by Pam Uphoff
"It's all a matter of priorities." Raod eyed the eggs and shook her head. "It'd go straight to my hips. And I'd better stay reasonably sober, or I'll say something unfortunate to one of my sources of income."
Puuj and Joud grinned. "We'll take note of every man you talk to."
"And dissect them as likely lovers?" Rael grinned at her sister's expression. Managed to shut her mouth and not ask.
And inevitably, she found herself face to face with Ubno. "Hi Bruno, congrats on the win last night. So, you get a day off before the next game?"
"Two." He looked around, his expression tense. "One! I need a smoke, c'mon."
I shouldn't do this. Certainly not in public, when I've had too much to drink.
But she followed him out to the smoking patio, anyway.
The door was nearly in the north-west corner of the main room.
Even with the residual stink of massive smoking, the air was fresher than inside. Warm, a little humid. Surrounded by the building on three sides; the fourth faced the orchard. The blossoming trees showed over the high stuccoed wall, where the lights of the hotel augmented the fat gibbous moon just now rising above them. A path led to a wrought iron gate in the middle of the wall. Other paths wound around behind the taller plants. The sounds of the party faded into silence as the heavy door closed behind them. They were alone in the warm glow of the patio light. The faint scent of the flowers drifted in on the warm breeze.
And there she was. Alone with a man she'd . . . sort of thought she'd been in love with . . . had it really been eighteen years ago? What am I doing out here? Am I insane? She looked around the patio and fumbled for something to say.
"One. They waste a romantic setting like this on smokers?"
"Romantic!" Ubno recoiled. "Oh no. I'm out here for a smoke."
Rael stiffened. Scars and muscles pulled and twinged.
"Oh don't go all snotty, Princess, but since that . . . I can see that you aren't . . . "
She turned and walked back inside.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
She spotted Ruskie, Uzke, the Councilman's aide who brought papers to her father . . . and panicked. I can not deal with another rejection tonight. I just can't. She turned away.
Rael managed to not get so drunk that she didn't leave on her own two feet. Took a taxi home, hugged porcelain for a bit then cried herself to sleep. I want to dance again!
Chapter Seven
Sunday, 13 Safar 1398
Ahxe eyed the scene, as the patroller reported. A single car abandoned under the portico, the ambulance in front of it. Medics removing monitors from the body of a middle-aged man. A crowd of people standing well back. More people inside, looking through the glass front of the lobby.
"Ogto Withione, aged ninety-four. Possibly natural causes, but . . . well." The patroller shrugged. "The ambulance beat me by about thirty seconds. They attempted to revive the victim, unsuccessfully. No one here had done anything. They were talking poison, so no one wanted to try rescue breathing." He crinkled his nose. "There were already three stories in circulation, at the top of everyone's voices, so I told them to all be quiet and write down what they saw, and heard, not what they think happened or what someone told them happened."
"Good. That helps. Although . . . Why poison?"
"Apparently the deceased had an argument with his estranged wife." He huffed out a laugh. "It's not funny, but first everyone said he was having a heart attack, then they said he got hit by a car, then they decided he'd been poisoned either by the wife or her sister."
Ox glanced at the scene, the medics standing away from the body as the medical examiner arrived. The car. Two people standing off the back fender. A man and a teenage boy. Separated by several feet, no resemblance to each other. The boy was in what looked like a chauffeur's jacket. Sleeves a bit too long, shoulders a bit too wide, the waist definitely too large.
"They said they'd flash frozen a blood sample. SOP when people start talking about poisons." The patroller cast an irritated glance upward. "The manager says half their security cameras are out of order, including both of the ones out here."
"So we'll have to go by eyewitness accounts." Ox grimaced. "So we'll have a dozen versions. Well, I suspect he was having a heart attack and staggered into the path of the car. Distressing, but hardly murder."
He stepped closer as the M.E. stood up and looked around for him.
"Anaphylactic shock. Something he ate or drank. Possibly bee or wasp sting, although unlikely at this time of day. Get his medical records, they may show where the problem lies."
"The car?"
"Bruising, no doubt. Not enough damage to have killed him. Now if I can move the body?"
"Yes, the medics have already, well, I hate to say disturbed the scene . . . "
"Quite." He turned back to the corpse.
Ogto had been a handsome man. Black hair, with silvering at the temples. Tuxedo jacket and white shirt wide open. Contacts for the medic's instruments had been left on the gray skin.
"Hives. No obvious stings on the hands, face, neck or chest. No injuries apart from the medic's tracheotomy, trying to get air into him."
He stepped around the body, and rolled it. The shirt tail was untucked. The M.E. lifted both shirt and jacket. "Humph. Two stings. Bee sting allergies are pretty rare in high Oners."
"Bee, not wasp?" Ox eyed the two large swollen areas.
"No. Do you see? The stingers are still in the wounds."
"So . . . the bees were inside his shirt? Not stinging him through the shirt and jacket?"
"Exactly. Now, how they got down his shirt back, and at night, when bees aren't active? That makes it your job, Ox."
"Yeah. One. This is only the second time I've seen bees used to kill someone."
"Heh. The jealous boyfriend that threw a whole bloody hive at his girlfriend and his rival? I remember that one. No mystery, there."
"Yeah." Ox pulled out his comp and tapped out a message. "I'll get the crime scene people out to see if there's anything they can do." Ox looked around at his team. "But you are right. There's enough doubt that it needs a serious look into the matter. Uqpy, start with the owner of that car and the chauffeur."
Ymme eased up beside him. "The consensus opinion is that the victim came staggering in from the smoking patio, being either supported or restrained by Bruno, yes, the football superstar. Staggered out here, bounced off of a moving car or possibly the car sped up and hit him deliberately. Collapsed. Someone said something about poison. Someone checked for a pulse. Tried chest compressions, but no one wanted to put their mouth on his. Medics arrived and took over."
"Right. Let's take a look at the smoking patio."
Roughly square. Perhaps thirty meters to a side. Flagstoned walks between well pruned shrubs. Several benches. Higher shrubs in one corner. An iron gate in the high stuccoed wall.
Ox stepped back into the ballroom, and summoned a patrolman. "Mind the door. No one in or out until the lab boys get here."
He walked back to the front entrance. A broad sidewalk stretched across the front of the building. To the south, a parking lot. To the north, the sidewalk ended at the orchard.
Ox walked down to the end. A narrow sidewalk led between the first of the orchard trees, to the wrought iron gate. Three hundred meters into the orchard he could see the metal boxes of beehives. "Well. Isn't this going to be a pretty mess, trying to find actual physical evidence." His comm beeped. One of the lab boys. He tilted it away from his ear, so the others could hear.
"They had these plastic egg things with chocolate in them. We found one open and cracked, in the garden. A bit of yellowish dust inside. We'll take it in and see if it's bee pollen. We're vacuuming the ground for bees."
Uqpy brightened. "That's how someone could collect and carry the bees. Drop the egg down his back and give it a swat to break it open."
"A gentle swat." Ymme put in. "So you don't kill the bees."
Ox nodded, and tal
ked to the tech. "Don't assume you've got the delivery method. Keep your eyes open. And collect cigarette butts too, in case we need to do DNA analyses."
"Let's take a look at these eggs."
With a little experimentation, it was clear that the eggs came apart easily, and could be held together unobtrusively in one's palm.
Uqpy grinned. "Couldn't have been designed better for holding bees."
Back in the front of the center, the lab techs were finishing up the immediate scene.
One of them pointed at a key fob. "We haven't checked his car yet. White Siesta, brand new. Jerry's babysitting it, so no one adds—or subtracts—fingerprints and DNA to the handles and interior."
Uqpy looked over toward the parking lot. "I wonder if he had any anti-allergy meds in the car. That could be why he was so determined to get out here."
Ymme nodded. "Although, if he was aware he was allergic, why didn't he carry something on himself."
Ox shook his head. "He knew he was allergic—and so did the person who murdered him. Ymme, talk to the younger set, try to get a clear picture of exactly what happened."
He stepped back inside and looked around. A man in a tuxedo was talking to the waitstaff, but broke off and approached Ox.
"I'm the manager here . . . can I send everyone home? Your man said to not touch or handle anything!" He cast a despairing glance at the bedraggled array of tables. "Thank the One we don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow morning!"
Ox eyed the setup. He pointed at the table with the eggs. "Leave that one alone for now. Otherwise, you can start clearing the serving tables, now, if you wish. I need to talk to people." He nodded to the side. "I think I'll use that corner, unless it is completely in the way."
"No, no. That will be excellent. We just need to dispose of the food and wash the serving trays, everything else can easily wait." He looked relieved. "Our guests, well almost everyone went home. They figured he was having a heart attack." The manager leaning close, dropping his voice. "There was an altercation earlier, with his wife, over the divorce. Her sister's a princess, trained to kill, and you know about those poisons they use. Looks just like a heart attack, that's what everyone says."
Ox sighed. It usually is the spouse. And this one comes with a trained killer? Oh, One. Please not the presidential guard.
He started with the fiancé. She was bouncing between shock, grief and anger. Tears on her face, eyes red and swollen. "They split up a year and a half ago, and she wouldn't release him! She wanted the money, and her sister is a Princess, you know what they say about their poisons! They can make it look just like a heart attack."
But she'd been chatting with her buddies while he stepped out for a smoke. By the time she'd noticed the disturbance, Ogto had been halfway to the outer doors, and by the time she got there, he was on the ground, not breathing. He thanked her and sent her home.
The Governor of Uruguay, Itsu Withione stalked up to Ox's chosen table. "A good friend. I thought it was a heart attack, the car didn't hit him very hard."
"Yes, the ambulance men felt the same. We've already sent the driver home."
Itsu squirmed. "There was a bit of a scene, earlier. Apparently his last divorce has been dragging out. And the woman's sister was here as well. A trained princess, you know what they say about their poisons, looks just like a heart attack."
"So I've heard."
"I told the ambulance men. They took a blood sample and flash froze it. I insisted."
"Yes, so they told me. I appreciate your staying, Governor. It always helps to get an immediate eyewitness account."
The other people still here had stayed more for the frisson of excitement than for any information they could impart. He sent them all home in short order.
Ox squinted at the eastern horizon. It was getting lighter, but this early in the year, it would be another hour before the sun rose.
So, an estranged wife who wanted more than a nice settlement, and had a sister who thought she could make it look like a heart attack? Or a princess doing her sister a favor? And certainly a wife would know about a life threatening allergy.
He turned to his usual team of investigators. "Right. Let's grab some breakfast and hash over what we've got. Then we'll drop in on the estranged wife and her trained killer sister."
Chapter Eight
Sunday, 13 Safar 1398
The tapping on her skull . . . no, it was the door.
"Senorita? Senorita?"
Rael pried an eye open. Little Moah, fluttering in the doorway, casting a panicked eye back down the stairs.
"The policias . . . " She eeped as one of the policia shoved through behind her.
Big. Tall. Looming.
Radiating a suppression field that would prevent most people from using magic. What an idiot.
Rael rolled out of bed and stood up. Not nearly as tall. Scrawny, scarred, wearing nothing but her panties.
"And how may I help the policia?"
"I would like you to come down to the station to answer a few questions." He was boggling, not ogling. My scars are much more spectacular than my figure. Damn it to One Hell.
Rael tried to raise a supercilious eyebrow through the fog of a beauty of a hangover. Then the implications hit.
"Raod? Mo, is Raod all right?" She started around the policeman, and he grabbed her arm. Reflexes took over. She rotated her arm to break his grip even as the stun spell ripped through his suppression field like a hot knife through butter. She had just enough time for thought to soften it . . .
He thudded to the floor, threw out an arm to prevent himself from going flat. He pulled out a pistol. Her foot hit his wrist and the laser spun across the room and skidded under the desk. She grabbed the door frame and managed to not fall flat on her face, tried to not sway or stagger.
"You are under arrest . . . " he croaked.
She found her balance. Crossed her arms across her scarred chest. "No. You are under arrest for restraining a member of the presidential guard."
She turned to the horrified maid. "Mo? Is Raod all right?"
"Si, Senorita, she ees dressing to 'go downtown' with the policia who ees in her room. La Senora Kyol ees having a fit. Senor Ardo ees calling his lawyer. Eet is Senor Ogto, he is daid."
Rael heaved a sigh of relief. "Is that all?" She looked down at the man trying to get to his feet. "I am going to shower and dress. Then I will discuss whatever has brought this on with you, downtown, as they say. Now get out of my room. Mo, assist him, please. But if he requires a kick, let me do it." She waited until he was out before she gently closed the door. She stalked toward the bathroom, trying to remember a good spell for a hangover.
Her second-best uniform hung slack on her frame. Come to think of it, this is now my first best. I was wearing the best when . . .
She dismissed the thought. The bedroom level was quiet; angry voices rose from the stairs down to the living room. She walked carefully down.
"Yeah, she's still listed as active duty."
Five men, all in suits.
Her friend from upstairs was face-to-face with another. The youngest looking was sitting in her chair, balancing a computer on his knees. "It says she's on indefinite medical leave . . . "
Silence fell as she entered.
"So. Which of you is in charge?"
An uncertain shift through the group that ended in them all looking at the one standing near Raod. Raod had tears in her eyes, an alarmed hand over her lips.
"I am. It is generally considered good policy for a visiting agent to check in with the local police."
"I am here for medical treatment. I had no intention of interfering with the local police, until someone pushed his way into my bedroom and laid hands on me. That was very stupid of him, given that you must know who I am. And don't expect me to apologize for my reflexes. They are a necessary part of my job. Fortunately I was not armed, and didn't just shoot the intruder." She looked over at her unwelcome visitor. "On second thought, you were obvious
ly not thoroughly briefed. Should you ever need to apprehend a presidential guard, Princess or not, you should take three men, and a priest, and have authorization from Director Urfa in hand, prominently displayed. I will not, at this point, take further action. Go upstairs and fetch your pistol. I believe it's under the desk."
She switched her attention back to the man in charge. "You are?"
"Senior Investigator Ahxe Withione. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess. Are you going to interfere further with this investigation?"
Interesting, not a local accent. Pronounced more like Oxy than Ozzy or Axsie. Behind her she tracked the footsteps of the first fellow. He was circling well behind her and up the stairs. Not too stupid.
"Probably. However I have no plans to take it over." A faint choking noise from one of the other men. She ignored it. "So . . . carry on." She strolled past him and her sister, and pulled a chair away from the dining room table, turned it and sat down.
Raod still had her hand to her face, but now it looked more like she was biting her knuckles to keep from laughing. She pulled her face straight and tucked her hands behind her back.
Ahxe—Rael wondered if his friends called him Ox—looked back at Raod. "So, you saw your ex-husband at the reunion."
Raod smiled. "Three of my five ex-husbands."
"Ah. Of course, and the other two would be?"
"The Mayor and the Governor. Mind you, Governor Itsu was just a local rep at the time, and Eglo was on the city council when I married him."
Ahxe winced. "Investigations like this are only supposed to happened in my nightmares."
He fixed his gaze on the man coming downstairs. "Uqpy, you sit there and ask Princess Rael for a statement. She talks, you write. What I would like, Princess, is every observation you had of Ogto all night long, and who you spoke to, when you left and so forth. I'm sure you know the sort of information I need. Madam Raod, why don't you sit down beside Patroller Ymme there and I'll walk you through the same process, while he gets it all down on his machine."