Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  At least his color was returning.

  “I assure you, CPI Trew, you will get no leads from trying to define my relationship with Ulrich Darkmore. Now, do you have any pertinent questions regarding my husband and his untimely death?” I saw Zinnie’s hands ball into fists at her sides. Her face remained impassive.

  This chick’s one tough broad.

  “Okaay,” David drew out the word. “Could you describe your relationship with Barnabus for us?”

  For a second her hard veneer crumpled. She blinked her eyes rapidly, but her mascara stayed in place.

  “Barney was a provider,” she began. “And a workaholic. Back, when we first met, money, status, power … none of those things mattered to Barny.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, but they cleared quickly, and she leveled her gaze back to David and I. “But you can’t be in the same circle as Shields and have no ambition,” she said bitterly.

  “How long had Barnabus been working for Governor Shields?” I asked.

  “Well over twenty years now. So, you see, I’ve been a widow for much longer than two days. Barney never stopped working. Even when we were supposed to be on holiday, Gideon had ‘access’ to my husband twenty-four-seven. I may as well have lived alone.”

  “Did you love him?” I asked, touching Zinnie’s arm reflexively.

  David shifted in his seat next to me.

  “In my own way, yes, I suppose I did,” Zinnie said. “Of course, the romance days were a long time ago now, but they still live on in my memory,” she allowed a flicker of a smile to grace her lips.

  “No domestic disputes, recurring arguments? Anything unusual about Barney before he died? I mean, apart from the arrest, the trial and the sentencing.” David said.

  “We rarely argued, CPI Trew. We were never together enough to have enough ‘material’ to quarrel. And, as for Barny’s behavior? Well, I’d spent most of my time with him with him looking over his shoulder, so I’m not sure I’d be able to determine anything ‘unusual’ about his conduct of late.”

  “Sounds like a perfect marriage,” I teased, smiling at the woman. I was hoping she would soften up a little. “No quarrels? Must have been bliss.”

  “Well, as I said, it was like we hardly knew one another. We’d cozy-up as the perfect couple for media and public functions, of course, but even then we were entirely awkward in each other's company.”

  My mind cast back to the night of the fair. The night Kramp had killed Morag Devlin. We had seen Zinnie and Barnabus together not an hour before Morag had tumbled to her death from the uppermost carriage of the Ferris Wheel. I remember observing then that the two Kramps had looked painfully uncomfortable with one another.

  “I guess … there was one… oh, it’s of no importance,” she waved her intriguing statement aside.

  “No, please, do go on,” I urged. “You never know what could prove to be helpful,”

  “Well, there was one recurring … I wouldn’t call it an argument, but, rather, a ‘theme,’ that cropped up during our years of marriage,” Zinnie’s eyes darted from me to David.

  “Go on,” the chief encouraged.

  “I was used to my husband working and womanizing,” Kramp’s wife started. “I paid it no mind; it just meant a more peaceful life for me, as far as I was concerned.”

  Wow. Nice relationship.

  “But there was one woman in particular. Her name was Deeva something …. Oh, what was it ….” Zinnie clicked her thumb and forefinger together hoping to snap the name from thin air. “Greenfield. That was it. Anyway, she used to sign her letters ‘Deevie.’ That I DO remember.”

  “Barnabus had, ahem, relations with this woman while you were together?” David asked.

  “No … well, maybe a little, yes.” Zinnie exhaled and shook her hands in the air as if to shake out any blockage she might be experiencing. “Barney and ‘Deevie’ used to be an item before I had ever met my husband. But, he kept in contact with her for some time after we got together. I didn’t let on that I knew about all the other women, but I did tell Barney I knew about Deeva.” She paused and pulled a face. “The woman was uneducated. Poor, even.” Zinnie wrinkled her nose at this apparently unsavory fact. “But, Barney must have had a soft spot for her, I guess. It wasn’t fair how he strung her along though.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “Barney and I got married eighteen months after we met. He was still writing to Deevie after our first anniversary,” she said flatly. “Her letters were impossibly whiny; ‘Barney, when will you come for me?’ ‘I can’t wait for the day when we three can have lazy Sunday sleep-ins,' et cetera.”

  David’s and mine heads snapped up. “We three?”

  Zinnie nodded slowly and twirled her glass of wine in lazy rings along the table top. “They had a child. A girl. Summer, her name was.”

  Was that a tear I saw forming? No, probably just a miniature ice cube.

  “So, possibly the girl’s name is Summer Greenfield?” David asked, scribbling in his pad.

  Zinnie burst into hoarse laughter. “CPI Trew, she won’t be a girl anymore. Summer will be a woman. I’d imagine she’d be in her late twenties or so by now.”

  “What about ‘Deevie?’ Have you heard anything from her lately?”

  Mrs. Kramp stared at David. “She took her own life when her little girl was seven years old. Barnabus’ handiwork, if you ask me … the way he abandoned the woman at the height of her hope. Summer spent the rest of her childhood years in another kind of slum: North Illwind’s state run School of Corrections for Girls.” Zinnie tossed her head back and downed the rest of the pino grigio from her glass. She pursed her lips.

  “And, Barnabus. My husband, Barnabus didn’t do a damned thing about it. Except make a load of unfulfilled promises. So damaging.”

  Zinnie slammed her glass on the table. “He let his little girl live a frightening life with nobody to trust, nobody to love her, nobody to …” her words sounded strangled.

  “Barnabus knew? He knew he had a child? Did he ever see her? Did he contribute toward her upbringing? A trust fund, anything like that?”

  David shot me a warning look. I was getting too involved. Too passionate. I felt it too. Perhaps it was the strain of the last couple of days. The stress of seeing the chief so close to … close to what? Death?

  I gave my friend a slight dip of the head to let him know I had heeded his warning. I sat back in my chair and feigned casualness.

  “He knew, yes,” Zinnie said. “He never saw Summer. But, as I said, he made them plenty of honied promises. That he'd visit his daughter and take her horse riding. That he would send money. That he would send for both of them when the time was right.” Zinnie paused. "Empty. Every last one of them. All empty promises."

  She pulled some hand cream from her purse and snapped her bag shut. Piling on a dollop of scented lotion, she worked her hands vigorously.

  “Both Deevie and Summer were duped. It’s as simple as that, I’m afraid. They were both played by a senselessly cruel and cold man. My husband.”

  David and I looked at each other.

  “I’m sure that must have been very hard to learn about,” I offered. “Did you try to contact Deva or Summer?”

  Zinnie shook her head and wiped her eyes with her forearm.

  “I did not. I thought about it, but with Barney’s political career and his illustrious position within Shields’ cabinet … well, as a ‘good’ wife, I couldn’t put my husband’s work life at risk,” she stated.

  “Understandable,” David said. “Know where this ‘Summer’ is now?”

  “I do not.”

  The chief smiled and changed tack. “What about Shields? What was Barnabus relationship like with the governor? I mean, they surely must have worked on some pretty big issues. Did they always see eye to eye?”

  “I’m sure they rarely saw eye to eye, chief,” Zinnie commented. “However, seeing as Barney was a sycophant to Shields, that kind of bickering was never really
a problem between them. Gideon is a tremendously powerful man, in case you’re not aware. And, if you think you can get a handle on just how powerful he is, then you’re wrong. He’s far more influential than you could ever imagine. So, no, Barnabus never disagreed with the governor.”

  Zinnie twisted at her ring finger. I noticed that where the ring should have been, there was just a simple band of slightly less tanned skin.

  She wasted no time.

  My friend guffawed. “Even with the power that the God that is Gideon holds, surely Barnabus would have a whole load of physical evidence on all of the governor’s ‘good’ deeds?” David said sarcastically.

  Zinnie Kramp stiffened again. I saw her left eye twitch.

  “Ah, well, the person foolish enough to try and ‘out’ Governor Shields for his out-of-the-public-eye ventures wouldn’t live long enough to ‘spill the beans,’ as it were,” she countered.

  “Sounds ominous,” David muttered.

  “Like a thriller novel, only real life,” Zinnie said.

  “Did Barnabus keep any files on Gideon?” I asked. “Something that could hurt the governor’s reputation? If he did, and you know where they are, perhaps you’d be better off giving them to the chief here for safekeeping?”

  Another gravelly laugh from the widow. “How perfectly naive of you, Ms. Jenkins!” Zinnie slapped her hand on the table to show us just how delighted she was with my question. “You think my home hasn’t already been ransacked by Shields’ men? You honestly believe that the Chief Warlock would allow me some time for silent respect for my late husband?” She slapped the table again. “Pah! Shields’ was around my house only a couple of hours after the blast. If there was anything on the governor in our home, it’s certainly not there now.”

  David leaned in across the table and laced his hands together in front of him.

  “Well, I think that’s enough for now, Mrs. Kramp. Thank you for your time, it’s appreciated. We might have a few more questions for you a little down the road, are you sticking around on Glessie for a while?”

  “No. I’m returning to Cathedral tomorrow. I’d rather not deal with all the questions and fanfare, but needs must. I have to take care of Barney's funeral arrangements, after all.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. I smiled at Zinnie again, and she returned my warmth with a cold, flat stare.

  The chief and I stood, said some awkward goodbyes, and made our way to the exit.

  “What did you make of that? I asked as we stepped out into a blustery October afternoon. Twilight already weighed down on the pale blue of the daytime sky.

  David peered at me over his glasses. “Make of what? Kramp having a love-child, or the fact that Zinnie clenched up when we asked her about her relationship with Darkmore?”

  “You saw that too?” I asked. “I wonder what Zinnie could be hiding?”

  The chief pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. But, I have a feeling we’ll be speaking to Mrs. Kramp again.”

  “Do you think she had anything to do with it? Do you think Zinnie tried to have her husband murdered?”

  “Well, she’d stand to gain a pretty penny, I guess. Kramp would have left a packet of money in his insurance policy, so there’s that incentive for the grieving widow.”

  “David it’s so sad, though. The story of Deevie and Summer?” I shook my head trying to clear the images of the sad story I’d mentally created for them.

  My friend’s phone trilled. He held up a finger and took the call.

  “CPI Trew,” he stated in his official voice. He stared at a spot on the ground while the person on the other end of the line spoke. “When?” David started pacing. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be there shortly. Thanks, Eve.”

  David spun toward me.

  “The Talisman suits are on their way,” he said. “They’re coming for the Warlock device.”

  “Blast!” I stomped my foot against the wall. “What can we do, David? We need to analyze that weapon.”

  “I know,” he said, scratching his chin. “I don’t know what we can do though, Hat. What I want doesn’t matter to them. They want to run their own tests, so they can do what they want.” David planted his hands on his hips and blew out a breath.

  “I could ask Portia?” I said, pushing off the wall. “She’s always been able to pull some strings in the capital,” I added hopefully.

  “Pull some strings? Rip out some hearts, more like,” David snorted. He really didn’t have the warm ‘n’ fuzzies for the old witch. He looked at me. “But, it’s definitely worth a shot. I’m going to the station now; I can see if I can hold the suits off for a bit. Think you could get hold of the Witch Fearwyn and see if she might be able to use her seemingly endless influence?”

  “I’ll go back to the apothecary to get my broom,” I said, already mentally planning the fastest route to the Gorthland Swamps, where Portia lived. “Hold them off as long as you can, okay?” I reached for my friend’s arm, and he pulled away instantly.

  “I will, don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll come to the station right after? We can take this time to talk to Eve about Kramp and his medication too,” he added.

  I pretended not to notice the brush-off. “I’ll be there within the hour,” I assured him.

  Our eyes met briefly, then David turned on his heel, leaving me momentarily flummoxed. For the love of Bast, my friend's 'hot and cold' routine was getting under my skin.

  I shook my head and fell into a brisk stride as I carried my confused head back to The Angel.

  CHAPTER 9

  “But it’s at least a mile thick; they won’t get through that for at least another year, man,” Shade advised Carbon just as I pushed through the door of The Angel.

  “What’s a mile thick?” I questioned, walking toward Millie and my cats. The crew had seemingly gathered for a little pow wow around the cash register. At least there were no customers, I guess.

  “We’re talking about the waterfall, and the amount of stone the grumlins need to get through so they can try and weaken the flow,” Millie said. Her Unicorn hair bloomed like a long, strange flower from the binds of her loose ponytail. She had pulled the tail forward so it draped over her shoulder in a rainbow cascade.

  “Ugh, I know,” I said, “It’s depressing to think about, but, guys, I don’t really have time to discuss this right now. I need to get out to Portia’s. Talisman is on their way to GIPPD to take the Warlock weapon away. And, we need to get it to Orville first, so he can take a look at it and see if he recognizes the signature at the core of the gadget.”

  A lot of bouncing, pouncing, meowing and purring emanated from my frantically happy kitties. They didn’t hear anything I said past the words ‘Portia Fearwyn.’ A trip to the Gorthlands meant only one thing to them: they’d get to hang out with their ‘cuz,’ Hinrika, Queen of the Fae.

  “Guys, no,” I said, putting up my hands. “This isn’t a social visit. Did you hear what I just said? Talisman is taking away the evidence. Can’t you see that this is kind of a big deal? I need to get to Portia’s to see if there’s anything she can do,” I explained, already walking toward the back of the shop where I’d find my broom. I stopped when I saw first a bottle, then a small box, fly from underneath the counter to land on the floor near my feet. I stared. Some clinking and rustling noises. My cats’ heads peered over the counter to see what the commotion was. Another bottle came flying out, and behind it a black curling tail.

  “Fraidy?” I said, stepping closer, my eyebrows furrowing. “What are you doing down there, buddy?”

  “We’re running low on supplies,” he whined. “We’re all out of Mother Night. When are we getting some more? I can’t find any!” My timid cat was on the brink of hysterics. He’s freaking out about hair dye? What the…?

  The door of The Angel tinkled then, and a large-boned man sporting a confident stride and a trilby hat, made a beeline for the counter. My cats stopped their antics and gawked at the customer.

  The man gr
eeted me before I could take another step toward my broom.

  “Ms. Hattie Jenkins, is it?” His eyes were charcoal gray and deep set. Black bushy brows matched a strand of errant hair peeking out from under his hat.

  “Yes, may I ask who’s inquiring?” I said, stepping toward the counter once more.

  “Ulrich Darkmore, ma’am.” He tipped his trilby in an archaic gesture of chivalry. “Darkmore of Shadow Supplies. You may have heard of it?”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with your business, Mr. Darkmore. Millie told me you were here yesterday,” I said. “How can I help you?”

  Darkmore produced a business card from between his leather-gloved fingers, placed it on the counter, and tapped it carefully with a black-leathered index finger.

  “I would venture to say that you would also be helping me. I would propose this would be a mutually beneficial agreement, in fact.”

  Ulrich smiled, but no warmth registered in his slate colored eyes.

  “Are you suggesting that you should be my supplier?” I asked, my tone neutral.

  “I am, Ms. Jenkins. I have my ear to the ground, and let’s just say that I know of your impeccable reputation as an apothecarian, and also your deep respect for the marvels of plant-life.”

  I didn’t like the way Darkmore pulled at his lobe when he said he had his ear to the ground. The gesture looked as if it was meant to be playful, but something about it irked me.

  A hint of pressure on my toe caught my attention, and I glanced down to see Fraidy looking up at me.

  “Ask him if he has Mother Night,” he whispered. “Or any black hair dye, really.”

  Fraidy had an expectant look in his eyes; a look that suggested he really believed I was going to ask Darkmore this question. Bless him.

  I nudged my kitty away with my foot and looked at Ulrich.

  “How do you know Zinnie Kramp?” I blurted. Well, can you blame me? The list of people we had lined up for questioning was getting a little out of hand, so, really, I had to grab the moment, right?