Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  CHAPTER 18

  I tried David’s personal line at GIPPD at least five times. I hung up in frustration after I heard his brusque recorded greeting for the fifth time. Finally, I called the front desk and spoke to Spinefield.

  “Hi Hattie, yeah, CPI Trew is in meetings all day.”

  “Budget meetings?”

  “You know it,” the desk sergeant chuckled. “Someone has to explain all the funds used by this department.” Spinefield giggled again, “Between you and me, I saw the chief nearly pulling out his hair in that meeting room.”

  “Thanks, Spinefield,” I said. “Tell the chief to get in touch with me as soon as he’s done, yeah?”

  “That I will, Ms. Jenkins, enjoy your day.”

  I hung up and decided right then I’d pay a visit to Buntie’s Blooms, to perhaps pick up a well-arranged bouquet for Infirma before she was released from Howling Mercy today. Yeah, a flower shop seemed like a nice place to spend an hour or two. I couldn’t stop the swirl of thoughts clanging around in my head from seeing Barnabus Kramp’s check book at the Moon.

  I advised Millie and the Infiniti I’d be popping out for a while, and the clamor from my crew was deafening. I held up my hands.

  “Guys, chill. I’m going to Buntie’s Blooms … to pick up some flowers for Infirma, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” Gloom muttered. “Boring.” My grumpy cat stretched herself out to full length behind the counter and closed the one eye she had open to me.

  Onyx pinned me with an intense stare before I managed to make my way out the door.

  “Flowers can tell you a thousand useful things,” is all my mind-reading cat think-said to me.

  “Okay, sure, O,” I mumbled and headed out.

  I walked in the perfect sunshine to Buntie’s, enjoying the autumnal breeze that buffeted around my neck and ankles. I felt a kind of nervous energy building in me; we were close. I knew this. From hitting a series of dead ends, I could feel that elements of the case were slotting into place, and I felt that familiar tingling excitement I got when a case was drawing to a close. Sure, I still had PLENTY of questions: What was with all the Warlock presence of late? I mean, we were all so focused on the Fae activity, that this sudden Warlock action and talk of the Warlock Chief threw a curveball into our investigation. The last thing we needed was Fae mischief AND Warlock hostility. Did Shields really have anything to do with this murder, and indeed, as David suggested, possibly Millicent Ponds’ murder? I wouldn’t have put it past the slimy governor, but, I couldn’t see the connection. I called Portia Fearwyn as I walked, and relayed to her what Kramp had dropped at the Moon.

  “Sounds like there is a corollary connection between Kramp’s account and the entries in the Devlin ledger, but likely nothing that could be proved just yet.” Portia fell silent for a second. “But, all the same, I’ll do some digging this end to see if I can pull up some answers.”

  “Great, thanks,” I said. “Oh, and would you happen to know why Morag’s will was doing the rounds at Gless Inlet’s Townhall? Or, more specifically, why it was passed among the cabinet members there?” I explained how Shade’s main squeeze had glimpsed the document as she sat on her owner’s lap.

  “I do, as it happens. Verdantia pulled this info up today. Our very own Sincerity Jones had requested that the will be made public -- at least amongst officials -- I think she probably suspected Kramp of wrongdoing and wanted everything out in the open, in case she was implicated.” Portia concluded.

  “You think the mayor suspected that Kramp had Morag offed? Because of the contents of the will?”

  “I believe so, yes. Sincerity Jones is a good woman. She might well have been led astray, but she’s not the type to stay astray. Let’s just assume that Ms. Jones put two and two together on her own, and took matters into her own hands.”

  “That makes sense,” I said as I crossed the threshold into Buntie’s. “Well, listen, I’m just picking up an arrangement for Infirma before she heads home today, so talk later?”

  “Certainly. Have you heard from Brother Trew?” The old witch asked. “I was expecting his attendance at the Custodian meeting this morning, but he didn’t show up, which I found to be both disrespectful and unsurprising,”

  “Oh, yeah, David’s been in unscheduled budget meetings all day today. Might not be as important as a Custodian gathering, but he has to see things through if he’s going to remain Chief of the Para Police Department.”

  “Quite,” Portia’s voice was clipped. “Let’s keep in touch with any news, then.” The witch Fearwyn hung up.

  Thaddeus Peacefield wasn’t the person I’d expected to see behind the counter at Buntie’s.

  “Rev?” I queried as he sorted through a bunch of gerberas.

  “Hattie Jenkins, how lovely to see you here. Are you shortly going to give me the opportunity to create a floral masterpiece for your good self?” He grinned.

  “You work here?” I asked, still surprised.

  “Heavens, no,” the vicar chuckled. “But, you might say this place is like a second home to me. All of the floral arrangements you see at Pens? All my own work. I purchase the stock from Buntie, and she permits me to use her space here to create my own arrangements. It’s terribly relaxing.”

  “So, Buntie’s got you pulling some shifts for using her space to work?” Still confused as to why you’re behind the counter wearing a florist’s apron.

  “Haha, Buntie’s no slave-driver. No, I help her out from time to time when she needs to take time from the shop,” the peaceful man said. “These times are some of my happiest.”

  “I can see I’m in good hands then,” I beamed as I walked toward the pious man for a hug. Thaddeus reached across the counter and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me in a fatherly embrace. I immediately felt a warm tide of beautiful compassion flow from the reverend.

  He pulled back and smiled at me. “An arrangement for Infirma, perhaps?”

  I nodded, not surprised that the vicar knew of my intentions. Thaddeus got to work straight away, pulling a riot of colored blooms and contrasting foliages from various containers, and laying them down on the counter. He whistled while he snipped the ends off of some willowy stalks.

  “You up to date with Father Brown now, Rev?” I asked, eager to get Thaddeus’ opinion about a particular episode.

  “I am not, my dear,” he confessed. “I’m one of those poor souls who starts a series, and then not halfway through, start a whole NEW series. I have tv mysteries coming out of my yin yang!” I laughed hard at that. I knew the pain of this phenomenon. “I have come a long way with the Midsomer Murders, though,” he said. “I admit, I find it hard to believe that Midsomer even has one resident left. It’s a tiny village, and every week, without fail, someone is murdered!” The Reverend chortled heartily.

  “You’re too funny,” I said, truthfully.

  “Still, it would have been nice if you guys had have joined Hinrika and me for the show,” he said, not looking up from his botanical work.

  “Excuse me, Rev?” I said, already feeling the hot weight of shame plunge in a downward motion through my body.

  “Surely, it must have been drafty, and, well, quite frankly, boring up in the Belltower?”

  “Y-y-you knew?” I stammered, channeling Fraidy.

  “My dear, Saint Pendragon’s sits atop one of the most powerful and dangerous collections of magical artifacts in the world. His protection charms are strong, and, as guardian of this church and of its Avalon Vaults, I have had in excess of twenty years training on how to detect and handle intrusions.” The Reverend reached across the foliage and placed a warm hand on mine.

  “I-I don’t know what to say, Thaddeus,” my eyes dropped to my feet.

  “Ah, my dear, I knew your intentions were good. Or else I’d have cut short your first visit when you were in the first of the vaults.” Peacefield kept snipping at the stalks before him. “I hope your kittie was okay after being flung from the trap door? I must get those
hinges seen to; they surely must contain some kind of deterrent magic.” The reverend’s smile sparkled. I burst out laughing.

  “Reverend Peacefield, thanks for being so easy on me,” I squeezed his hand. “Yeah, Midnight was okay; he mostly lands on his feet.” My smile fell, and I spoke seriously. “We were trying to protect you from getting involved, you know?”

  “I do know. That’s why I’m not angry. But, you might want to tell Portia to chose something a little more subtle than the Shadowgate to gain access. It truly messes with my forcefields.”

  I grimaced at the memory of the spinning vortex of dark death.

  “But, do tell me, how are you getting along with the case so far?” Peacefield’s eyes glittered with curiosity.

  “Rev, you know I can’t share anything with you, really,” I squirmed.

  “That’s true. But, that’s not the truth the other way around,”

  I raised an eyebrow in question.

  “What I mean, Ms. Jenkins, is that you might not be able to share with me, but I am free to share with you. Follow me,” he said waving an arm and heading toward the back of the flower shop. I walked after the vicar, feeling intrigued.

  A ledger lay on a battered desk along the edge of another workroom. “This is where I work when Buntie’s here,” Thaddeus explained. I nodded, taking in all the empty flower pots and vases on the shelves of the room.

  “This is the shop’s ledger. We keep it out here, as Buntie likes to have her front desk as free of clutter as possible, for when she’s creating wedding arrangements, and the like.” Thaddeus lifted the ledger and cracked the spine, and drawing a stubby finger down a column of numbers, he remarked: “Here.” He handed me the open ledger while my eyes moved to the tip of his index finger. Peacefield tapped the entry. “Please note that the date corresponds to the day that Morag passed from this world,” he said. It was a record for a flower arrangement for Morag’s sister, Infirma. I wasn’t seeing what the reverend wanted me to see, though.

  “So someone was quick on getting flowers sent to Infirma two hours after Morag’s death. What about it?”

  “Ah, but there’s the rub,” the vicar countered, sliding his finger over to the order timestamp of the delivery. “This particular batch was commissioned exactly three hours BEFORE Morag’s fateful tumble from the Ferris wheel. So someone knew that the lawyer Devlin was about to exit life, and they were getting their fake condolences wrapped up before the woman even died.” He looked at me, waiting for recognition. I craned my head to the entry again to see who had placed the order. My head shot up to Reverend Peacefield, and he nodded.

  “Thanks, Rev. Seriously, big thanks!” I pounced across the counter and kissed the gentle man on the forehead. I slapped Sixty Sols on the counter. “Can you make sure Infirma gets your work of art before she leaves Howling Mercy today?”

  “It’ll be with her within the hour,” he assured me.

  I flew out of Buntie’s and ran, without stopping, all the way to GIPPD. Even if David hadn’t wrapped up his meeting, I’d have to drag him out of it.

  I needn’t have worried though. I bumped into the chief as he and all my cats -- including the agoraphobe, Jet -- were marching out toward David’s broom.

  “Hat, was just gonna call you,” David said, his cheeks flushed, and a look of burning purpose flooding his eyes. He caught hold of the arm of a passing officer. “Get this lady a broom. Have it out back in a minute, next to mine,”

  “Sir,” the officer nodded and took off.

  “We’re going to Cathedral, Hat,” David said, still making his way to his broom, with the cats trotting urgently behind.

  “David, I found a check bo--”

  “I know,” my friend said. “I just got off the phone with Fearwyn, plus your two moggies here filled me in,” he said, nodding toward a striding Shade and Midnight.

  “But, there’s something else,” I pleaded. The officer appeared with the guest broom for me. I nodded my thanks and grabbed it. “I was just at Buntie’s Blooms, and Reverend Peacefield was there, and he showed me --”

  “Hat, I promise you we’re going to be speaking about all this very soon, but right now, we need to get to Cathedral. Our prime suspect is making a break for it.”

  My eyebrows shot up in alarm.

  “You know who the killer is? He’s trying to escape? But… just, what? What? What?” I spun to my cats. Gloom gave me a critical eye.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s a vacant cell at Midnight Hill if you ever need it,”

  “Guys, hurry, c’mon,” David interrupted, piling at least half of my kitties onto his broom, while the rest jumped onto my borrowed besom.

  I thought I’d be able to share my info and ask questions along the way, but that idea was hacked straight away as David grabbed my wrist from across the gap between our brooms. “Hold on, Hat,” he cautioned. “We’re doing the rapid-route.” As soon as his words were uttered, it felt as if the broom and its passengers were being yanked through a tunnel at high speed. My stomach lurched at the sheer velocity. The ground below us turned into something else; a bleeding, blending, soup of whirring colors. I sincerely tried to be grateful for my friend’s use of magic. I mean, at least it wasn’t a Shadowgate.

  We landed, or, crashed, rather, in a field along the edge of the Cathedral Coastline. If you looked West, you could just make out the black spire of Chalice’s Black Diamond Cathedral, radiating its unique light in the distance.

  Not one hundred yards ahead of us stood a little cabin; not dissimilar to that of the Mag Mell cottage-portal on Glessie. David waved us down to a crouch so that we wouldn’t be seen above the tall stalks of barley.

  “So, is this another portal?” I whispered, seeing the gleaming facade of the empty cabin. It looked to be soaked in Fae charms when I peered at it through the Sight.

  David was about to answer when his radio gave a quiet squawk. “Chief, the target is in sight,” the disembodied voice said. David popped his head up quickly and then turned to us.

  “Okay, I see him. Now, whatever we do, we can’t let him get to that Mag Mell gate--”

  Fraidy bolted. We watched as my scaredy cat bounded through the tall grasses toward the cottage and the man who was trying to gain entry. I heard him mutter a prayer as he passed.

  “Please, Bast. Please, Bran. Please, Goddess,” his little face pulled into a scowl of determination.

  “Move in!” The chief barked into his police radio at his already stationed men.

  At least six Glessie Para Police officers swarmed after the fleeing man, but they were still too far. It looked like the suspect was about to escape through the cottage’s cheery red door, when we all saw a black missile shoot up from the tall barley grass. The living cannonball landed on the perp’s head, and Fraidy widened his eyes in horror at what he had just done, while the man spun around in circles trying to swat away my brave kitty.

  David sprinted the distance to the perp and my guardian cat.

  “It’s alright, Fraidy,” David said. “You can let Mr. Kramp go now.”

  Fraidy made his way down from Barnabus’ head. But, as my cat didn’t care for heights too much, he failed to make a clean jump. Barnabus rubbed furiously at Fraidy’s descending claw marks that rutted his jawline, neck, and ears.

  “Stupid cat!” he yelled as he kicked at my cat as he landed. David shoved the man hard until he tumbled backward, forcing his kick to go wide. My kitty didn’t stick around to see if Governor Shields’ right-hand man would try for another attack. He sprang and landed in my arms, immediately tucking his head under my chin. I kissed his forehead and held him tight until I felt his purr-motor kick in.

  “Unless you want to add animal cruelty to the charges,” David said, leaning over the fallen man with a pair of handcuffs. “I’d suggest you restrain yourself, Mr. Kramp.”

  “I have nothing to say to either of you,” Kramp spat as we sat in the GIPPD interrogation room. I sat quietly in the corner, my hands folded in my lap. Dav
id leaned across the table until his face was within an inch of Barnabus’.

  “Well, that’s good to hear, Mr. Kramp,” CPI Trew said. “Because, right now I would much rather you listen to what WE have to say.” David pushed a file across the table until it sat between them. The chief opened the folder, shuffled some papers, and then looked at Kramp.

  “These are reprints of a hidden ledger we found on the Devlin estate,” David explained as he pushed the photographs under the lawyer’s nose. “They just so happen to correspond with a number of withdrawals you made from your account matching the exact amounts and dates of the deposits listed here.” David stabbed his finger square in the middle of the photographic evidence. Kramp refused to look at the image. “The money wasn't directly routed to the account noted, of course. But there are only so many ways one can hide a money trail.”

  “Doing it through a charity you happen to run was particularly careless, though,” I said. “‘Peace of the Isles’ is about to get a ‘piece’ of auditing that will be its undoing.”

  Kramp scowled at me.

  “Are you two amateurs trying to accuse me of embezzlement?” He sneered.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Kramp,” David said with an innocent smile. “If anything, you were the victim in this instance. Whatever Morag’s virtues, she wasn’t above a little old-fashioned blackmail. Still, I have to give her credit for also using your money-laundering charity for ‘good,’ by getting you to donate a handful of Futura’s to Cagliostro School.”

  “Blackmail?” Kramp scoffed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” His eyes blazed.

  “Ah, but a woman scorned, as Morag was, knows all about blackmail, am I right?” The chief goaded. “Thanks to the new home-help that Infirma acquired just recently, we were able to uncover Morag’s hidden diary.” David showed the photo of the damning page of the journal that Seamus had brought to him this morning while he was in budget meetings. Kramp’s eye twitched, but he said nothing.