Murder for Tea

by Vered Ehsani

  “Mrs. Cricket— Sarah—left the constable at the altar in order to be with a man whose inventions might be useful to her,” I voiced my thoughts. “And then they moved here.”

  “The human psyche is so terribly fragile,” Koki said, shaking her head in mock dismay. “One broken heart, and the boy becomes a mass murderer.”

  “But why come here then?” I asked, my pace increasing with the speed of my mind.

  Koki clucked her tongue. “Well, he certainly didn’t come here for the theater.”

  “Revenge,” I murmured. “He came here for revenge.”

  “How sublime,” Koki cooed. “A determined vendetta is a thing of beauty.”

  “Koki,” I reprimanded her just as Gideon appeared overhead.

  She chuckled. “So are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Dr. Cricket is the next victim, and we need to stop the murder?”

  Koki frowned. “I was thinking we should go home and let Constable Hunt get on with it.”

  “Koki!”

  She flung her head back and laughed, her teeth flashing against her dark skin and the night. “Calm yourself, Miss Knight. I wouldn’t allow our talented inventor to die so soon. We may need him in future.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  FINDING A CORPSE is never a pleasant experience. It’s particularly burdensome when you happen to know the person, even distantly.

  “Dr. Cricket?” I called out, hoping I wouldn’t stumble upon his lifeless body. As Koki had correctly pointed out, he was a fine inventor.

  The cluttered front room was devoid of movement, the air stifling. I sniffed deeply; there was no scent of death or blood. Was it too much to hope that we weren’t too late then?

  “On the list of terrible ideas,” Gideon whispered into my ear, “this has to be the most terrible.”

  “Hush,” I said.

  “What would Mr. Timmons say?” Gideon continued. “More critically, you’re exposing Shelby to unsuitable companions and situations.”

  Shelby mewed in her pouch but otherwise remained undisturbed by my choice of companions. I glanced at Koki who gestured with her head toward a doorway on the far wall that led into the rest of the house. The only light source was an oil lamp perched on the edge of a table in the next room.

  We crept through the disturbing silence of the front room, amongst the tables burdened with various contraptions and inventions, each more extraordinary than the previous one. Parts of automatons were flung across work benches. In the dim lighting, it seemed as if we were approaching the aftermath of an atrocious battle, the metal limbs and heads shimmering like bones in the moonlight. On a stool, the upper half of an automaton acted as a lonely sentinel, its glass eyes vacantly staring across the room.

  We were halfway to the back when a heavy bang echoed around us. Jumping, I spun about to see the front door firmly closed; my arm knocked against the torso of the automaton.

  “A gust of wind,” Koki said, snickering at my startled appearance. “Surely you aren’t overly concerned about a mere officer? We’ve faced far more fearsome beasts, you and I.”

  Scowling, I steadied the half-done automaton. Its head moved back and forth, its jaw opening and shutting with a sharp clicking sound. Unable to stop its motion, I turned to Koki and retorted in a whisper, “That may be so, but this ‘mere officer’ hunts the very flock he is sworn to protect. The worst beast is the one you don’t suspect.”

  Shrugging to indicate her indifference in the matter, Koki led the way to the back doorway, her bare feet gliding across the floor. My breathing was loud to my own ears, and I was certain my stride was as graceful and quiet as that of a baby elephant.

  I paused at the doorway, for I’d never had cause to venture beyond it. Standing to one side as a sentinel was Dr. Cricket’s pride and joy, the automaton known as Life Imitating Automaton Machine or Liam. Covered in pig skin, Liam was disturbingly lifelike but fortunately empty of any animating spirit. The sight of him always reminded me of my encounter with Mrs. Cricket, or rather her spirit. I was grateful that the woman was dead and buried in the vegetable patch outside the house.

  “Grotesque creature,” I muttered.

  Koki softly scoffed. Then again, she’d never encountered Liam when Mrs. Cricket’s evil spirit had resided in the automaton.

  “It’s of even less consequence than the man,” Koki said as she strolled into the next room.

  I was tempted to shush her, for she spoke as if unconcerned who might hear her. Then again, she could shift into her giant praying mantis form. I wondered how Constable Hunt would react to that. The thought of his reaction calmed my nerves. What did I have to fear when my companion was a ferocious she-demon?

  I was still smiling when I witnessed Koki grunt, stagger and collapse in front of me.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ALL THOUGHTS OF a giant insect wrestling a serial killer into submission fell to the floor along with Koki. I could see, projecting out of the side of her neck, a dart much like the ones stored in my walking stick. I could only hope either the constable’s darts weren’t as poisonous as mine or Koki had a greater resistance to venom than other creatures.

  Someone hiding in the next room and to one side of the doorway cursed softly.

  Gripping my walking stick in readiness to thwack the person, I waited for an appearance or some proclamation. It was my experience villains loved to deliver grand pronouncements when they believe themselves to be victorious. In this he did not disappoint me.

  “Mrs. Timmons,” a confident voice sounded from around the doorway and in the shadows of the room.

  “Constable Hunt,” I replied, glancing at my fallen companion.

  “Dr. Cricket and I were just discussing your virtues,” he said, an uncivilized joviality infecting his words.

  Koki’s eyelids fluttered, and I took this to be an excellent indication she continued to dwell amongst the living. I could only hope the constable hadn’t noticed. To distract him, I said, “It must have been a brief and thoroughly uninteresting discussion then.”

  The constable chuckled. “How lowly you consider yourself, or perhaps this is a display of your modesty? If so, I commend you on possessing such a womanly virtue.”

  I scoffed at the notion, and said, “You are too kind. Well, not really kind, given you’re a serial killer with no taste in overcoats. I really can’t accept a compliment from a man who is both murderous and lacking in fashion.”

  There was a pause before the man, clearly affronted by my accusation, said, “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Timmons, but I’ll have you know I purchased my overcoat from a prestigious store.”

  “Then you were conned,” I said. “There is nothing more to be said on the matter.”

  “I see.”

  In the ensuing silence, I could hear the ticking of the half-bodied automaton behind me. Somewhere outside an owl hooted, and a bush baby cried. It was all so terribly mournful.

  “Is Dr. Cricket still with us?” I asked.

  “He is,” the constable replied good-naturedly, as if he’d recovered from my previous insult. “Why not join us?”

  With that, he must have opened the cover of another oil lamp, for a light flowed out from where he was standing. While I still couldn’t see him, I was able to observe Dr. Cricket tied to a chair across the room, his mouth gagged and his eyelids blinking furiously as if attempting to communicate with me in Morse code.

  “You’ve come a long way to avenge yourself, Constable Hunt,” I said, delaying my response to his invitation to enter the room. “Was she worth it?”

  “Hardly,” he said as he stepped into view. His handsome face had lost some of its charm, for he was scowling at me with a ferocity that would make a werewolf proud. In one hand was the lantern, a small cloud of kerosene-scented smoke drifting up from the hole at the top of the glass cover; in his other hand was a pistol.

  “How disappointing,” I said, glancing about for the dart gun. It was nowhere to be seen. “I�
�d hoped not to leave behind a messy corpse. It makes for a miserable funeral.”

  Constable Hunt’s blue eyes brightened as he hung the oil lamp on a peg by the doorway. “My sentiments precisely, Mrs. Timmons. I want my victims to look beautiful in their coffins. We are so very much aligned in our way of thinking.”

  I smiled and tipped my head toward him. “Indeed we are, apart from your tendency to murder people when they are at their happiest, on the eve of their wedding.”

  Constable Hunt tilted his head as he pondered my statement. “I suppose so.”

  “Oh! And your preference for coffee rather than tea means you and I shall never be friends.” I clucked my disapproval. “In hindsight and based on your coffee drinking habit alone, I should have known you were not to be trusted.”

  “Enough,” he said, indicating I had trespassed too far on his tolerance for insults.

  Before I could elucidate on the merits of tea versus coffee, of which there were many, he withdrew a slender piece of bamboo from his pocket. He raised it to his lips with such rapidity I only realized his intention at the precise moment a small dart stung my neck. Unable to curse him, I collapsed into darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  MY EYES FLUTTERED open. We were in the room in which Constable Hunt had awaited us. As cluttered as the front part of the house was, this section was bare of ornaments and inventions. There was only a chair tucked under the wooden table on top of which rested an oil lamp and a few diaries. A second oil lamp hung from a peg near the doorway.

  As accustomed as I was to the chaos and jumbled nature of Dr. Cricket’s work space, I found this room particularly odd. Peculiar still was my inability to summon the werewolf energy in my hand. Gideon floated outside the doorway, his translucent form trembling with agitation.

  “I can’t enter there,” he said. “I’ll be drained.”

  “And I can’t shift,” Koki added, glaring at the ghost as if it was his fault.

  “It’s as if we are in a giant jinni bottle,” I said. “Dr. Cricket mentioned he’d created an energy-suppressing device. He was clearly successful. Our paranormal energies are trapped until someone releases us from here.”

  “Arr?” Dr. Cricket mumbled through his gag. He stared at me, his eyelids fluttering rapidly.

  “Blast it,” I muttered, not even blushing at my language.

  Koki glanced at me with a bemused expression. “If he hasn’t realized by now there’s something queer about you,” she drawled, “then he doesn’t deserve to keep that head on his shoulders.”

  Frantic, Dr. Cricket shook his head with such force I marveled he didn’t self-decapitate.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, attempting a soothing tone. “She didn’t mean that.”

  Koki snorted. “Yes, I did.”

  Before we could continue the conversation, such as it was, Constable Hunt returned. The man was oblivious to his fortune, for had we been in any other location, he would have already found himself set upon by my werewolf’s energy whilst being neatly decapitated by a giant mantis. As it was, all we could do was glare at him and hope by some miracle the intensity of our stares would knock him dead or at least into submission.

  Sadly, he had neither the manners to die nor the decency to set us free. Instead, he loomed over us as he pondered our fates. “You’ve put me in a rather delicate situation, Mrs. Timmons,” he said. “If you’d left well enough alone, we wouldn’t be in this conundrum.”

  “If you let us go,” I suggested, “the difficulty would be resolved.”

  Ignoring my attempts at humor, he began to pace before us. “No one would miss the native.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Koki purred. “My husband is an animal.”

  “If Dr. Cricket was the only one to suffer a nasty end, I could convince Dougal it was no more than an unfortunate accident,” Constable Hunt continued, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at the floor. “But for him and you, Mrs. Timmons, to die at the same time could raise eyebrows.”

  “Yes, I suppose we have presented you with an inconvenience.” I said, wondering what Mr. Timmons would say if he ever found out about the situation. He would observe it as further proof of my inability to avoid trouble. I sighed at the unfairness of life.

  “Your sympathy does you credit, madam,” Constable Hunt said. “What a pity that you are too clever by half.”

  “I suppose he prefers his women stupid,” Koki said as she refocused her glare.

  “Mrs. Cricket was hardly that,” I reminded Koki. “She was a foul and wicked creature, her plans nefarious and cunning—”

  Crouching in front of me, Constable Hunt slapped me across the face. While it wasn’t hard enough to cause more than an instinctive wince, it produced the desired result: to silence me.

  “I won’t hear you speak a bad word about her,” he murmured, his features alarmingly calm for a man who’d just inflicted violence. “She was beautiful, and I loved her.”

  “She betrayed you,” I reminded him, wondering what reward I’d receive for my honesty.

  Constable Hunt stood and nodded as he peered down at me. “She did. And if I’d found her alive, I’d have taken great pleasure in killing her.”

  “I am astounded,” I said and glanced at Koki who didn’t appear amazed at the insanity of the man’s position regarding his former lover. She was too enraged.

  At that moment, Shelby stirred in her pouch, her hairy little arms stretching above my midsection.

  “What mischief is this?” Constable Hunt asked, momentarily distracted from his visions of murdering the woman he claimed to love.

  “It’s a monkey,” I said, stating the obvious as Shelby was now crawling out of her pouch to stare at me, her mouth quivering in hunger.

  “Filthy little beasts,” Constable Hunt said, his lips twisted into a sneer. He stepped toward me, his dark intention clear in his bright blue eyes.

  “Run, Shelby, run to Gideon,” I shouted, curling forward so I could smack the little monkey with my head.

  Startled, Shelby shrieked and dashed through Hunt’s legs and toward Gideon.

  Constable Hunt made as if to give chase, but the monkey had vanished into the darkened lab. I squinted and saw energy forms appear in the gloom. Gideon and Shelby were by the front door where Gideon was frantically providing a refresher lesson in how to work a doorknob.

  “How to do this?” Constable Hunt asked, abandoning the pursuit in order to resume pondering his predicament. “I think I’ll take the native out beyond the town and dump her body where the hyenas will devour it. That’s a simple enough task.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Koki snarled.

  “You can’t kill her in here,” I said, envisioning him dragging Koki outside, where she’d be free of the suppressing effect of the room’s lining. The ropes binding her wrists would be no impediment once her shape-shifting powers were unblocked. “After all, it would appear rather contrary to an accident if you did.”

  My hopes were dashed as the constable tapped his temple. “Not if I make it appear she tried to kill Dr. Cricket.”

  “Why would she do that?” I protested.

  “I could think of a few reasons,” Koki said.

  Constable Hunt resumed his pacing, his hands gesturing before him. “She broke into the house to steal something. No one will doubt that. Even though she’s a woman, she is a heathen native, after all.”

  “Thank you,” Koki said.

  “Dr. Cricket, valorous man that he is,” Constable Hunt continued, smirking at the man who appeared anything but valiant, “heard noise and went to investigate. Upon discovering the thief, he attempted to defend himself and his lover, Mrs. Timmons. Alas, the native had a knife.”

  Pausing in his narration, he yanked up his pant leg and pulled a blade out of a sheath strapped to his boot. Plunging the knife into the wooden table, he continued, “Before he could save his lover, the native stabbed Mrs. Timmons and attacked him. In response, Dr. Cricket shot the thief.”
He drew out his revolver. “And they all died within arm’s reach of each other.” He chuckled. “It’s perfect, almost romantic.”

  Koki gagged at the notion while Dr. Cricket swooned, his head thumping against the wall behind him. Pleased with his plan, Constable Hunt pulled the comatose Dr. Cricket off the chair and dragged him closer to Koki.

  “It sounds messy,” I observed.

  The constable sighed and nodded. “Yes, it is a great pity and entirely your own fault, Mrs. Timmons.”

  Something clattered in the outer room.

  “The blasted monkey is still there,” Constable Hunt muttered, then smiled. “It should make for some fun target practice.”

  A heavy crash echoed through the room as the half-bodied automaton rolled into view, its empty glass eyes staring at me, its fixed grin widening as its jaw flapped open.

  “That’s a naughty beast,” Constable Hunt grumbled, his back to me as he peered into the other room. One hand gripped a revolver; the other reached for the lantern hanging on a hook near the doorway.

  “You have no idea,” I said as I glimpsed the most extraordinary sight: a fat, brown horse with a small monkey perched between the horse’s ears, and a ghost hovering above, cheering them on.

  The screeching of the monkey and the clattering of hooves against the wood floorboards almost obscured the sound of a gunshot. Nelly’s shoulder crashed into Constable Hunt who flew backward and slammed against the wall near me with a satisfying crunch. The momentum of Nelly’s canter carried her across the room where she collapsed against the Wedding Killer. The two sank to the floor in a jumble of horse and human limbs. Gideon floated on the other side of the doorway like an avenging wraith while Shelby released Nelly’s ears and leaped onto my head.

  “Well done, everyone, well done,” I cheered them.

  Not wasting a moment, Koki wiggled toward the doorway and freedom, and I almost giggled at her wormlike appearance. As I possessed a significant degree of self-preservation, I resisted. The moment Koki was out the room, she shifted into a horse-sized praying mantis, releasing herself from her bonds. Shaking her triangular head, she stared at me.