“A bracelet.” I brushed off the clods of soil from the gilded jewelry piece. “Wait, there are some initials engraved here. I held the bracelet up to the lighthouse, waiting for its glimmer to illuminate the engraving. The inscription was too delicate, and the beam too quick, however.
“Carbie, come over here. I need fire,” I instructed my kitty. Carbon ambled over, already clicking his paws together to produce a flame. I bent down to his level so his furry hand could illuminate the jewelry. The initials ‘A.B.’ Nothing more, nothing less.
“Well, if this is Stella’s grave, this isn’t Stella’s bracelet,” I said, showing my furry companions the initials.
“You think someone was trying to get in,” Eclipse said, sitting bolt upright on top of a nearby headstone.
“Doubt it, ‘Clipsy,” I confessed. “Who’d wanna do something like that? What we saw … it could have been a trick of the light, I guess. And, this soil …” I said, looking down at the patted-down earth. “Maybe the undertakers just flattened it with their shovels?”
“Doesn’t explain the bracelet,” Gloom said looking directly at me.
“No, it doesn’t … but there’s no other real proof to suggest --”
“I believe I may have found an acceptable quantity of evidence here,” Onyx called out from the end of the grave. “Observe.” He pointed a furry paw to the snow; to the fresh tracks that lay there. Footprints. Medium sized. Could be male or female. They led to where Midnight stood guard at the wall.
“That’s the good thing about snow, huh, boss?” Shade asked, staring, first at the tracks, then me. “It don’t hide no dirty-deeds.” He finished.
“Also worth noting is the lack of precipitation covering the new grave,” Onyx opined. “It’s been snowing here since we arrived. It appears there is no evidence of it on this, ahem, resting place.”
All heads swerved to the grave. My cat’s observation was right. It also made me feel completely stupid. How did I not notice that?
Getting too excited, Chimera. Breathe. Slow down.
“Hrmph, mmmph, harumph!” Fraidy said from under my arm. I understood it to mean “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I agreed with my kitty. “Middie, c’mon, let’s go,” I said, turning to my cat guarding the wall. “We can pick up those tracks later.” But, Midnight wasn’t there.
“Carbs?” I said, wheeling around to my flame-throwing cat. Carbon had beaten me to it; he had his lit paw aloft, waddling on three legs toward the low stone wall.
In the glow of Carbon’s claw, I saw the outline of Middie’s head atop the rock fence. He was digging for something amid the stones.
“Midnight, what have you found, honey?” I said, moving toward my night-wandering cat.
Middie’s head swiveled toward me. “Just …..this,” he said, hooking a small piece of fabric with his claw. He held it up to Carbon’s fire so we could all see. “Looks like the wall snagged a piece of our grave-loving friend’s dress,” he said.
Gloom gasped. “Give me that,” she demanded, snagging the satiny scrap from Midnight’s outstretched paw. My female kitty held up the material against her black fur and twirled in the snow. “How do I look?” she asked, with a coquettish smile on her face. Something about the fabric swatch bothered me, and once Gloom stopped parading on her snowy runway, I noticed what it was. It looked an awful lot like the material of the dress the woman in the background of Sergeant Donkerton’s picture wore. I snatched it from Gloom and inspected it. Silk. And if the light wasn’t playing tricks, it looked to be a shade of cerulean blue.
“The woman in the picture, boss!” Shade exclaimed.
“That’s what I was thinking, Shadester,” I admitted. “I wonder what this means,” I breathed, tapping my chin.
“We’re not getting salmon for Christmas dinner?” Gloom offered. I ignored my snarky kitty.
“Harumph, mmmph, grrmph,”
“Fraidy’s right. C’mon, guys. Let’s get to the pub for the keys. We can talk about all this later, and take a closer look at the path our visitor took.”
I followed our snow-prints back to the car.
“Where are the keys, boss?” Midnight asked.
“I just told you, buster; the local pub,” I said. “A three-minute drive from here, apparently.”
“What’s this pub called? The Slaughtered Lamb?” Gloom scoffed.
Shade chuckled at his sister’s black humor. “Or ‘The Drafty Barn,’” he chimed in, amused with his entry.
“Yep! ‘The Rat's Lair!’ Yep, yep!” Jet chirped.
“The M-mummy's T-t-tomb,” Fraidy had finally freed his head from my armpit.
“‘The Zombie’s Entrails,’ Midnight roared, holding his jiggling tummy.
A collective “Ew!” at that offering.
The Infiniti threw around their grisly pub names and laughed all the way to the car. At least they’d found their sense of humor.
I keyed the ignition.
“So, boss?” Shade asked, still chuckling.
“What’s it really called?”
“The Maggoty Apple.”
Stony silence.
Chapter Four
The Apple was packed to the gills when we arrived. I picked my way to the bar, the kitties in tow, amid a barrage of drunken banter, sloshing warm ale and festive spirits. The boozy kind, not the ghostly variety. A moving tide of reds and whites lifted goblets of cheer.
Midnight chuckled. “Santa Week! Neat!” He trotted through the St Nick impersonators, his face turned upward, grinning at each bearded chin as he passed.
I plopped myself on the one vacant bar stool and instructed the cats to stay by my feet. They hopped up onto the bar straight away.
A woman, with bleached, bee-hive hair, fuschia lipstick, and multiple chins greeted us.
“What can I get ya?” Her chins rippled as she spoke, the lowest one giving a final wobble against the woman’s crepey neck.
“I’m Chimera Opal,” I said, extending a mittened hand across the bar. Two Santa’s to the left of me chinked their ale-filled goblets together in merriment. “I’m here to pick up the keys to Foxley Cottage?”
“Ah, well, by Goddess, you made it!” The woman chortled. “Never thought you’d get through the Four Horsemen. Snow-tumble there this mornin’. Nobody’s getting in or out of Gothic Harbor today, or likely for the next few days for that matter.” She confirmed.
The cats squeaked their alarm at the news.
“Iris Crimple. Glad to make yer acquaintance.” She slapped the key down on the bar with one hand and reached out with her other. Iris pumped my fist in her fleshy palm.
“We just escaped the Avalanche at the Horsemen,” Gloom said. “But your Sergeant Donkerton wasn’t so lucky.”
“Yep, we left him, yep. On the other side of the pass, see?” Jet offered.
“Well, you sweeties must be the Eternity. Heard all about you!” Iris said, ruffling Jet’s head. My zippy cat fired up his deranged motor-purr.
“The Infiniti,” I corrected, Iris. “That’s what the cats are called: The Infiniti.”
“Well, Infiniti, course your fame is Isle wide. Been dying to meet you up close an’ personal, hafta say.” Iris’ smile was brighter than the lighthouse beam. She was clearly delighted to have my whole clowder of kitties prowling the length of her bar. The other patrons paid little mind as the cats deftly weaved in and out of glasses of sherry and beer alike, looking for attention.
A crashing sound came from the far end of the bar. I turned to see Jet shaking droplets from his paw, and cringed. Okay, maybe there was one kitty who wasn’t quite as deft as his siblings. Jet had knocked over a tray of drinks directly into the handbag of a woman standing next to me, splashing one irritated Santa beside her in the process.
I covered my face and turned the other way, hoping that nobody would link my club-footed cat to me. The landlady chuckled and shook her head. “S’cuse me a moment, hon,” Iris said. Her hand reached under the bar, and out
came a small nickel bell. Iris shook the bell with such vigor; her chins chimed right along with it. “Hear ye! Hear ye! Donkerton’s Foibles number two hundred and thirty-one: He’s got himself stuck the wrong side of the Horsemen. Yer in a lawless town now, boys!” She rang the bell again; this time to a blast of “Yeehaws!” From a vast plain of reveling Santas. The landlady shook her head and looked at me.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Iris said. “So, what did our Sergeant hafta say?”
“He mentioned he was looking for a missing person,” I said, leaning forward on the bar.
“Leland Clavelle, that’s right,” she said. “Complete mystery. His wife dies just five days ago; freezes to death when she comes off ‘er horse, then Leland doesn’t show for Stella’s funeral. Got the whole town talkin’, I tell ya.”
“Stella Blazier,” I said. “Stella wouldn’t happen to be the newest addition to the cemetery in front of our cottage?”
“You saw Silent Meadows already?” Iris’ penciled eyebrows shot up to her beehive hairline. “Well, lady, aren’t you the lucky one to have the front row view to Stella’s resting place?” Crimple slapped the bar as she chortled. I waited for her chins to stop shaking.
I noticed Fraidy, motionless on a beer mat, staring at the landlady’s mass of quivering flesh. My timid kitty began hyperventilating. I grabbed him from the bar and tucked him on my lap, giving his head a reassuring rub.
Shade headbutted my arm. “Psst, ask about the bracelet, boss-lady,” he urged. I gave my Romeo kitty a barely perceptible ‘no.’ I wanted to uncover a few facts first before I started spooking the locals.
Sergeant Donkerton’s strange question about me being the deceased’s colleague popped into my head.
“Say, Stella Blazier didn’t happen to be a herbalist, did she?”
“Herbalist?” Crimple batted the air with her pudgy hand. “No, nothin’ as humble as that. She headed up the WSA was what she did. She was a figure of import, was our Stella.”
“WSA?” Carbon said.
“Yeah, kitty, the WSA: Warlock Space Agency. Stella was the head honcho of WSA’s ROP.”
“ROP?” Eclipse asked.
Iris rolled her eyes, praying to an unseen Goddess for patience. “Red Orb Program. Get with the program, kitty-cats.” Her voice was fierce, but her eyes smiled at my sleuthing moggies.
I waved my hand in the air, “Sorry, Iris, tell us more about the WSA and ROP.”
“The Blazier family founded the program best part of ten years ago. Way ahead of their time, a real tech family, you know? Anyway, Warlocks being mostly from the ‘Old Boy’ establishment, and the Blazier’s bein’ at the top of all this brass, well, they piled their money into the space program. In particular, the plan for sending the Warlock race to Mars. Mark my words, they Warlocks will be the first men in space.” Iris looked up. She squinted at the imagined cosmos above her head. “Anyways, Stella Blazier took the CEO torch from her daddy, and though their program is hush-hush, we been hearin’ whispers that them mages are close to success.”
“Wow.” Midnight breathed.
“But, the Clavelles …. Leland’s family, I mean. They had their own business concerns?” I asked.
“Owns Bonemark outright,” Iris confirmed. “And half the countries with all the resources on the Mainland.”
I whistled through my teeth and changed tack.
“Were Stella and Leland close?” I asked.
Iris sighed, and closed her eyes for a second, revealing an obscene amount of pale blue shadow on her lids.
“Oh, aye, they were close alright. On account of Stella oversaw every movement her man-made.” Iris gave me a conspiratorial look. “Control matron, she was. Didn’t like Leland making any moves without her. Had schedules drawn up for him, an’ everythin’. Fer his gym classes, fer his social time, hells, even fer the driving route to and from his office. Poor chap couldn’t catch a break, I reckon.” She shook her head. “ And, Goddess help the guy if he was caught ‘off schedule,' know what I mean? But it’s Stella’s sister that needs watchin’ right now if you ask me. She’s been walkin’ around half-crazed since the accident. Now that Leland’s gone an’ vanished, she’s bordering loon territory. Askin’ questions of his whereabouts ev’ry ten minutes. And, besides, what sister doesn’t show up to her own flesh-and-blood’s funeral? Huh, hun? Can you tell me that?” Iris moved to the end of the bar to draw a pint for the Santa Jet had poured drinks on, leaving me to ponder her questions.
Santa lifted his head and grunted, pointing to the closest beer tap. Iris rolled her eyes.
“I know ya got a mouth behind all that beard there, Santy,” she scolded. “Feel free to use words next time ya be wantin’ a brew, now.”
Shade tittered. Drunk Santa made a gruff sound and handed over his tender with a white-gloved hand.
“This is only your second ale, so I’m not sure how much liquor you nipped at before you got here, but don’t make me cut you off for ill manners, fella.” Iris slammed the pint down and took Santa’s money.
“So, I guess Stella and her sister didn’t get along too well?” I called to the end of the bar.
“Quite the other way round, hun. They got along same as a house on fire.”
“Well, that seems to make little sense.” Onyx stood up on his beer towel, peering at Crimple. “If their relationship were affable, it would stand to reason that Stella’s sister would attend the latter’s funeral.”
Iris fixed her eyes on my clever cat. “I don’t believe I understood one darn word you said there, kitty.”
“What my cat is asking, Mrs. Crimple, is why didn’t Stella’s sister show up for the burial service? If they got along so well, wouldn’t that behavior seem a little strange to you?”
Iris Crimple’s eyes bulged. Quite unexpectedly, I might add. She guffawed, vibrating her chins and misting the air before her with a shower of spittle.
“What do ya’s think I was sayin’ earlier?! Adorania Blazier needs to be watched!”
“Adorania? That’s Stella’s sister’s name?”
The initials on the bracelet, Chimera. I looked at Onyx and nodded; a simple thanks for his valued discretion. If it were Jet with Onyx’s telepathic ability, a whole bar load of Father Christmas’s would be asking questions by now.
“That’s right, honey. Adorania Blazier. Stella’s younger siblin’.”
Fraidy clued into the implications. “I feel sick,” he whined from his spot on my lap.
“Iris,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a photo of Adorania would you?”
“You don’t need one, honey,” Iris replied. “She’s walking up behind ya right now.”
I turned on my stool and spotted a willowy woman advancing toward the bar, She had long, slightly wavy chestnut hair, which lay in a disheveled tail over her left shoulder. My eyes went to her face. The woman in the background of the photograph! The woman in the blue dress!
It’s the woman in the background of the photo--.
I know, Onyx, I know.
Apart from the tell-tale hair arrangement, and the soft, yet defined, structure of the woman’s face, there really wasn’t much resemblance between the person who stood before me and the vibrant woman in the picture. She looked haunted.
Adorania moved closer to the bar; her hands balled into fists by her sides. She hadn’t noticed me, or even the cats.
“Iris?” Her voice sounded reedy -- not the rich, throaty sound I’d imagined. “Has Leland showed his face in here yet?”
“I told ya I’d call ya if I heard or seen anythin’,” Iris said, cooly. She picked up a glass and polished.
“It’s been ...three days now. He has to be somewhere, for Goddess’ sake!” Adorania’s pitch raced to a near-hysterical high point.
“Donkerton’s on the case, and I told ya if I heard of anythin’ I’d let ya know.”
“Sergeant Donkerton is stuck on the outside of town!” Adorania exploded, slapping her hands down on the bar to emphasize her p
oint.
Iris stopped her polishing. “Listen, hun. I think a spot of sleep would be the best thing for you right now. Not all this chasin’ your tail, looking for the missin’.” Iris’ face softened with what looked like genuine compassion. “Now, get yerself to your cradle, get some shut-eye, and I’ll call ya, like I said I would, if I hear or see anythin’.”
Drunk Santa slid from his chair; releasing himself from the awkward moment. Adorania kept her hands on the bar, but she dropped her head and gave a heavy nod.
That’s when I felt Fraidy’s fur electrify. Static fronds of cat hair shot through my fingers, and I winced when I felt my timid kitten’s claws prick my thighs.
I turned toward what my spooked cat had locked eyes on, and the fine hairs on my neck sprang to life.
Adorania dropped her hands from the bar and crept out of the pub.
Uttering a hasty -- and, probably quite rude -- ‘thanks’ to Iris, I snatched the key, and, cats in tow, rushed out of the Maggoty Apple.
Because I wanted to know why Adorania Blazier had mud under her fingernails.
Chapter Five
“Whoa! I Don’t think those tracks at the cemetery will be visible now, yep, yep!” Jet jumped like a maniacal ferret into and out of a deep drift of snow. It looked like at least a foot of the stuff had fallen while we were asking questions at the bar.
“Ah, humans. They’re so smart,” Gloom said squinting through a snowflake-covered eye.
“You look so pretty!” I gasped. I know I just confirmed Gloom’s (snarky) point with my blurted comment, but it was true. I whirled around to admire all my kitties. All soft, glossy balls of black fur, speckled under plump flakes of tinseled white.
“Uh, boss-lady?” Shade patted my leg to nudge me back to the more real and gritty world. The world where cats needed answers as to why their owner was so dense.
Spells and Jinglebells Page 36