by R K Dreaming
“She glowered. “They think it’s the Reaper, and I couldn’t possibly be The Reaper.”
“You think it’s not The Reaper. They might come round to your way of thinking.”
“So you believe me now, do you?”
He didn’t know what to believe, and certainly wasn’t going to admit it.
“And what the heck are you doing out in the daylight anyway?” he growled.
Squeak squawked in agreement.
Sigourney glared. “So you two thought I’d be hiding away at home, waiting until dark to get started on my leads did you? All I am trying to do is help you! And even you, you bitey little beast!” she brandished her bitten finger at Squeak.
Squeak squawked as mightily as her little body would allow and flapped her wings in a tiny show of bite-sized feathery defiance. Charming would have chuckled if he wasn’t so mad.
“And anyway,” said Sigourney, “I’m sick of hiding away until dark. I got caught out in the sunlight okay? Someone recognised me.” She lowered her voice, “But no one needs to know I got my health back from a wish. I won’t ever tell them about you. I promised to hide you away once we were done, and I will.
He gritted his jaw. This was exactly the problem right here. Impossible miracles happened, like a sanguith walking in daylight, and savvy minds began to think, ‘Hmmm, maybe genies are real’, and they came looking for one, and then they found him. How could she not see that? Never once had the required fifty years passed for him to be set free, nowhere near, and he knew by now it never would.
“Hopefully I won’t need to hide you, now you have a chance to be free,” she continued. A pleading look came onto her face. “Charming, can’t we just work together? We make a great team. We can share what we’ve found—”
“No!” he snapped. “I’ve told you why, and you still won’t listen.”
What was going to happen to the ridiculously trouble-prone woman once he was gone?
A horrible fear was beginning to boil inside him. If he didn’t get this right, his last chance of escaping that lamp would slip out of his grasp. His last descendent Amelie had been the only one who might have been able to keep him hidden for fifty years. Was he going to be trapped in the lamp for eternity now, losing everyone he ever grew to care about? The thought was unbearable.
But he couldn’t explain it to her. It would make her worry, or worse, pity him. He turned on his heel and stalked off.
Squeak flapped off his shoulder and flew away.
“Be like that!” Sigourney yelled after him. “Hey, what the heck do you want, you little beast? Get off! Wait! Aren’t you going to take your dratted chicken?”
No he damn well was not. Squeak could do what she liked.
More than a little furious, including at Squeak’s unexpected betrayal, Charming walked around the corner.
After muttering angrily to himself for some moments like a madman, attracting stares from passers-by, he calmed himself and conjured up some casual clothes. He had work to do.
He waited for about ten minutes until he was sure Sigourney was gone. He knew she would take care of Squeak, or at least he hoped she would. Let her carry around a tiny chicken for once and get ogled by everyone. Especially since she had chosen to flaunt herself around in the daylight. Heck, maybe it would even keep her out of trouble.
This thought made Charming feel a tad better as he returned to Bridgit Corkmony’s street, to a spot where he could keep a watch on her house. That sentinel Polliver had to still be inside, probably having a conniption about someone impersonating him.
Charming leaned against a tree and waited. Luckily for him, no one gave a crap about a guy in jeans and leather jacket leaning against a tree and smoking these days. Apparently it was an entirely normal thing to do. The only passers-by who looked at him twice were women giving him the eye.
Charming had never been a fan of smoking, and was growing tired of holding onto the lit cigarette by the time Polliver came out of Bridgit’s. The beautiful Bridgit must have worked her magic on him because Polliver seemed in a rather good mood.
He hummed to himself as he walked right past Charming, a slight hurry in his stride as if he had somewhere to be. Charming followed at a more leisurely pace.
What was Polliver, who was supposed to be investigating the Troy Mockingbird murder, doing investigating this Reaper case too?
There were other reasons that Polliver could have come to see the lovely Bridgit of course, but Charming was suspicious.
Charming only hoped Bridgit had not made the mistake of telling Polliver her secrets. The man could not be trusted one bit.
Polliver walked to The Strip and disappeared inside a restaurant called The Curry Cauldron.
Charming kept an eye on him through the large window and saw him take a seat with a man and woman, both dressed in plain clothes but who had that stiff, ever-alert bearing of sentinels.
A team meeting, thought Charming with a smile. It was just what he needed.
Disappearing down a narrow side-alley and out of view, Charming conjured up a uniform that matched the waiters in the restaurant, then walked into the back entrance of The Curry Cauldron without any of the kitchen staff giving him a second glance.
This was one of the very useful magical side-effects of being a genie. Most people ignored anything that they thought was normal anyway, like a fellow member of staff who they didn’t quite recognise. Must be a new hire, they said to themselves. But if any particularly alert person did question it, Charming was able to momentarily gloss over their doubts with his magic.
Inside the dimly lit restaurant, Charming located the sentinels’ drinks order and took them to their table.
“Are you ready to order your food?” he asked the trio.
“Give us a minute,” barked Polliver, not deigning to look at Charming.
Charming retreated a few paces and hovered unobtrusively.
“Not your usual kind of haunt, chief,” one of the sentinels said as he perused his menu.
“Someone recommended it,” said Polliver, scowling at his menu. “She said they do the best — ah, here it is — the best curried veal scaloppini.”
Charming smirked. He had no doubt that the ‘she’ in question was Bridgit.
Despite Charming’s effort to be unobtrusive, the sentinels did not talk about their case at all in his presence. They gave him their orders and waited for him to go away.
Charming hurried to dispatch the order to the kitchen, but returned immediately to the adjoining tables to fuss with topping up various drinks, and kept an ear open for the sentinels.
Luckily for him the restaurant was very noisy, which made it necessary for the sentinels to speak up. Charming was able to pick out their voices from among the hubbub of the crowd and chinking of crockery.
The female sentinel was updating Polliver on the case and Charming hoped he had not missed anything crucial. “The housekeeper Muira Pike was at home, sir—”
“Chief!” barked Polliver.
“Er, yes chief. We spoke to her, and she’s not involved. But shouldn’t we be focussing on the Mockingbird case? Didn’t that Chief Hardwick from the local police say the Conclave want us to back off The Reaper case?”
“We are sentinels, not their servants!”
“But jurisdiction—”
“Never mind jurisdiction. I’ll decide what we investigate, and I’ll decide if the housekeeper was involved or not,” growled Polliver.
“But sir, chief, we have no leads on the Mockingbird case and we need—”
“Didn’t I say I already have that under control?” said Polliver.
“We don’t have jurisdiction in Brimstone Bay,” she insisted quietly. “If the locals find out we’re interfering in The Reaper case, then they’ll take us off the Mockingbird case too, sir, I mean, chief. You know the Eldritch Council is fighting to take that one from us.”
Polliver smiled smugly. “We are going to solve both cases right under their noses. See how they
like that. Now, what have you got to report to me?”
“I’m afraid the housekeeper definitely wasn’t involved,” she said almost apologetically.
He scowled. “When you have my experience, Bordey, you will know better. I had a case once where the cleaner was an undercover assassin working for a Magicwild-led crime syndicate. Luckily I found a lead that cracked the case wide open.”
Charming was unable to contain a contemptful snigger. He wouldn’t put it past Polliver to take credit for someone else’s work. The snigger upset the guy at Charming’s table, who cut up his spiced calamari starter rather aggressively.
The guy was beginning to chafe at Charming’s presence, and the girlfriend’s flirtatious and indecisive consultation with Charming of which drinks were tastiest was too distracting. Charming told her he’d give them some time to decide and moved on to the next table.
A waiter approached with the sentinels’ starters and Charming intercepted him. He took the tray of dishes and dropped them off at the table. Again, the sentinels waited for him to leave before resuming speaking.
“But sir, er, chief,” said Agent Bordey, “the cleaner Muira Pike didn’t even try to hide the argument she had with Marilyn Hepburn a couple of days before the murder. She admitted to it readily. Said Marilyn fired her after accusing her of being the one who leaked the secret marriage story to the press.”
“Exactly! She had motive for murder,” said Polliver, taking Agent Bordey’s second samosa without asking. “And she’s clearly a nasty sort. Finfolk, is she, with a name like Pike?”
Agent Bordey nodded. “But—”
“Exactly,” said Polliver, mouth full of samosa while Agent Bordey eyed her empty plate hungrily. “Finfolk are always scheming untrustworthy sorts. She’s proven she can’t be trusted with her employer’s secrets. No doubt sold that story for a pretty penny to the press. I should have spoken to her myself. I’d have got the truth out of her.”
Agent Bordey flushed. “She said she never leaked that story.”
“She did show us her bank records voluntarily,” piped up the other agent. “There was no large payment recently. In fact, she’s pretty short on funds. I suppose she could have been paid in cash but—”
“Exactly! Poor, was she? They always are. She must have been furious at being fired. That’s why she hired The Reaper to kill the actress!”
“But if she was poor, how could she afford to hire The Reaper?” said the agent. “And we’ve no evidence The Reaper is a killer for hire.”
“Don’t question me, Antoine!” snapped Polliver.
Agent Bordey spoke up, talking quickly to not give Polliver the opportunity to cut her off. “Apologies chief, but Muira Pike spent the evening of the murder helping her kids make pizza, which she then ate with her husband, teenage children, her sister and her sister’s husband. They stayed up late watching a movie. The daughter even posted parts of it on Instagram. We saw it. It’s a solid alibi.”
Polliver paused from munching a chicken wing he had snitched from Agent Antoine. “The coroner narrowed the murder window to late Wednesday night, early hours of Thursday morning. Around 11:00 pm to 2:00 am. Pike could have snuck out. We need to pin this on her!” He smacked his fist into his palm with relish.
Bordey looked alarmed. She shook her head. “It was a movie marathon, chief. They were up until nearly 4:00 am. It wasn’t her.”
“What kind of family celebrates after their mother is fired?” demanded Polliver. “Maybe they’re all in it together.”
“The kids arranged it to cheer their mum up,” said Bordey.
“A likely story,” muttered Polliver angrily, as the other two agents exchanged disbelieving looks. “Well? Did you bother to ask her if she knows anyone who would want Marilyn Hepburn dead? Or did you not think of that? We need a suspect. A good one!”
“We did ask, chief,” said Antoine. “Everyone had motive, or so she said. Mrs Pike didn’t like Ms Hepburn much, it seems.”
“Of course she didn’t. Ugly women always hate beautiful ones,” said Polliver.
“She wasn’t ugly,” muttered Bordey quietly.
Polliver ignored her, and gestured at Antoine to continue. He took the last chicken wing out from under Antoine’s fingertips. “Stop stuffing your face and speak man, speak!”
A flushed Antoine obliged. “Mrs Pike said there was nothing wrong with Ms Hepburn on the surface but there was something off about her. Said she’d so been looking forward to working for a movie star, but Ms Hepburn was paranoid about everything, and was a strange loner, who didn’t like people much. Not like her public persona at all. She was always holing herself away in the house, always wandering around checking the locks on the doors and windows. Jumpy every time the phone rang. Always moping because her new husband was away but wouldn’t go to Ireland to join him.”
“I don’t care about all that!” snapped Polliver. “Who specifically wanted to kill her? Didn’t you make her name names?”
“She couldn’t really say,” said Antoine. “She said Mrs Hepburn didn’t seem to have many friends. That in hindsight, maybe lots of people didn’t like her, or why else would she shut herself away from the world like that? That she was a nasty suspicious sort, it turns out, and she showed her true colours when she fired her.”
“She was just angry about being fired,” said Bordey. “She said before the firing she quite liked Marilyn remember? Said she seemed ‘normal’ and not the stuck-up superstar she had been afraid she would be. I don’t think it seemed like Marilyn had enemies. Just that she was a private person.”
“Will you stop butting in, Bordey!” snapped Polliver. “Let the man speak!”
Bordey glowered at him, and took a sip of her mint tea to hide her expression.
“Er, what Bordey said was right,” said Antoine warily, afraid his boss would snap at him too. “But she did say Ms Hepburn seemed highly strung and ‘What that sweet boy Noah sees in her, I do not know.’ So maybe there was trouble in the marriage?”
“Yes,” purred Polliver. “So the husband had a motive, did he? Too bad he was in Ireland with Garrett Clooney. Garrett said Noah wouldn’t hurt a fly. Spoke to Garrett myself. Wonderful chap. Solid alibi. It can’t have been the husband. No one will want to believe it. We’ll have to look elsewhere.”
“But the husband could have hired The Reaper,” Bordey pointed out.
“Didn’t I say Garrett vouched for him?” said Polliver irritably. “Said the boy was heartbroken. Loved the woman. Rightly so. Gorgeous gal. Horrible mess of her, he made. Pity really.”
Charming gritted his teeth. Polliver was a steaming pile of dung. A brainless boor. A festering fly in need of a ruthless swatting.
His stupidity was good, because Charming didn’t want anyone solving Amelie’s murder before him. But never-the-less, it made his blood boil that such a repugnant moron was investigating Amelie’s death, trampling carelessly over every memory left of her in this world, heedless of bringing her justice. How had Sigourney suffered working with the pea-brained pinhead for so long?
Charming was glad that these people had no idea yet that the beautiful, tragic Marilyn Hepburn had really been Amelie Assisi, long lost daughter of another Reaper victim decades ago. That would really light a fire under their butts.
And he was relieved that the housekeeper hadn’t known anything useful, like about Noah Clooney’s little tryst with Jenny James in Ireland.
“Chief,” said Bordey tentatively. “Don’t you think we’ve done enough here? The local police hadn’t even interviewed the housekeeper yet, but when they do, they’ll know we’ve interfered in their case. And our bosses are more interested in the Mockingbird case anyway, I thought? If we get kicked off—”
“Didn’t I say I have that completely under control?” Polliver snapped. “Believe me, I’ve got the best person possible on the job. We’re working on it.”
Polliver scowled, no doubt at having to admit that Sigourney was the best person on the job, b
ecause who else could he be talking about? Charming smirked at that. Sigourney was going to love to hear it. Not so much the part that Polliver planned to take complete credit for it himself, to the extent of cutting out the rest of his team.
Bordey took a deep breath and ploughed on, even though she didn’t look too happy at any of this. “Then we should be focussing on Marilyn Hepburn’s miscarriage,” she said. “You said Noah knew nothing about it. Which means that Marilyn must have had another lover before she met Noah, or even when she was with him?”
To Charming it was clear that she was implying that this gave Noah motive for murder.
Polliver seemed either oblivious to this, or determined to ignore it. “Beautiful women always cheat,” he said with vicious satisfaction. “It had to be that Rodan Hale’s baby, no doubt.”
“But Hale is dead,” said Bordey. “So he can’t be a suspect.”
Polliver smirked. “Maybe he arranged the murder but forgot. And ended up in the house the same night, and The Reaper killed him by mistake too.” He guffawed, hugely amused at this.
“Rodan Hale was a conscientious man and loyal friend by all accounts,” said Bordey. “Everyone we spoke to today said so.”
“Jealous,” said Polliver dismissively. “She married some other guy, didn’t she? He must have been fuming.”
“And he was smart and diligent too,” said Bordey. “If he hired a killer, I doubt he would forget the arrangements.”
“He was a wizard. Clever and sneaky, it sounds like. Can’t trust them as far as you can throw them.”
“We have sentinels who are wizards,” Bordey pointed out.
“A mistake if you ask me,” he said scathingly. “Ours aren’t as bad as theirs, but you have to be careful, even with them.”
Bordey pursed her lips, fuming.
“What about Garrett Clooney?” suggested Antoine. “Maybe he was the lover.”
“Garrett is a happily married man,” said Polliver pompously. “Absolutely stunning wife. Haven’t you seen her? Beautiful twins too. Charming fellow. The man would not cheat on his wife. Don’t you know anything about him?”