a lot for this town.”

  I’d heard the sentiment several times now, and it only made his death sadder. I really saw no motive for killing this man, but someone clearly had one. “We’ll do our best. Thank you for the assistance.”

  We left again, and Penny asked me as we stepped onto the sidewalk, “Where to next? Solicitor?”

  “Solicitor,” I agreed. “Might as well, since we know where he is. Then let’s stop by the newspaper office.”

  She gave me an odd look. “You hate reporters.”

  “Not denying that. But I’d rather meet them on their own turf than be ambushed by them. And besides, I might have an idea of how they can be helpful.”

  We took a break around noon and retreated to the hotel. Partially because I needed shade from the heat of the day, partially because I knew their food was good, but mostly because we hoped the magical duo would have returned already. We’d missed the reporters at the newspaper company entirely—they were all apparently out on a story—and I wasn’t sorry about that one iota. Still, it seemed a good point to stop and compare notes with each other before we started duplicating work.

  Unfortunately, my timing was rotten.

  The prophesied reporters were out chasing a story alright. Right here. They clustered around the front porch, near the side entrance. I had the feeling someone had moved them over there, away from the main door, and I could hear Sherard’s confident voice rolling out as we approached. Press conference already in progress, eh? I’d not been forced to do one of those before, on either world, but I didn’t hold out much hope I’d be able to skip this one. I was the lead on this investigation, and it wasn’t fair to leave Sherard holding the bag.

  Sighing heavily, I leaned in toward Penny’s side and muttered, “Slip in through the back. I’ll help Sherard deal with them.”

  She gave me a look that distinctly said better you than me before skedaddling. Traitor. I hefted Clint onto my shoulder to keep him from being squashed. He perched there like a pirate’s parrot, looking about curiously.

  The reporters stood about three deep, eight or nine wide. I saw the press bands pinned around their sleeves and recognized most of the major newspaper companies, including Sheffield’s. I didn’t recognize a single face in the crowd and was glad for that. The reporters in Kingston were vultures. Someone spotted my approach and let up a cry, and they were all quick to turn.

  “Shinigami Detective—”

  “Miss Edwards, would you care to—”

  “Why did the queen call you—”

  I ignored the lot and went straight to Sherard. He wasn’t standing on anything to make himself taller, nor were chairs at hand. This was very impromptu and it showed. More than a few bulbs flashed as people snapped my picture and I sighed, resigned to the inevitable boost in rumors. These people, seriously. Sherard caught my eye and gave me a sympathetic grimace, then gave way and took a step back, giving me a sliver of room to stand in.

  Yeah, no. We’re not doing this. “Everyone back up! Give me some space to breathe. I will give you a statement and answer a few questions.”

  They jostled each other, eager for news, and gave me a whole foot and a half. I wanted more like a mile, but…oh well. I’d take what I could get. “Alright, I’m not sure what all my colleague has told you. I am lead investigator on this case. At this point, we don’t know much. We have the basics of the case and we’re still putting together a timeline and possible suspects. What I can tell you is this: Royal Mage Joseph Burtchell was killed in his own home yesterday morning, approximately seven o’clock. There’s no question of it being murder. There is no possibility of either accidental homicide or suicide. It appears he did not see the murderer coming. At this point we do not have a firm opinion if the murderer was magical or not. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you.”

  The reporter directly in front of me was the first to get a question in. “Detective, is it true he was killed while his wards were up?”

  Crap, I’d just known that fact would make the rounds quickly. A man that famous, a town this small, it was inevitable. Just as well I’d already resigned myself to that. “His wards were up when we found him, at least. We’re still trying to figure out what happened.”

  “Detective,” I couldn’t see the speaker through all the other heads, but the voice was female, “
Is there a reason why the queen called you and not the Kingsmen?”

  “This is by no means a reflection on the Kingsmen’s ability,” I responded firmly. “It’s more a matter of experience. Queen Regina has every faith in the Kingsmen when dealing with international and magical issues. But the Kingsmen are not accustomed to investigating murders. She wanted an expert for this case, to get to the bottom of it quickly. RM Seaton is with us as a representative of the Kingsmen, and he’s aiding with this investigation.”

  “Detective, is there a reason you brought your own people here instead of relying on the local police?”

  “They don’t really have the experts here we need. There’s not usually murders in Sheffield—lucky town!” I tried to joke and flashed them a smile. “It’s why I brought my own coroner with me. The young officer with me, Penny McSparrin, is someone I’m training to be a detective. This case is perfect to give her experience. Doctor Davenforth is my partner, as most of you already know, so of course he came with me. It’s quite a show for me to bring so many people, but it was more a matter of logistics and experience than anything. The local police have bent over backwards trying to help us solve this case. They’ve been entirely professional and amiable to me taking over, which I appreciate beyond words. I really need to get back to investigating that murder, so I’ll allow one more question.”

  “Detective, do you know the motive?”

  “Not at this time. But we’re still pulling evidence together. I have faith we’ll figure this out.” I pointed a stern finger at them. “Now, off with all of you. I’ve work to do and I can’t focus if you’re following me about all the time. I’ll issue another statement when I’ve got something to actually report.”

  It took more effort than that to get them to leave, of course. A few of the more tenacious reporters kept shouting questions at me, and I had to boot two of them physically off the porch. Constable Parmenter arrived on scene mid-process and helped us clear the rest of them away. Bless the man. By the time we were done, I was beyond famished and beelined for the dining room. Clint hopped down and went ahead of me, already leaping into an empty chair and curling up into it.

  I reached the table to find Henri and Penny already close to finishing lunch. Henri pointed to the seat next to him. A covered bowl sat in place with enticing aromas of clam chowder rising from it. I dropped into the chair without ceremony and lifted the cover off with a sigh of pleasure. “You wonderful man. I could kiss you.”

  Color high on his cheeks, he gave a sage nod. “I reckoned you’d be half-famished. How did it go?”

  “We got them to go away,” Sherard answered, already tucking into his own bowl of chowder. “That’s all that really matters.”

  “Hear hear.” I savored the first spoonful. So creamy. So delightful. Would they give me the recipe if I asked very nicely? “How did the search go?”

  Henri took up answering the question as Sherard had his mouth full. “We did find his magical research. Seaton and I beat our heads against it for a bit, mostly out of curiosity, but we hardly needed to.”

  Penny’s jaw dropped. “Was he really?!”

  Sherard swallowed so he could pitch in, “That’s not actually very surprising. Burtchell was an expert in transportation magic of all sorts. The story we’ve heard of him saving those ships? He did it by portal magic. He literally portaled three ships to the safety of the docks. That’s how powerful and gifted he was with it. It’s insane what that man could do. With him retired, he was the perfect person to handle the research.”

  With effort, I swallowed my mouthful, as I really wanted to ask the question I hadn’t dared when talking with Sherard the other night. The boys were usually closed-mouthed about anything Belladonna related, probably in an effort to not dig at old wounds, and this candid conversation was rare on their parts. I wanted to capitalize on it. “Was he making any headway on figuring it out?”

  “That’s what we were trying to discern,” Henri answered.

  Sherard kept talking. “As far as we can tell, he had unraveled part of her notes. It’s definitely a laborious task. Her handwriting is barely legible and her notes jump about. Still, he’d made progress. I’d like to read through the rest of it before we pass it back to the right hands.”

  I had to ask the obvious question. “Did it get him killed?”

  “We’re not sure,” Henri answered with a shrug and a splay of his free hand. “Perhaps? It’s highly valuable information, to be sure. But the research wasn’t complete. Wasn’t even close to it. And we saw no signs anyone had looked for it to begin with. They hadn’t even used a seeking spell. Either they never got the chance, or it wasn’t their objective to begin with.”

  “And we don’t know enough to guess which it is at this point.” Penny sighed deeply. “Lovely.”

  I shared her frustration. I also felt my appetite return and I squeezed Henri’s hand in thanks before letting go. He gave me a soft, sweet smile before retracting his hand. “Any word from Weber?”

  “We stopped in to see him earlier. He said the autopsy was taking longer than expected,” Henri answered. “Although he didn’t mention why. But I don’t expect word from him until tomorrow.”

  “Really? I wonder why his plan changed. Did you discover anything else? Figure out the wards?”

  Reminded, Sherard groaned and theatrically slumped on the table. Clint actually felt bad enough for him that he curled up on Sherard’s shoulders, settling down and purring in comfort. It couldn’t be comfortable to have an eleven-pound cat on your neck, but Sherard just patted him.

  “That bad,” Penny drawled. “Nothing hinky, magically speaking?”

  “No, nothing out of the ordinary at all,” Henri denied with a sigh. “Wards were fully functional—I tested that—all the windows either don’t open or were still locked. The spells in the house were typical, something a magician uses on a regular basis. We did have one good stroke of fortune. If you choose to call it that. We found the bullet.”

  I clapped my hands together, tensing with anticipation. “So a bullet DID kill him. Where was it?”

  “Directly behind the chair. It got lodged into one of the books, barely creasing the page. I was surprised it stopped there.”

  Shaking my head, I told him, “I’ve seen books stop a bullet before. All the layers of paper have amazing stopping force. But you should be happy about this; it means a conventional weapon was used. We have a lead.”

  Henri and Sherard exchanged a look loaded with meaning.

  “We’re not going to like this, are we?” Penny guessed wryly.

  “I already submitted it to Weber for safekeeping, otherwise I’d show you,” Henri apologized to us. “I thought it might help with his autopsy. But in short, no, the bullet is not helpful. The casing is still on it, to start with.”

  I blinked, because that was quite strange. “Maybe a misfire?”

  “A misfire that went in a straight line?” Henri challenged, eyebrow arching.

  “That…is a good point. Okay, so the casing was still intact. Anything else?”

  “There’s no striation on it.”

  I could feel my brain ground to a halt. “Excuse me? That’s not possible. If it’s fired from a gun, there’s going to be marks.”

  Henri gave me a nod, expression deadpan. “You now understand why we are less than enthused.”

  It was Penny’s turn to flop back in her chair like an overdramatic actor. “Great. Because it’s not enough we have a locked room mystery, but we needed a complicated and unusual murder weapon as well. What can even do that? Is there a spell?”

  “A number of them, but we didn’t see a trace of any spell like that.” Sherard was still talking to the table top. Clint gave him a soothing pat on the side of the neck. “Just wind, heating charms, some minor cleaning spells. Normal things every magician uses on a consistent basis.”

  “Well, this is just getting better and better.” I could feel a headache brewing. Figuring this out would require a lo
t of out-of-the-box thinking. My temples gave a painful twinge. “In better news, we have a more complete timeline for Burtchell’s last morning. Paperboy saw him walk home at about five in the morning.”

  Henri looked intrigued. “Up that early or out all night?”

  “Out all night. He was playing cards, the paperboy said. Somewhere further up the street. We have the address. I’ll knock on some doors after lunch, see if I can’t figure out where and with who. We also found from the locksmith that the locks and keys were specially made to work with Burtchell’s wards.”

  Penny’s head flopped back upright so she could participate in the conversation again. “We have the designs for both, if you want to take a look.”

  Even Sherard sounded heartened by this. (Hard to see his face with a cat still on his neck.) “Sounds excellent. We’ll do so after lunch. Anything else?”

  “Stopped by the solicitor’s—he had a key to the house as well, as part of the will—and while we didn’t catch him, his paralegal promised to get us a copy of the will so we know how the estate is being broken up. Maybe inheritance money plays into this. I’d dearly love to lay my hands on a motive.” I wouldn’t hold my breath on it, though. Burtchell didn’t live lavishly. The things he spent his money on were card games and race horses. His house was nice, and he had a housekeeper, but his lifestyle wasn’t really over the top.

  “I rather doubt we’ll find a murderous relative,” Henri denied thoughtfully. “I understand Burtchell to be an orphan. It made the news at the time, when he first was promoted as royal mage, that he did so entirely on his own merits.”

  “Never married or had children, either,” Sherard confirmed, sinking back onto the table. “I’m not sure how much luck you’ll have with this avenue.”

  “Boys. Don’t burst my bubble. It’s a nice bubble.”

  They just snorted and let it be.

  I could see the waiters bringing plates of dessert our direction, so I reached over and snagged Clint, pulling him off. Sherard finally straightened, looking only slightly heartened at the sight of sugar heading toward us.