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

by Pearl Goodfellow

  That’s good, I thought. Now I could concentrate on other things, like the Sugar Dunes campaign.

  “And what about Governor Shields?” Eclipse asked as he kneaded my hair at the same time.

  Jet’s head suddenly popped up from a twisted knot of the quilt and sheets. His immediate resemblance to one of those Whack-a-Mole games brought tears to my eyes.

  “Wait! What’d I miss? Who’s this Shields guy? Some cat puttin’ the moves on Boss-Lady? A cat lets his whiskers down for one second!”

  I give him a reassuring tousle on the head. “Don’t worry, Jet. I only ran into Gideon because Chief Trew called him to the investigation scene. I probably won’t have much cause to see him again.”

  “Except for dinner,” Gloom swooned.

  I bobbled my head in subconscious agreement. “That’s right. Except for dinner.”

  “Dinner?!” Jet meowled. “But, Hat! What about your one Trew love? The devastatingly attractive, roguishly handsome Chief Para Inspector? He’s your destiny! Chimera will bury us in used kitty litter if we…”

  Onyx gave Jet a pronounced whack on the back of the head. “It’s just dinner, Jet. Hattie is allowed to eat, you know.

  Jet nodded sheepishly. “Well, yeah. Of course, you’re right, O. I only meant…”

  “No,” I interjected. “Onyx is right, Jet. It’s just dinner. After that, with my luck, I’ll probably never see Gideon Shields again.”

  One thing’s for sure, no matter what mystical powers Grammy Chimera may have passed along to me, clairvoyance wasn’t one of them.

  It was murder.

  On the eardrums, that is. The voices in Glessie Town Hall whipped into a cacophonous fervor. A sheepish Fortescue Grimsbane, Under-Mayor to Sincerity Jones tentatively flourished his gavel. A rapid succession of half-hearted taps of the hammer couldn't call the madness to order. The poor sap seemed at a complete loss, but with the new mayor, Sincerity Jones, on a business meeting in Talisman, he was the bedraggled fool in charge of this rabble of residents. Even in his ineptitude, he was a damn sight better than the underhanded Mayor Marty Fog had ever been. I liked a man who didn't appear overly 'polished' in his interactions.

  On the podium immediately to Grimsbane's left stood an oddly shaped mystery item. Concealed in a black satin cloth. The strange object let out a rather bawdy 'squawk.' The Under-Mayor’s eyes widened in concern at the queer outburst, but before he could peek under the anonymous sheet, a petite blonde appeared and whisked the package to another location.

  Fortescue tried pounding his gavel once again, but the gangly, bow-tied politician was tilting at windmills. Millie’s guerilla marketing tactics, or perhaps it had simply been the beacon of her bodaciously colored hair, had certainly put a big pink highlight on the night’s town council meeting. It seemed as though the entire population of Gless Inlet, and maybe even the whole of Glessie, had managed to cram into the tiny historical building.

  Hmm, I should perhaps ask Millie about rustling up a marketing package for The Angel. I was impressed with her passion and definitely bowled over by the results of that passion. I'd never seen so many bodies in this Town Hall.

  Goddess, my bag felt heavy on my shoulder. I had a terrible habit of leaving previously read paperbacks in the large sac. I must remember to empty it when I get home. From the feel of it, I wouldn't be surprised if a copy of "War and Peace" had snuggled up in the dark corners of the carrier. I moved it carelessly to the other shoulder in an attempt to balance the discomfort.

  I looked over the heads of the raucous crowd, looking for my competent assistant. Suddenly, I spied her, just past the shoulders of Violet Mulberry and Verdantia Eyebright. I subtly shielded my eyes from the intense glow that haloed around Verdantia. The flaxen-haired, greengrocer already radiated a powerful, beatific aura. Members of The Fae usually did. But, ever since Portia Fearwyn had helped me whip up that little ointment to grant me The Sight? Back when Amber Crystal had popped into our little burg and wreaked magical havoc by way of killing Spithilda Roach?

  Yeah. Now, it was like the Fourth of July in my eyeballs whenever I came across any living being that hailed from Mag Mell, that parallel world that was home to fairies, brownies, elves, and many other species of mischievous Fae.

  And the other thing? Most Fae weren't particularly enthused to be readily identified by mere mortals. They kind of thrived on their ability to deceive humanity. Fairy glamours. Changelings. Mischievous pranks. These glamours and tricks couldn't work if the fairy-kind could be spotted. Consequently, countless stories existed that told of humans blinded by The Fae, if the latter believed they had come upon their “gift” by unlawful means.

  Those gifts included recipes found in old grimoires inherited from your grandmother. Even if the person cooking up the recipe was someone as formidable as Portia Fearwyn. See? She might be an intimidating old hag, but Portia has certainly been worth her weight in gold with the periodic help she has given me. I looked at Verdantia again and winced. She was wa-a-a-y too bright. My eyes were streaming from the glare.

  The naturally beautiful greengrocer was friendly enough, and not likely to poke my peepers out with an elderberry branch, but I had no interest in tempting fate.

  “Obscura,” I whispered, passing my hand over my eyes. The spell, pulled reluctantly from memory, would act like a pair of magical sunglasses to dim Verdantia’s aura somewhat.

  Bast, I'd lost sight of Millie again. Craning my neck, I spotted my Dubble-Bubble employee chatting animatedly with Reuben Thornheart, the shy, new delivery boy at the Glessie Gazette. Though he was able to nail your front porch with an expert flick of his wrist, Reuben was a front page disaster when it came to communicating with people. I wasn’t quite sure which was pinker – Millie’s hair or the flush in Reuben’s cheeks as he toed the floor in front of him, his eyes downcast in unabashed shyness.

  I chuckled gently, and immediately I could have sworn I heard a muffled giggle coming from my handbag. I shook my head. It looked like someone besides the Sugar Dunes Least Terns needed some saving. I shouldered my way through the crowd to give the poor kid a hand. Maneuvering through the bodies was a tight squeeze, but I’ll admit, it warmed the cockles of my heart that so many of Glessie Isle’s citizens were this concerned about our environment and the plight of the endangered Least Tern and its habitat.

  “Good riddance, if you ask me!” Violet Mulberry practically spat on the polished, honey-oak floor. Verdantia Eyebright did a subconscious little sidestep.

  Okay. Maybe not everybody.

  The hairdresser’s virulent outburst derailed me from my intended trajectory. Poor Reuben would have to wait.

  “Oh, Violet! You can’t mean that!” I interjected, against Grammy Chimera’s sage advice on interrupting other folk’s conversations.

  Don’t let your food get cold while you’re worrying about what’s on someone else’s plate.

  Grammy’s familiar warning drifted through my mind. Sometimes it truly was like she was still with me.

  And, sometimes, stupidly, I still failed miserably to heed her advice.

  “You know this airstrip would endanger the terns and their habitat!” I pressed on.

  Violet gave me a few vapid blinks. “What are you talking about Hattie? Endangering the terns? I was talking about risking the good reputations of esteemed stylists, such as yours truly!”

  She held a dramatic backward palm to her forehead and sighed with great huffy effect.

  This time, the snicker from my handbag was unmistakable. “Forget Bruce Willis. The Oscar goes to…”

  I nearly yelped in surprise as Shade edged a nosey nose over the top of the bag. I knew I had heard something!

  “Shade!” I shoved his head down amongst the tissues, and dog-eared romance novels and took several cautious steps to the corner. I leaned in to whisper tersely. “What are you doing in my purse?”

  “At the mew-ment? Mmmph! Trying to get comfortable, but it ain't happening! Seriously though, boss. I needed a lit
tle Shawty downtime. Miss. Poof might have misinterpreted my gentlemanly side when I helped a particular Calico cutie cross the street.” He nudged a furry paw across a fresh scratch to the side of his nose and shrugged. “Dames.”

  I rolled my eyes. Shade was trying to turn over a new leaf when it came to his social life, but if you think it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks? Try showing a cat!

  “Well, just keep it quiet, will ya? Animals are not allowed anywhere near Town Hall! You know that. Not since Dilwyn Werelamb’s phoenix nearly burned the whole place down.”

  Shade cocked his furry, black head. “During the blue ribbon judging at the town fair?”

  I nodded. “During the blue ribbon judging at the town fair. When the phoenix went up in flames? Do you remember how many Unawakened minds had to be wiped that day?”

  “Are you kidding? Poor Eclipse had to take a week’s vacation just to recover! But, snigger,” Shade chuckled. “When Mayor Fog’s toupee caught fire, and he stuck his head in Verdantia’s pickle barrel? He smelled like a kosher dill for a month! It was incredibly a-MEW-sing!”

  “A-mew-sing or not, I don’t want to pay a fine, so zip it, Chuckles.” With that, I pushed my mischievous kitty's head back into the bag, and casually strolled back to Violet and Verdantia, a firm grip keeping the top of my purse closed. I offered the ladies a weak smile and shrugged. Acting as if it was perfectly reasonable to hold a conversation in a quiet corner with one’s accessories.

  “I just realized my handbag clashed with my shoes,” I offered by way of an explanation. “What’s a gal to do?”

  Violet's eyes darted from my footwear and rested, not on my handbag, but, instead, my hair. She sniffed the air in unguarded disdain at what she believed to be a travesty of style. I ignored her glare.

  “Now, what were you saying, Violet? I’m not sure I understand. How can endangered birds ruffle the reputation of a hairstylist?”

  “Well, there was that period in the eighties with Flock of Seagulls,” my purse mumbled. I gave it a solid whack.

  “Mmmph!”

  Verdantia chuckled, but if Violet was aware of Shade’s disembodied remark, she passed up an opportunity to comment and leaped, instead, on the chance to talk about her favorite subject; hair.

  “It’s that dreadful Millicent Pond!” Violet moaned. “It’s bad enough she chopped her hair to bits, but did she have to sport such a deplorable dye job? That green! My gracious, she looked like a walking head of broccoli! I certainly didn’t want any of my clients thinking that I was responsible for such an atrocious style! Thank heavens she won’t be railing at the cameras in anymore televised protests. You know those things are broadcast Isles-wide.”

  “Wait, Millicent’s emerald hair isn’t from your color line at the salon?” I only questioned her to be polite. To show an interest, as it were.

  “Goddess, no!” Violet was appalled at my inference. “Before this green mess, I had treated her to a most fantabulous shade of ‘Limpid Lagoon.’ Which was beautiful. It caught the light just as a rock pool would. I can’t imagine what made her over-color that with her current vomitus shade.” Violet looked like she might faint.

  If good news traveled fast, it appeared that bad news traveled at the speed of light. Apparently, reports of Millicent’s death had already reached the ears of Cathedral’s neighboring isles. On second thought, with her sister living in Chalice, now that I think about it, Violet was probably one of the first to know.

  “Did Millicent say anything when you gave her her last color treatment?” I pressed. “Anything out of the ordinary?” I highly doubted that Ms. Pond would share any pertinent info with our overly dramatic stylist, but I had to ask.

  “No, nothing that I can remember.” Violet mused. “She had some maps with her.” She scratched her chin in thought.

  “Maps?”

  “Oh, they weren’t real maps. They were fairy-tale maps. Completely childlike in their rendering. Millicent’s new hobby.” Violet looked satisfied that she knew something of the late Lady Pond.

  My shoulders slumped. I was hoping for more than just learning about the eco-warrior’s penchant for arts and crafts.

  “Violet,” Verdantia’s voice tinkled like the clear peal of a wind chime; the melodic voice of reason. “Going back to your frustration about Millicent’s current hair-do. I’m sure she chose that color to demonstrate her affinity for nature. She was such a strong advocate for environmental causes and rights of the underprivileged. Like those poor, overworked Rock Grumlins.”

  “You're telling me you can't fight for the rights of others and have style at the same time?" Violet harumphed. "That green thatch on our Lady Pond's head just so happened to be from the Florid Lights range. EVERYONE on the Coven Isles knows I carry that line of colors. They'll think I was the one responsible for that hot Shamrock mess!" She folded her arms tightly across her chest, but her strident voice became more of a whisper. “Maybe if she’d come to see me about her hair, she’d have made more headway. I'd have prettied up the package a bit. More flies with honey. And speaking of honey's.”

  Violet’s voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper. “I hear Ravena Valley is making a grand spectacle. Grieving over the loss of her green-haired lover, and all.”

  “Ravena Valley?” I questioned. “Who is that?”

  Violet’s eyes lit up. If there was one thing she liked more than hair, it was gossip.

  “Only one of the most prominent scientific minds in the entire Coven Isles… and Millicent’s life partner. I could have sworn she was around here somewhere. Anyway, I suppose it was a natural match. An environmental activist and a brilliant eco-scientist. Although, I hear there was trouble in paradise.”

  You’d think someone with eight cats would remember the old adage. But, curiosity got the better of me.

  “What kind of trouble?” I asked, interest piqued to almost gossip-loving levels.

  “Rumor has it that while the conservative Ravena agreed with Millicent on principle for most of her crusades, she didn’t always agree with her partner’s methods. Like going skyclad to protest Cathedral’s treatment of the Rock Grumlins?”

  “Millicent? Naked as a jaybird? Yikes! Talk about needing an Oblivascatur spell!” Shade mumbled. I nudged my bag, yet again.

  Violet gave a snort and continued. “Millicent argued the sheer shock value drew needed attention to whatever cause she was currently championing. ‘The Naked Truth’ she called it. Only last week she flaunted that truth down Main Street in Chalice on a busy Saturday morning. Anyway, I hear Ravena broke things off with Millicent because of that particular campaign. It’s not stopping Ravena from calling for Governor Shields’ head on a platter, though.”

  “Governor Shields?” I straightened my shoulders a bit and subconsciously smoothed out my hair. “Why is she going after him?”

  “Well, you heard how Millicent died, right?” Violet murmured.

  The vivid memory of Millicent’s charred remains lying, smoking, on the beach rippled a cold shiver through me. It was a painful sight to forget. But, I didn’t think Maude Dulgrey, the medical examiner, had released an official cause of death. Violet, however, seemed to have a definitive idea of Millicent’s deadly dispatch.

  “She was struck by lightning,” she stated matter-of-factly. “And Ravena is insisting that it’s Gideon Shields’ fault. Says the government in Chalice should have had Crystal Beach posted as a hazard.”

  “But, it is posted,” I replied.

  “As a swimming hazard. But, Ravena’s insisting that the prolific remnants of black diamond deposits make Crystal Beach a lightning magnet and dangerous for anyone who goes walking on it when a storm is nearby.”

  I pursed my lips. There was a storm brewing in the distance when her body was found. And, I had been on that beach, too. And so had David…and Gideon.

  Another shiver coursed through me.

  “If you ask me, it’s another argument in favor of mining all the black diamond from that blasted i
sle. If BD really is an electric conductor, then Cathedral isn't exactly a safe place to live. Prone to the storms where the Mages meets the Crystal, whipped up by the Crow Vortices?" She clucked, referring to the where the two seas of the Coven Isles clashed against one another, and to the unstable weather environments surrounding Crow, further North of Cathedral. We all fell silent, but just then the front door to the packed building swung open. Gideon Shields strode elegantly into Town Hall, a stunningly striking woman on his arm.

  Speaking of dangerous attraction…

  Violet’s voice tapered off. Her jaw fell slack. In fact, a quiet wave of hush rolled through the whole of Town Hall, as the entire crowd abandoned their excited babblings to appraise the utterly beautiful couple that breezed into the packed chambers.

  The woman stood near to six feet. Her long, hair waterfalled in a shimmering blue-black swath over her alabaster shoulders and down her back. The simple, yet remarkably elegant cobalt dress she wore clung suggestively to a distinctly feminine figure, curving seductively in all the right places, and pooled nearly to the floor. But, the shapely, prominently toned muscles that flexed as she moved hinted at a subtle strength that quite possibly could have rivaled almost half of the men in the room.

  And the way half the men ogled her? She might have need of it. She may as well have been on the menu at Napoleon Bone-Apart’s, Gless Inlet’s local rib joint. I was hard pressed to blame them. Her face? A sculptor’s dream. A perfect visage chiseled from exquisite marble. But, the stoic expression on her face was equally as cold as the smooth rock. Her almond-shaped eyes were brimming with blue ice. The statuesque muses lips were pressed together in unsmiling reticence. Her high cheekbones?

  Sharp enough to cut.

  Her chilly features still didn’t stop every creature of the male persuasion from staring, slack-jawed, in unabashed awe at her inarguable beauty. I might have readily expected a few disapproving slaps on the head for the ogling gents in the room from their significant others. Except, the ladies were otherwise occupied, soaking up calories from their own eye candy. The Eye candy that was supposed to be taking me out on a dinner date. Not sashaying into a Town Hall meeting with a Miss Universe contestant on his arm. An exasperated, air-filled sigh motor-boated my lips.