Murder on Euripides

by Scott A. Combs

  The little fish in her tub—now bloated—seemed to be disinterested in nibbling anymore, so she raised her feet and toweled off. “Looks like I’m ready for phase two of my pedicure. I wonder if Babs has ebony black to match my uniform.”

  Sir Giles raised an eyebrow. “I hope she doesn’t.”

  * * *

  AMBASSADOR TOESLE TRUNDLED into the beauty salon with Martha deep in conversation. Toesle’s demeanor—always diplomatic—had an air of forced civility this morning. “You don’t say,” she remarked. “It’s a miracle you even survived such harsh treatment from that awful Cardinal Nog’nik’s band of Tuluvian thugs on Praylion.” Seeing Sir Giles and Nanette already well into their pedicures, she waved feebly with one of her shriveled upper limbs, anxious to change the subject. “Oh, there’s Sir Giles and his granddaughter. I’m late for our meeting.”

  The two elderly females made their way to adjoining lounge chairs. “Greetings everyone,” said Toesle. “Have you met my new friend Martha?” She indicated the elderly Terran. “She’s so graciously accepted my invitation to indulge ourselves to a little pampering.”

  “We briefly met on the hanger deck this morning,” said Nanette. “It’s nice to see you again, Martha. How is your stay on board the Euripides so far?”

  “Very nice dear,” she responded. “I’m being treated like a queen.”

  “And rightly so,” commented Sir Giles. “You’re quite the celebrity now.”

  Toesle didn’t look too pleased. “Yes—Martha and her husband . . . um . . . ”

  Martha helped her out unaware of the reserve in the ambassador’s voice. “Herbert.”

  “Um, yes. Are quite famous with all the publicity surrounding that horrible incident on Praylion recently. On behalf of myself and the Galactic Guild, we wish her the most pleasant vacation possible for enduring the wrongs they did in the hands of those horrid Tuluvian mercenaries last year.”

  Martha’s eyes twinkled as she leaned toward Sir Giles and Nanette. She whispered, “They better or Herbert will sue again.”

  Toesle scowled. Sir Giles and Nanette couldn’t help but smile at the likable old woman. She certainly had spunk. Babs flittered about prepping for the newcomers’ beauty session. Sir Giles tried to rise to shake the ladies’ hands but Babs pushed him back into his seat.

  “No moving now,” said Babs. “You’ll ruin your Dead Prilaxian Sea Salt treatment.” The gelatinous goop sloshed around, threatening to spill over the sides of his foot basin.

  “Um, right you are madam.” Sir Giles was not used to being manhandled by a woman and felt a little off balance. “Just what’s in a Dead Prilaxian Sea Salt treatment? My feet are rather tingly now.”

  Bab’s—not skipping a beat—produced a curious device shaped like a Podiatron’s foot and positioned it near Toesle. “Dead Prilaxians, of course. Everyone knows that. The tingly feeling means it’s working. Soon, all your cares will melt away.”

  “That’s just what I need,” sighed Toesle. “I’ve been in committee all day trying to rework the budget of the whole Galactic Guild since the settlement was awarded to all those poor pilgrims on Praylion.”

  Martha couldn’t help but to interject. “Oh, it was a wonderful day when Herbert won the case. Millions of innocent pilgrims got their day in court and received justice.” She paused for emphasis. “And lots of money too. Of course, they didn’t want any. Most have strong beliefs that money is the root of all evil. So they gave it to the church for our Supreme Spiritual Leader, Glup III to take care of. The church won’t be needing any tithes for some time.”

  “I’ll say,” grumbled Toesle. Martha gave her the stink-eye. “Um . . . what I mean is . . . ”

  “That’s alright,” soothed Martha. “I know it was a bitter pill for the Galactic Guild to swallow. So let’s change the subject. I’m curious. What should we all get done today? My treat since I have an open expense account.”

  Toesle looked delighted. “I generally get new designs for my toes.” She wiggled them impressively. “Changing them daily makes me feel young, even though I’m very old. Did you know Podiatrons have a most unusual circulatory system that allows us to live longer than most other species?”

  “No, I wasn’t aware of that fact,” commented Sir Giles. “In what way do you differ?”

  “Well—” she showed her pride by swiveling all three feet forward and lining them up side by side. “We have forty-five toes and forty-five hearts all within the confines of our parietal digits. We’re a very hearty race.” She laughed at her own joke. “Of course I mean a hardy race.”

  “Amazing,” said Martha.

  “With so many hearts, we can survive almost any damage to the rest of our bodies. I once heard of a case where one of my species lost all but one of their toes and still lived to be a ripe old age.”

  “That is truly remarkable,” commented Sir Giles.

  Babs toweled the Thackerys’ feet off and removed the basins. Then she produce three pairs of metal footwear, slipping Toesle’s feet into the curious devices made just for Podiatrons and moved to each of the others and fitted them with similar equipment, except obviously designed for Terran feet. “There,” she said. “Now who’s first?”

  Nanette was excited. “Me, please. I’ve never had my toes done before.”

  “Oh,” said Toesle. “You must do something extraordinary then. Babs, give her the Lum-O-Edge add-on.”

  Nanette wasn’t sure about such an extreme sounding treatment. “Do I want that? I’m only here because I . . . um . . . ”

  Sir Giles helped her. “The main goal is to impress a certain young man.”

  “Ooh,” said Toesle and Martha together understanding the importance of impressing a young man, grabbing his fancy.

  Martha just had to share some advice. “First impressions are very important my dear. A good man is very hard to come by these days. I remember my first date with Herbert. I fussed with my toes for hours trying all kinds of colors. Eventually I ended up with just clear polish, but that was the style back then.”

  “What is the style now?” asked Nanette. “I don’t want to go too crazy. Just enough to be contemporary.”

  “The Lum-O-Edge is all the rage,” said Babs. “We can do anything now; pictures, colors, textures, scents, etc. But the Lum-O-Edge makes them light up and twinkle when you run your fingers over them.”

  “Lum-O-Edges for everyone,” roared Sir Giles. “We must experience life to the fullest.”

  “Agreed,” added Toesle. “I’ll have the usual. Make mine the works. Mix up and randomize every toe differently.”

  Martha made her request next. “Herbert’s partial to red rose. Can I have the scent added to the polish?”

  “Certainly,” said Babs programming the toewear.

  Sir Giles came next. “Just natural coloring for me. I’m not ready to be any more experimental than the Lum-O-Edging.”

  “And you dear?”

  “Do you have ebony black?” Sir Giles scowled. Nanette relented to her elder’s opinion. “What do you suggest then?”

  “If I were a young man, I’d be very impressed with a light pink shade just a few levels deeper than the hue of your wonderful skin coloring.”

  Babs was impressed. “Very chic, Sir Giles. I can tell you have discriminating taste. And very astute. No man could resist the subtlety of your choice.”

  “Okay,” said Nanette still wanting her toes to match her uniform.

  Babs finished programming the metal devices. “How about some music while the machines do their work?”

  Everyone agreed so Babs flicked a playlist on her digi-pad and an ancient Country & Western song began playing. Hauntingly.

  Sir Giles listened to the intro chords wondering why the music seemed to be sending him a warning. Then the lyrics of the song rang out with painting the nose and toes followed by dotting the eyes and not letting them see you cry.

  Lyrics from the murderer’s clue! Babs held the digi-pad and asked if everyone was re
ady. Sir Giles saw the inevitable about to happen. He began to shout Stop! but was too late. Babs threw the switch for the toe painting to begin. Nanette’s toes were immediately painted with the light shade of pink; Sir Giles’ feet got sprayed a natural clear coat; Martha’s toes were now a lovely shade of rosy red; and Toesle’s toes were sliced off with a bone crunching shearing sound. Toesle’s eyes flew open wide, filled with tears; her mouth curled horribly as she let out a gurgling noise. Her legs twitched and her eyes slowly closed for the last time.

  * * *

  SLASP SECURITY BARRICADED the beauty salon allowing no one to enter or exit. Lookie-loos milled about outside ogling to get a closer view. Captain Aubrey stormed through the crowd only to be stopped by two very menacing SLASP agents.

  “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

  “You’re Captain Aubrey.”

  “Good. Then let me through.” Captain Aubrey began to skirt around the agents. The next thing he recalled was having a close up view of the deck and both of his hands being strapped behind his back. To his dismay and humiliation, he should’ve realized he didn’t have the authority to challenge a SLASP barricade. The crowd of onlookers gasped at the abruptness of the assault. That’s when Nanette came out of the beauty salon.

  “Johnson! Tools!” she roared.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the two responded.

  “Unhand Captain Aubrey and kindly disperse this crowd.”

  They saluted—their right arms across their chests then pivoting toward their superior officer—and rushed to their new duties while Nanette lifted Captain Aubrey with one arm from the back of his jacket until he dangled—seemingly weightless—above the deck. She slid his feet to the floor and snapped his restraints off. Inspecting him for damage, she then prodded him in the chest. “You know better than to interfere with my agents. Please be more prudent next time.”

  “Yes,” he stammered. “I will.”

  “I’m guessing you want to be apprised of the situation?” He nodded. “Follow me.” They walked into the crime scene.

  Sir Giles was stooping over the lifeless body of Ambassador Toesle in his bare feet, prodding one of the dismembered toes with the end of an orange stick, deep in thought. Martha was trying to comfort a distraught Babs by handing her a box of tissues to dab her tears. The music of the murder was being replayed in an endless loop.

  Sir Giles looked up irritated by all the distractions. “Would someone please turn that music off?” Babs stopped sniffling long enough to flick the playlist off, leaving them with the last notes haunting everyone with the finality of the words: this ain’t my mama’s broken heart. “Good. I’ve had just about all I can stand of being reminded of my ineptitude.”

  Captain Aubrey mumbled to Nanette, “What is he going on about?”

  “There’s no need to be delicate,” she responded raising her voice. “My grandfather thinks he should have been able to anticipate this crime.”

  “I would have if my regeneration wasn’t rushed. My mind must be befuddled.” Sir Giles continued his inspection of the bloodless digits lying about the floor. “I had the clues. I had the forethought that something was amiss. I just didn’t respond fast enough.”

  “No one could have,” remarked Nanette. “There wasn’t time to respond once the threat was perceived.”

  “Let’s get past the self-recriminations,” snapped Captain Aubrey. “What can you tell me about the murder? I will have to contact the Podiatron Consulate about this tragedy.”

  Sir Giles removed the murder weapon to inspect the circuitry behind the housing. “The murderer cleverly refashioned the cosmetic heads with las-emitters set to pinpoint precision. Hence, no blood loss. The beams sheared the toes off nearly instantly as we can all attest to.”

  Captain Aubrey was aghast. “So she technically died of heart failure?”

  “Death by toe-ectomy. All of her hearts were stopped at the same moment. She died in seconds.”

  “What a horrible way to go for a Podiatron.”

  Sir Giles placed the unlikely murder weapon next to Babs’ digi-pad. “Babs unwittingly set the fatal scenario in motion when she initiated the painting sequence.”

  Babs began sobbing louder. Martha patted her on her back. “Now, now dear. It’s not your fault.”

  “I agree,” said Sir Giles. “Babs has been duped into fulfilling our murderer’s plot against another ambassador of the Galactic Guild. Somehow the fiend got wind of our meeting with Ambassador Toesle just before she was able to give us any tangible clues to work with. The murderer stopped her but not before I gathered a small insight.”

  “Insight, Grandfather?” asked Nanette. “What could she have said that matters to this case? I certainly didn’t glean any clues.”

  “It’s not necessarily what she said, but observed behavior. What was her demeanor when she arrived to have her pedicure?”

  Nanette looked perplexed. “To me, she seemed slightly agitated at being delayed for her appointment.”

  “Exactly!” Sir Giles looked at the chronometer on the digi-pad. “She was delayed by nearly ten minutes.”

  Captain Aubrey wasn’t following the sleuth’s train of thought. “Ten minutes doesn’t seem like a long time to be late for a vanity treatment.”

  “To a Podiatron, a pedicure is paramount. Wouldn’t you agree, Babs?”

  Babs sniffled and wiped her nose. “She’s never been late before. Ever.”

  “Precisely.” Sir Giles motioned to the corpse. “Ambassador Toesle has her toes done every single day. I assume at the same time for efficiency within a busy schedule.” Babs nodded. “So unfortunately, anyone could find out Ambassador Toesle’s schedule and preset a trap for her. What the murderer couldn’t predict is when Nanette and myself would be present. That took more planning.” He waited for them to catch on to what he thought was self-evident. Seeing no one was following him, he rolled his eyes.

  Martha had a thought, so she raised her hand. “If I’m understanding, Ambassador Toesle’s murder was put on as a show to taunt you?”

  Sir Giles nodded. “And—?”

  “And . . . ” Martha paused thinking. “That explains her being delayed. The murderer wanted to ensure you and your granddaughter were definitely present.”

  Sir Giles snapped his fingers. “Good show, madam. You’ve hit on the one insight I have gleaned. The murderer had to be involved in what Ambassador Toesle was doing this morning. She was stuck in committee over the new budget that has strained the Galactic Guild and involves every star system in the GG. Indirectly, the murder is linked to the need to shift funds.”

  “Oh, my.” Martha put her hand over her mouth. “You don’t think I had anything to do with it? I only met Ambassador Toesle this morning.”

  “You are a suspect,” he said dramatically stabbing the air with an accusing finger. Martha cringed. Sir Giles gave her a warm smile. “Actually, you are a red herring. A misdirection. A ploy to gain more time.” He took her hand. “I don’t believe you have an evil bone in your body, my dear. As a matter-of-fact, this ruse is a crude way to terrorize the crew and passengers on board the Euripides. I’m confident that once SLASP analyzes Babs’ digi-pad we’ll find plenty of clues to clear your good name.”

  Martha giggled. “How delicious. I’m exonerated. It’s quite delightful how your mind works.”

  A SLASP agent entered escorting a porter carrying Sir Giles’ curious leather bag. He saw the corpse and fainted dead away into the waiting arms of the agent. Sir Giles went to the unconscious porter and pried the bag out of his death grip.

  “I’ve been waiting for this. Now everyone but my granddaughter leave so I can continue my investigation.” Everyone complied. The last thing Captain Aubrey saw was Sir Giles prodding Toesle’s toes again, lighting up her Lum-O-Edge emitters on the detached digits.

  * * *

  SMYTHE PERUSED THE FLORAL SHOP, reading about all the varieties of bouquets, arrangements, vases and any other number of ways to give flowers. None s
eemed to be exactly what he was looking for. In the end a florist—a pretty young lady with baby’s breath weaved into golden blonde hair—interrupted his scrutiny of a horrid, hairy flower that wanted to wrap his probing fingers with sticky tendrils.

  “You better be careful,” she warned. “Marvin’s not housetrained yet.” The flower—sensing its intentions were about to be disrupted—tried to engulf Smythe’s hand before the opportunity was lost. The plant wrapped its petals around his wrist. She flicked her finger hard onto a bulging lump on the stem of the plant. In response, the plant shivered and regurgitated Smythe’s goo encrusted fingers.

  “Thanks.” His hand dribbled a viscous liquid.

  She handed him a wet cloth. After the gloopy stuff was dispatched, they shook hands. “Bryony. I’m the sales staff.”

  “Smythe. The ship’s purser.”

  “I’ve seen you around. You’re new on board.”

  “Yes. I was assigned just before Sir Giles arrived.” Smythe looked at Marvin, the man-eating flower, and thought better about putting his hand too close again. “You called it a Marvin?”

  “No, silly.” She stroked the flower behind its petals. “Marvin is his name. He’s actually a cryptid carnvori—a man-eating plant from Florilon. I’ve been training him not to consume the customers.”

  “Any success?”

  She shrugged. “He’s actually a sweet plant once you get to know him. Of course, he’s just a baby. You wouldn’t want to run up against a full-grown specimen. Marvin has many years left in him before we have to transplant him back to his home world. He won’t grow out of these quarters for another thirty years or so.”

  “That’s good to know,” he said.

  “Would you like to purchase him?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m really here to find a suitable bereavement arrangement for the late Ambassador Toesle on behalf of the Thackery family.”