Murder on Euripides

by Scott A. Combs

  Martha kicked him. “Of course you can pursue the idea. Anything to get this old buzzard out of the house so I can have some free time to myself.”

  Sir Giles laughed along with the others.

  Slipsludge unscrewed the bath pellets and poured a few into the water, plopping them as he counted. When he got to six he stopped. “That’s about the right amount.” Then he closed the lid and put the jar on the deck for a good soak. His eyestalks closed and his muscles relaxed . . . and his body dissolved.

  The water bubbled with a gelatinous sheen. Before anyone knew there was trouble brewing, the ambassador’s body was gone. The only thing left of him was the upper torso part with his arms spread out propping him up.

  Herbert scowled at the slimy addition to the water. “What the frickin’ Sam hell is this stuff!?” He sniffed the goo.

  Sir Giles raced to the water and looked down. He reached under the ambassador’s armpits and dragged what was left of him out of the water. “I’d say it was essence of Acochlidean.”

  * * *

  NANETTE, SMYTHE, CAPTAIN AUBREY, Sir Giles, Herbert, Martha and a squad of SLASP agents were present at the crime scene. Smythe had the Jacuzzi turned off and was skimming the water to remove what was left of Ambassador Slipsludge. Herbert and Martha milled about looking for clean towels to scrape the goopy residue from their skin. Nanette was directing the SLASP team to secure the perimeter while Captain Aubrey was having words with Sir Giles.

  “This can’t go on,” barked Captain Aubrey. “How many ambassadors are we going to lose before you catch this scoundrel?”

  “As many as it takes.”

  “At this rate the only ambassador left will be the murderer.”

  Sir Giles harrumphed. “I hardly think it will come to that. Besides, that would mean a thousand or so more murders.”

  “Then just how many deaths does it take?” Captain Aubrey waved his hands about. “They’re dropping like flies.” He looked at the remains of the half dissolved Acochlidean. “I mean dissolving like slugs. What was in the water to do that?”

  Nanette brought the bath pellets over to the two. “Concentrated sodium chloride.”

  “Common table salt?” asked Captain Aubrey. “For the Maker’s sake. You’re trying to tell me he was melted with what I use on my eggs?”

  “It seems so,” said Sir Giles. “Sodium chloride to Acochlideans is like hydrochloric acid to Terrans. It was fast, thorough and totally lethal to Ambassador Slipsludge. I myself saw the results. There wasn’t any time to save him. He poured his own death.”

  “Damn!” cursed Captain Aubrey. “How am I going to tell the Acochlidean Consulate that their ambassador offed himself unwittingly?”

  “Tell them the truth. Or not. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is to let me continue my investigation in peace.”

  The porter arrived with Sir Giles’ curious bag. He looked around at all the activity and spotted Smythe scooping up an eyestalk and a set of puffy lips into a bucket. He promptly handed the the bag off to Smythe and retched into the bucket. Ashamed, he nodded and left holding his hand over his mouth.

  Smythe finished scooping up the remains and reported to Captain Aubrey that the ambassador and buckets were on their way to the morgue after he handed over the bag to Sir Giles.

  “Fine,” groused Captain Aubrey. “If you think I’m going to have individual memorial services for every ambassador that dies on board you’re sorely mistaken. Until further notice I’m suspending any more functions until the murderer is apprehended. Who knows just how many bodies we’ll have before this is through. I’ll see to it the older couple gets to their suite safely.” He turned and huffed away motioning for Herbert and Martha to accompany him.

  Nanette noticed something in the bath pellet jar and pulled out a tiny folded note. She handed it to her grandfather who donned a pair of reading glasses and read out loud:

  You can’t stop me. I will have my fun. Here is the clue to our next encounter. Remember Procol Harum and Skip the Light Fandango.

  “I’m getting under his skin,” said Sir Giles. “The game is ramping up for a finale. He felt cheated so he struck quickly to satisfy his murderous nature. You can’t stop me is him boasting about the depths of his resolve. I will have my fun is him taunting me to not underestimate him and the clue itself is very unusual.”

  “What does it mean?” asked Smythe.

  “He wants us to remember what?” commented Nanette. “I don’t understand the clue.”

  Sir Giles started humming to himself. “I got it!” he said, snapping his fingers. “He wants us to remember the lyrics from an ancient Terran song from a band called Procol Harum. I believe the song’s title is A Whiter Shade of Pale. Skipping the light fandango obviously means dancing. The rest of the lyrics are symbolism. Without context I’ll never know their true meaning. Then I can only guess as to the significance of the song’s title to the murderer’s thought process since it is not mentioned.”

  Nanette and Smythe looked on in awe of Sir Giles’ keen mind as he paced the floor thinking. Finally Sir Giles stopped his ruminations. “When is the next formal ball scheduled, Smythe?”

  Smythe looked at his chronometer. It was well past midnight. “Tonight, Sir Giles,” he responded. “It’s a black tie affair, sponsored by Captain Aubrey in honor of the four-hundredth anniversary of the induction of the Terran System into the Alliance and the galaxy.”

  “That’s when the murderer will strike next,” said Nanette. “We have to be ready for him.”

  Sir Giles began dancing a waltz. “How do you feel about a little dancing, my dear?” he asked. He grabbed her hand and dragged her with him to an imaginary tune. Nanette looked crestfallen. “We’re going to have to countermand the good captain’s last order to have the dance continue, but I’m sure a certain SLASP agent can convince him.” Seeing her expression, he asked, “What’s the matter, Granddaughter?”

  “I haven’t anything to wear to the ball but my uniform.”

  “We shall have to remedy that immediately.” He turned to Smythe. “My boy, would you do us the great kindness of finding suitable attire for my granddaughter to attend the ball tonight?”

  “Certainly, Sir Giles,” he said. “I’d be honored if Miss Nanette would also allow me to escort her. With your permission and hers, of course.”

  Sir Giles smiled sheepishly. “What do you say, Granddaughter? Is young Smythe worthy of your affections?”

  She blushed.

  “Excellent,” beamed Sir Giles. Then he twirled on one foot and pointed to the ceiling. “Let the music stir our souls.” It seemed so ludicrous to watch him so happy at the prospect of another murder. His eyes had a new gleam. A light that burned brightly. “We should go.” They began to move away and he stopped and took Nanette’s hand in his. “You go on ahead my boy. We will meet up with you later.”

  Smythe nodded and left.

  “Okay,” he said moving her out of earshot of others. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t nothing me. I know when something is wrong.” He waited patiently.

  “I can’t dance.”

  “Posh! Anyone can dance. You just haven’t had the opportunity to learn. What do you say we go have a little talk with our favorite valet and see if he can make a Ginger Rogers out of you?”

  “Ginger who?”

  “Never mind.”

  * * *

  SMYTHE STOOD IN FRONT of the Ooh La La Boutique — Fashions That Define The Figure. Apparently the females of many species in the GG had varying levels of decency. The mannequin he was admiring had on the minimum amount of twisted twill to cover all the naughty bits. He didn’t think it was what he was sent to get for Nanette but he did fantasize about the agent in this outfit, just briefly. Then he was embarrassed at the crudeness of his thoughts. Knowing he had no choice but to enter the shop, he tuned down his fantasy and made his way inside.

  There were garments that promised t
o cling snugly, loosely, and even ones that defied the wearer’s form. The colors ranged from pastel to bold and all points in between with solids to prints running the gambit from lightly flowered to oddly garish. Novelty dresses changed form when touched giving the wearer an endless variety to display. There was even a dress that burst into flames to reveal crusty underwear.

  “I see you like that one,” said the twentyish-something clerk flipping back tawny-colored hair and chewing gum like she was a cow chewing cud. “It’s one of our biggest sellers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We can have any dress custom fitted if need be.” She reached out her hand. “I’m Tuanne and you are?”

  “Smythe, the ship’s purser.”

  “Not the Smythe who’s dating Sir Giles’ granddaughter?”

  “My reputation precedes me. Does everyone know about my involvement with a SLASP agent?”

  “I can’t say for everybody, but the older couple in the Bridal Suite was in here today and she just mentioned how you two were a perfect match. That is, if she doesn’t dismember you first. I know I don’t have the nerve to date a SLASP agent. I heard once that a friend of a friend of a friend heard from her friend that they knew a poor girl who got involved with one of them and she suddenly just disappeared. Poof! Never to be seen from again. To this day her parents wonder what became of her. But of course, they’d never ask the government for fear of reprisals. That’s creepy isn’t it?” She changed her demeanor and got serious. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why risk it? I mean, is it the thrill that she might kill you at any moment? What happens if she just gets tired of you? Would she just snap your neck and stuff you in the dumpster or something?”

  Smythe raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Only time will tell.”

  She laughed and swatted him on the chest with perfectly manicured dagger-like nails while she popped a bubble from her gum. “You’re cute. Crazy, but cute.” She swiveled her hips and stroked her dress down. “So what can I help you with?”

  “I need a dress.” That didn’t sound quite right to his ears.

  She gave him a sly look. “Um—okay.”

  “Not for me. For my SLASP killing machine girlfriend.”

  Tuanne nodded approvingly. “I’ve never seen a SLASP agent out of uniform before. Can they even do that? Isn’t it some kind of law that makes them all look like little robots?”

  Smythe thought about it a moment. “They do look like robots don’t they? I never really thought about it before. But I don’t think it applies to her since her grandfather is so famous.”

  She poked her finger at him. “Right.” The word drug on longer than normal to emphasize her understanding. “So she needs a dress. Any particular kind of function she’s going to wear it at?”

  “The formal dance tonight.” He fumbled with his digi-pad to bring up the appropriate requirements. “It’s a black tie affair for the males and it doesn’t stipulate how the fairer sex are to dress.”

  “That’s because it’s up to female cultural discretion to complement her escort. Don’t you know that? Ladies always know just what is right for the evening.”

  “I’m not a lady, so I’m not schooled in such matters.”

  She chuckled. “And you’re to pick her dress for her?”

  He nodded and shrugged. “What do you suggest?”

  “Can you show me a picture of her?”

  He flicked the digi-pad and retrieved a shot of her at one of the crime scenes. She was in the middle of barking orders to some subordinates which made her look aggressive and angry.

  Tuanne whistled cocking her head. “Not much to work with there. It’s even hard to see her shape to gauge her size.”

  Smythe put his hand to the bridge of his nose. “She’s this tall, slender, very strong with maybe five percent body fat.”

  “Do you know her cup size?”

  “Cup size?”

  “You don’t know many women do you? Her boobs. How big are her breasts? Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, A, B, C, D—” He looked perplex. “All right. I get it. She looks like a thirty-four to me.” She bent in and whispered, “How much of a handful is she?” He blushed. Then he cupped his hands slightly. “We’ll error on a B cup. Just in case your expert measurements are slightly off.” She looked around at the shop. “I presume you’re going to be in your dress blues tonight?” He nodded. “And she has auburn hair.” He nodded again. “Do you mind me being a little adventurous in my choice?”

  “As long as it’s tasteful.”

  She popped another bubble. “You wait right here. I won’t be a moment.” She left and he walked around admiring some of the more exotic dresses. There was one that would make Jane of the Jungle blush with its skimpy leopard-skin tights and matching jungle toys. Then Tuanne came back wearing the sexiest red dress he had ever laid eyes on.

  “I know it’s not advised to have auburn hair against red fabric, but I think she’d be a stunner if she wore this, it is slightly darker than a red red.” She twirled around to show him the backside. The dress was par excellence in his opinion. She turned around and ruined the effect by blowing another bubble.

  “I’ll take it.”

  Her bubble popped covering her nose and chin.

  * * *

  THE FURNITURE WAS PUSHED ASIDE to make room for the dancing lesson. Sir Giles and Roderick waltzed about to the sounds of Johann Strauss’ G’schichten aus dem Wienerwald opus 325.

  Da-wom, da-wom, da-wom da da. Da-wom, da-wom, da-wom da da went the symphony orchestra’s pleasant melody. Sir Giles held Roderick’s hand out while his other hand was wrapped around the small of Roderick’s back. They shuffled to the rhythm with their feet prancing in perfect synchronization. Nanette watched on in amusement. They did look rather ridiculous swaying to the music and she doubled over laughing at the two men. The music stopped.

  “I see nothing funny about our lesson on how to be competent in a formal dance.” Sir Giles took Roderick’s hand again.

  “Then you need to watch yourselves in the mirror.” She hiccuped with laughter catching her breath.

  “Sir Giles—” Roderick pulled his hand away. “Can I be the lead this time?”

  Nanette giggled. “Yes, and I should bow out and let my granddaughter take over.”

  “Not me.” Nanette shook her head. “I can’t do that. Not in a million years could I learn to waltz.”

  Sir Giles plopped himself down into a chair and crossed his legs angrily. “I’m done teaching.” He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s up to Roderick to instill a little civilized culture into you.”

  Roderick rolled his hand for her to accompany him. She stepped down into the makeshift dance floor.

  “Nothing to it. Watch my feet.” Roderick danced as if he had an imaginary partner. His feet skipped along until she began to see a pattern. He continued dancing around her. “You just follow my moves and not step on my feet.” He held out his hand not stopping his dancing and slid her into his hold. The music resumed. At first Nanette stumbled and did step on his feet. Roderick recovered gracefully and made her watch his moves more closely as they danced about. But it was hopeless. Nanette didn’t have an ounce of rhythm in her feet. In frustration she tore away from him and pouted. The music stopped.

  “What’s the matter, Señorita Nanette?” She shook her head. “No so bad.”

  “I’m awful. I’m a soldier, not a dancer.” She turned her back on him to retreat to a chair but he tapped her on her shoulder. She was instantly in attack mode as she spun around with both hands ready to strike. “Oh, sorry. You should never come up on my blind side. It could be fatal.”

  “Sí. I see that. But Roderick has an idea to show you that you can dance.” Sir Giles perked up and listened intently. Nanette was ready to just give up. “No, no,” he said shaking a finger at her. “No more thinking like a civilized prissy lady. You learn to dance like a warrior SLASP agent.”

 
“Okay.” She put her hands on her hips. “Go ahead. What’s your big idea?”

  “You muy trained in the art of combat. Sí?”

  “Sí.”

  “Then you know how to move like a tiger?”

  “I guess so.”

  Sir Giles got what the little Latino was suggesting. “He wants you to follow your hand-to-hand combat training to the music.”

  Roderick nodded. “Show me how you practice killing but this time do it when the music is playing.”

  Nanette shrugged. “Okay, but I don’t see how this will translate to dancing.”

  The music started up again and Roderick moved back for her to begin her simulated fight training. She let the music dictate what move she would use. Her arms pressed out in a death blow while her feet slid about to new positions. Then she began to see what Roderick was getting at and began to move gracefully with her arms only partially killing imaginary foes. Roderick saw his opportunity and slipped into her dance and mimicked her steps. Slowly he scooched his way closer to her and stopped her hands from chopping the air. They moved about to the music and Roderick changed the pattern slowly to return to the waltz. In the end she was dancing the waltz and she giggled at her achievement. The music stopped and she hugged the little Latino valet. He grunted when her embrace grew a little too strong. She let him go and lightly kissed his forehead. “You’re wonderful.”

  “Oh, Señorita Nanette flatters Roderick. I no special. Only a valet.”

  “Not just a valet,” remarked Sir Giles clapping at the two. “A very wise and astute valet.”

  Roderick bowed with his hands folded around his waist.

  “What happens if Smythe wants to dance to more modern music?” she asked. “I haven’t any idea how to do the new stuff.”

  “No hay problema. I show how to make Señor Smythe drool with envy.” Roderick changed the music selection. “New stuff, old stuff all the same stuff. Only new stuff doesn’t need a partner. Feel the beat and not worry what others think about you. Let music sweep you away. Watch me first.” The music blared a harsh wailing screech that turned into a pattern of beats and screeching melody lines. Roderick started off trying to fit the 3/4 waltz steps into a 4/4 meter. Slowly he disbanded the 3/4 steps and let his body reel about as his feet found new patterns to explore. Sir Giles put his fingers into his ears to stopper up the barrage that assaulted his ear drums while Nanette was loosening up her neck, bobbing to the beat. Roderick motioned her to join him and she started off just like she did with her combat training. Then she let loose and gyrated about seductively, twisting and thrashing her head. Sir Giles smiled at her which encouraged her to let it all hang out. The two danced and thrusted about joyfully to different tempos.