The Infiniti Investigates: Hattie Jenkins & the Infiniti Chronicles Books 1 to 5

by Pearl Goodfellow

  “How about Artemus Caves?” I asked, leaning in slightly for a secretive head to head with the Chief. “Going from rising literary star to living on the decrepit West Coast surrounded by Strands stash houses? Artemus' life has changed a lot since Druida's damning review of his book on spells. Could give a man plenty of motive for revenge?"

  “There’s a hole in that theory,” David said, holding up the pen. “There was no sign of a break-in that we could find, and we went over things fairly thoroughly. Artemus Caves was never a member of the library staff and so likely wouldn’t have had a key to either the front or back doors.”

  “He still could have filched one from somewhere,” I pointed out.

  “True, but that’s just conjecture at this point,” he said back, putting aside the pen and notepad so he could organize the forms. “That the end of your suspect list?”

  “Not quite,” I admitted. “My number one suspect for all this is Mayor Marty Fog.”

  David looked away from the forms to frown at me. “Do I have to remind you that—“

  “C’mon, David,” I said back. “That information which you absolutely did NOT give me would have been something that was available to the mayor’s office. Plus, it couldn’t have escaped your notice that His Honor was going out of his way to defend the indefensible on the subject of Druida.”

  “So you’re thinking…what?” David said, gesturing with the forms to show me how unconvinced he was. “Blackmail?”

  “Why not? He strikes me as a man with a lot to hide, and he always seems to be under considerable strain.”

  “He’s a politician, Hattie,” David said, leaning back in his chair and exhaling loudly. “Both of those conditions are implicitly understood as being part of the job.”

  “So…anyone I might have overlooked?” I asked helplessly.

  “Portia Fearwyn,” he said without pause.

  I face-palmed and let out a disgusted sigh at his suspect.

  “Now, before you dismiss this out of hand, Ms. Jenkins, hear me out,” David said, pointing his pen at me. “You have to admit that it is remarkable, to say the least, to see Ms. Fearwyn anywhere outside her native swamps, let alone in your shop. Also, she talked about ‘community service’ regarding helping you out with the Strands cure—“

  “Which I’d really like to get back to,” I muttered, disgusted on how this turn of events had taken a lot of research time away from me on that score.

  “But what if she considered the elimination of Mrs. Stone? She was there in the shop, Hat, when you were accusing Druida of hampering efforts to find the cure for the Strands psychosis. And then Portia gushed on about her commitment to her brand of creepy community service. What if she took what you said on board and saw killing Druida as a way of providing said community service?"

  “So you’re saying that it’s still my fault that Druida is dead, even if I DIDN’T kill her?” I asked, suddenly regretting my public argument with the Mayor.

  “I’m saying that Mrs. Fearwyn’s thought processes could have echoed your own and she has a lot fewer scruples on the subject of doing extreme things. ”

  “Only by reputation,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush at David’s latest round of Portia-bashing. “I still say that Mayor Fog is a far better suspect than anyone else we’ve talked about, including our dear Mrs. Fearwyn.”

  David’s frown was back with a vengeance. “It behooves me to tell you that accusing a public official without proof is serious business. You cross that line without evidence to—“

  “Unlike you and your Portia obsession, I actually gather that kind of the evidence before I make formal accusations!” I snapped back.

  David slammed the pen down on his desk. “I’m the only reason you’re not sitting in a cell right now. Sure, we don’t have evidence that links you to the crime. But the longer this drags on, Hattie, the better you’re going to look for it, and the less that’s going to matter. So this time, it’s YOU who needs MY help.”

  David ended his outburst with a pointed finger in my face. I glared back at him. He may have been right but damn if I was going to give any ground.

  Then, just like that, it was over. David sighed as the fire went out of his eyes. Putting his finger back down, he looked down at his desk and said, “I’m sorry, Hattie. I know that help has been a two-way street on this one. You’ve been helping me and—“

  “Forget it,” I said, waving my hand away before it got awkward…well, more awkward. I felt the sting of tears at the back of my eyeballs.

  I blinked a few times and swallowed the lump in my throat, somewhat successfully. “But David, really, think about it…how many times has Mrs. Fearwyn been accused of wrongdoing only to be exonerated later? How many times has it been you leading that charge? I can’t be the only one who thinks you have a vendetta against her.”

  David hummed and leaned back in his seat. “Some of the Talisman suits have said the same thing, though they were a lot less nice about it than you just were.”

  He bit down on his lower lip for a minute before adding, “Still, my pet prejudice aside, you have to admit that a lot of what Mrs. Fearwyn gets up to is shady stuff. I just want to keep an eye on her in the event that I have to do something about her activities.”

  But the thing with Portia is that no one ever really knew just what activities she was getting up to. Just the same, I decided against telling him that roasting her for every little thing that went wrong on Glessie was exactly the wrong way to keep that eye on her. If she did have something truly serious to hide, being harassed by the GIPPD all the time would just make her much more careful. But, what about the steel doors in the basement, Hattie?

  “So, this is where you’ll be?” he asked, holding up the third form.

  I nodded. “After all this excitement, I could use a little brunch.”

  I forced a smile, but all I really wanted to do was burst into tears.

  David picked up the receiver on his desk phone. “I’ll call Millie and tell her the situation. Why don’t you go grab a bite now?”

  I nodded again and got up. We gave one another a curt nod, and I left with just one tear spilling down my face.

  Celestial Cakes had only been open for about three months, but it already felt like a home away from home for me. Once upon a time, it had been the site of a bakery for Mrs. Eloise Hubbard, who ran the business for close to fifty years. Her death a few years back had closed down the bakery, what with her heirs being the self-involved, greedy little traitors they were in their hunger for all things 'Mainland.' It was at the tail end of my first case with David that I played a supporting role in doing something right for Gabrielle, and the opening of her fine bakery.

  I glanced to a particular spot just above the doorway. If you were an Unawakened, you might see an unusual dirty smudge over the archway where it looked like a sign had once been. But, for someone like me, I saw the glowing word “Emet” upon it. It was a parting gift from the new owner’s…I guess you could call him “father.” That particular word means “truth” in Hebrew, which told me that everything was fine. If I had read “Met” (which means “death”) instead, it would mean there was trouble. Frankly, I was glad that it looked like I’d filled my stress quotient for the morning.

  The café inside was bustling with customers, getting their morning scones, biscuits, croissants, lattes, tea, coffee and whatever else came out of the kitchen. The inviting smells reminded me of when Grandma Chimera was on a baking spree for a special occasion, and I was her little helper. I wasn’t thrilled about working in the kitchen, just so you know. Grandma finally brought me around, however, when she pointed out that if I wanted to eat well on a regular basis, knowing some of the basics would help. I never knew if my picking up only the basics ever bothered her.

  I noticed a few people glancing my way and then looking away just as quickly. That made me very uncomfortable. Sure, I recognized one or two of my customers in the mix. I’m also pretty sure I had passed at least a few
of them on the street at one time or another. But, this staring thing was new to me. I had an uneasy feeling that this had to do with them knowing about my current predicament.

  The owner of Celestial Cakes was the former golem Gabrielle. Only months earlier, Gabrielle had been an indentured slave to the nasty actress, Nebula Dreddock. We, (the Infiniti and I) had looked after Gabrielle shortly after Nebula’s murder. The poor golem had nowhere to go after her mistress died. It was no secret that Gabrielle had lived a very unhappy life under the tyrannical rule of Nebula. So, we took her in at The Angel. At first the golem got under my skin constantly. She had been (and, still is) obnoxiously direct in her questioning. And sometimes she asked questions that cut too close to the bone...queries about my birth name, for example.

  The now free and (mostly) human cake shop owner had turned from irritating guest to good friend in a very short period of time. She had a frank curiosity that could only be fulfilled by her direct questioning. Gabrielle’s need for honesty was genuine and mostly disarming, yet she never meant anyone cause for alarm. Even clad in her impeccable uniform, complete with crisp, white apron, her skin always managed to look as if it had been powdered by a fresh layer of red dust. I chalked that up to being the permanent reminder of her former life as a sentient clay figurine.

  She caught my eye and held up a finger…she’d be right with me. I nodded and waited by the counter, taking a stool near the cash register. Once the latest round of orders was sorted, Gabrielle came over to me with a tight-lipped but dazzling smile on her face.

  “I have been expecting you, Hattie,” she said, her surprisingly high voice showing concern as she reached under the counter. She pulled out a raspberry muffin on a plate, done just the way I like it; crispy on the top edges.

  “How did you—“ I asked, a little stunned to see a treat that Gabrielle would typically need fifteen minutes to rustle up, in front of me.

  “My regulars told me about seeing you walk away with constables outside your shop this morning,” Gabrielle explained. “They said it looked as if you were under arrest. The other thing they have been chattering nonstop about is how you told off Druida Stone and how she ended up murdered in her own library.”

  The really lousy thing about being a good detective is that confirming your suspicions doesn’t always make you feel better. “So, knowing that I was going to need a treat and a shoulder to lean on after being rousted by the constables,” I said. “You prepped my muffin and just waited for me to walk in the door.”

  “I SUSPECTED, Hattie,” Gabrielle corrected me, rubbing my forearm with sisterly affection. “It is only now that I can say that I know this is so. After all, does not a good detective presume nothing without available evidence?”

  I cocked an eyebrow at her and a half-grin. “You trying to muscle in on my business, girlfriend?”

  “No,” Gabrielle said, shocked that I would even suggest that. “Just pointing out that I approached the question the same way you would have in my position.”

  My turn to put my hand on her forearm for reassurance…in spite of forty years and change on this planet, she could be so adorably literal. “Hey, it was a joke, Gabrielle. I know that, unlike me, you’re content to be a baker for the rest of your days.”

  Squeezing my forearm once before pulling her arm away, she said, “Days that I now have, thanks to you looking out for me. If there is any way that I can help you with this predicament—“

  “That’s not even a question,” I assured her. “Of course, I DO wonder if you’ve got a good pot of green tea handy for me to wash this muffin down with.”

  “Ria!” she called out. A copper-skinned girl of indeterminate heritage came up with a pot of green tea while Gabrielle pulled a teacup and saucer set. After pouring it, Gabrielle thanked her and slid the cup to me.

  “The sweetener is already in the tea,” Gabrielle said as I took a sip.

  “As per usual,” I said with approval, setting the cup down. Gabrielle took the unusual step of lining her tea cups with a unique sweetener like an expert poisoner might do with a vial of belladonna. The mystery sweetener was subtle, and always enhanced the earthy taste of the tea.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Gabrielle asked. “I have a few minutes before I need to get back to my kitchen work.”

  “Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather talk about anything else BUT that,” I said, picking up my muffin.

  I took a bite from the muffin and asked with my mouth half-full, “So…have you heard from Rabbi Goldsmith lately?”

  “A couple of nights ago by telephone,” she said. “He was in Amsterdam on the Mainland, tracking down some sort of rare book from…Eliphas Levi is, I believe, the name he told me.”

  “He still sends postcards?” I asked just after swallowing my third bite of the muffin.

  “Every chance he can,” Gabrielle said with a warm smile. “I’ve got one from Venezia, Berlin, Prague, Madrid, Firenze…they are starting to fill up a wall in my apartment upstairs.”

  I was down to the last bite of the muffin by this point. “I really wish he could have stuck around and seen what you did with this place.”

  “Oh, I tell him all about the business’ success when it comes up,” she said, looking up at the ceiling with the smile still on her face. “Actually, we are currently looking into expanding into the area of home deliveries soon.”

  “Hey, if you need any advice on that, ask me,” I said as I was finishing off the muffin. “It’s got a whole new set of issues that I wish someone had helped ME with when I started doing those with the Angel.”

  The smile widened a little while she nodded her thanks to me. “He did suggest that I do that, as a matter of fact. But…even with any new issues, I do enjoy my life right now. It is busy. It has its challenges. Some days are certainly better than others. …”

  She sighed and said, “Yet it is a far better life than the one I had before. Knowing that is enough for Ah-Bah.”

  No, she wasn’t talking about the 1970s pop group. “Ah-Bah” is Hebrew for “father,” which, I guess, is what the rabbi, as the creator of this still-strange but loving woman, was to her.

  The smile faded a little as a thought hit her and she looked back at me. “But…there is one matter I would like your advice on,” Gabrielle concluded.

  “For providing me with the exquisite pastry that just went into my stomach alone, I’m more than willing to help any way I can,” I said before taking a pull from my tea.

  She took a cautious look around to make sure no one else was paying attention. When she was sure no one else was, she half-whispered to me, “I have an occasional customer who comes in.”

  My mind automatically assumed the worst. “Does he do anything that—“

  “Nothing wrong,” she assured me with a raised hand. “If anything, he is one of the customers I look forward to seeing the most.”

  My curiosity piqued and desperately needing a distraction, I said, “Is he a big spender?”

  “A very modest one,” she admitted. “He rarely has enough money to get through a week as he tells it. But when he has money to spare, he always comes here. He always orders the same dish and insists that I share a glass of green tea with him that he also pays for.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “See for yourself,” Gabrielle answered, nodding over my shoulder as the bell over the door rang.

  And who should walk in but none other than Artemus Caves? His whiskers were still on his cheeks, but he did his best to make up for it by dressing as well as he had at his house. I also noticed that his left foot had something of a limp to it. It made the black work boot on his foot echo a bit more loudly than his good foot when he set it down.

  “Ms. Jenkins,” he said, looking at me in surprise as he took the stool next to me. “I have to say that this is a surprise.”

  “A pleasant one, I hope,” I stated with a friendly smile.

  His eyes nervously darted towards Gabri
elle for a moment. “Yes, well…it is always good to meet one’s research partner somewhere other than in front of a pile of disorganized documents.”

  “Hattie is helping you with your research?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Actually, it’s the other way around,” I said, stepping in to give Artemus some cover. “I have a private consultation matter which is giving me a really hard time. A source I trust told me to go see Artemus.”

  “That matter would not be the one you were giving grief to the late Druida Stone about, would it?” Gabrielle asked, pulling out another tea set.

  Artemus’ eyes widened in surprise. “The late Druida Stone? What happened?”

  I hesitated. The last thing I wanted to do was relive the whole morning yet again. But Gabrielle smoothly stepped in by saying, “She was found murdered today, and Hattie is apparently suspected of the crime in question, despite the fact that there is no evidence to suggest that she did it.”

  I grimaced a little and said, “Well, there is the part about how I lost my temper and gave Druida a piece of my mind yesterday…”

  “Which, I would imagine, is the only reason you are currently on the suspect list,” Artemus crooned.

  I nodded. Gabrielle took that moment to say, “Let me go get your usual order.”

  “Don’t forget the other tea cup,” he said. “Your drink is on me, as usual.”

  There was confusion in Gabrielle’s smile at his line before she turned to go to the back. Once she was out of sight, I asked, “You really didn’t know?”

  “As I’m sure you can imagine, news of what else is going on in Glessie doesn’t often reach my domicile,” Artemus said. “It’s another reason why, in addition to Gabrielle’s fine wares, I like to come into town whenever I can afford it.”

  “I should mention that I’m not actually considered a suspect,” I said. “I was questioned, but there are no charges against me right now, no arrest.”

  “Do you honestly think that they would tell you the truth if you WERE, in fact, a suspect?” Artemus asked.