by Gina LaManna
“The mayor hasn’t been eating at home much?”
“No. Although he did have me pack him hearty suppers to take with him to work. He brought a lunch pail, though I had to use a Spoiler Spell to prevent everything from going bad. From my understanding, he often snuck dinner at the office in between calls.”
“And yesterday—”
“Including yesterday,” she said. “I packed him supper in the morning and sent him on his way. Speaking of which, I never did get the pail returned. I hate to be crass, but if that turns up and isn’t needed, I wouldn’t mind having it back.”
“I’ll see what we can do,” I promised. “Did he take supper whether he had dinner plans or not?”
She shook her head. “If he had dinner plans, he’d let me know that morning and his food would be fair game for the staff.” She gave a wry smile. “I’ve never seen meatloaf disappear so quickly at seven in the morning.”
“Yesterday?”
“Like I said, he took supper yesterday. As far as I know, that meant he planned to work straight through dinner at the office. On late nights—which have been the norm lately—I was gone by the time he returned home. I left the mansion around four yesterday afternoon because neither the mayor or his wife required my services for dinner, and I’d gotten an early start on my day.”
“Thank you so much for your candidness,” I said, scanning over my notes. “We’ll let you know if any other questions come up.”
She gave a succinct nod. “Can I tempt you into a croissant?”
I glanced at Matthew who, of course, gave a subtle shake of his head. “I’ll take one,” I said, reaching for the basket behind her on the kitchen counter. “Thanks. Do you know where we can find Marta Tchaikovsky? She’s the last person on our list.”
“Sure. She’ll be upstairs. Let me show you.”
Chef Lollabridge led the way through her gleaming workspace up a nearby staircase that circled to a second level. We climbed, listening to the chef explain that this passage was rarely used except for the staff to run food to and from the bedrooms. Which explained the drab nature and precarious state of the stairwell.
The chef left us on the second level where the drabness gave way to a bright and glittering hallway, a sort of regal coziness settling into the private quarters. She pointed out a dark-haired woman with a watering can in hand who’d just emerged from the bath at the end of the hall.
“Marta?” I asked. The woman looked up, gave a shy smile, and nodded. “Can we talk to you for a second? I’m Detective DeMarco and this is Captain King. We have a few questions for you.”
“Um, sure,” she said. “What can I help you with?”
The chef took her leave as Matthew began questioning Marta, his voice gentle and easy on the ears. She visibly relaxed the moment he began asking questions.
“How long have you been working for the Lapels?” he asked. “Did you begin after the last election?”
Marta shook her head, black wisps of hair falling to either side of her pretty face. She had features like that of an Eskimo—big, round eyes and darker skin. Her hair trailed over her back in a long, thick braid, and though she had dark hair like Chef Lollabridge, where the chef was all slim lines and staccato clips, Marta was soft and sweet-faced and curvy.
“My mother began working here...” She hesitated, her thick eyelashes fluttering over pink cheeks as she spoke. “It must be four election cycles ago? About twenty-eight years past? You could say I practically grew up here. I was hired two election cycles ago and Mr. and Mrs. Lapel kindly kept me on when they got the job.”
“What are your responsibilities at the mayor’s mansion?” Matthew asked.
“I clean, water plants—” she lifted the pail with a grin. “I take care of the personal quarters for Mr. and Mrs. Lapel. I do what needs to be done. I report to Ms. Smite.”
“Is it possible to take a quick tour of the personal quarters?” I interrupted Matthew to ask. “We won’t interfere with anything, but it would help us to get an understanding for how the mayor lived.”
“How is that relevant to the case?” Marta looked skeptical. “I think I would need permission from Mrs. Lapel.”
“Trust me,” I said. “Every little bit is helpful. We won’t touch anything. Just a precursory glance, and it will save us a lot of time and paperwork—we need to work fast to catch the murderer.”
“I guess it’s fine,” she said doubtfully. “As their personal quarters won’t belong to them much longer anyway. The mayor technically doesn’t live here anymore.” She glanced at us with a sudden realization. “Excuse me, that sounded incredibly crass and insensitive.”
“Not at all,” I said gently. “You do have a point. Though the mayor might be gone, we can bring him justice by finding the killer. Time is ticking, and we’re desperate for anything that could direct us toward the person who wanted him dead.”
Matthew gave a displeased frown at my candidness, but it worked.
“Come on, a quick look can’t hurt.” Marta’s posture grew stronger as she led us to the first room in the hallway. “The master bedroom.”
“This is where both Mr. and Mrs. Lapel slept?” Matthew asked.
The question wasn’t supposed to be a trick one, but Marta hesitated. “They lived here together. These are their private quarters.”
Her answer was an equal dodge. I didn’t give any sign I noticed, and neither did Matthew. Instead, we focused on surveying the room for anything that could give us a lead on the mayor’s murder.
The bed was large, grand—only one side rumpled. The room contained many of the same qualities as the hallways and sitting rooms—a sort of historic slant to their modernity. The space was grand and bold, lined with a unique mixture of old wooden chests and antique candlesticks. Precious few photographs or personal items sat out on display.
I poked my head into the restroom across from the foot of the bed and paused. Something felt off, though I couldn’t put my finger on what. As Matthew quietly questioned Marta in the entrance to the master bedroom, I leaned against the doorframe and studied the bath.
A large, claw-foot tub sat against one wall. The vanity was a quaint old thing, sparkling clean, but tarnished in ways only age and use could bring. There was a distinctly feminine tilt to the room, and as I soaked in the base Residuals, I noted pastel pinks and light blues, bright purples with splashes of yellow and hints of springtime green.
It was obvious what was missing. I glanced over at Matthew for confirmation. Though I’d teased him for it earlier, the cologne he wore had a deep violet shade to it, an almost royal tone. Around his chin I studied the faintest hint of bold red—the aftereffects of a Shaver Spell he’d used just that morning. Spells that were distinctly masculine. There were none here.
“Thanks for showing us this space,” I said, returning to where Marta and Matthew had lapsed into silence. “Now where’s the other one?”
“Excuse me?” Marta’s eyes flicked toward the bed. “The other what?”
“Where did the Mayor keep his things?” I asked. “We know that he and Mrs. Lapel have been leading somewhat separate lives as of late.”
“They weren’t leading separate lives,” she burst. “They loved each other.”
“Fine, but they haven’t been sleeping together,” I said. “So where did the mayor sleep when he was home?”
Martha gave us a reluctant gesture to follow her from the master bedroom. She walked stiffly ahead of us to another door further down the hall. “I meant what I said about them loving each other. You could tell they truly cared for one another. It was sweet.”
“But?”
“But about six months ago, the mayor seemed different.” She hesitated. “He became defensive, almost...fierce about his privacy.”
“He was keeping a secret from his wife?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.” Marta paused in front of a closed door. With a sigh, she pushed it open and led us inside. “But I don’t believe it’s the kind of s
ecret you’re thinking.”
This room positively burst with male Residuals. Reds and violets and dark, forest greens snaked across every surface the mayor had touched over the last few months. A slight dusting of white, sugar-sand Residuals over the bed told me he’d used Sleeper Spells quite often.
Though active, single-use Residuals faded within twenty-four hours, that wasn’t the case with spells that saw repeated use over time. It was like a marble staircase: one footstep onto the stairs left them virtually untouched—just like one use of a spell allowed Residuals to fade completely. But after enough footsteps pass by, eventually the marble becomes grooved, and the footprints are impossible to eradicate.
“Hey, look.” I moved into the bathroom and picked up a bottle of cologne. “The mayor’s Spell Splash is blue.”
Matthew frowned. “Marta, you say Mayor Lapel’s secret isn’t what it seems?”
“No. He hid something from her, but I don’t think he had a choice. It almost felt like he was distancing himself as a way to protect Mrs. Lapel.”
I returned to the bedroom and focused on Marta. “Protecting her from what?”
Marta shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve told you everything I do know, and I think it’s time for you to leave. I have two bedrooms to clean...” she faltered. “Though I suppose there’s no rush to do this one.”
“Thank you.” I rested a hand on Marta’s wrist, and though she pulled away, I could see a flash of gratitude in her eyes. “This has been really helpful.”
“Will it assist you in finding the mayor’s murderer?” Marta’s huge, beautiful gray eyes pooled with tears. “Whatever you think about politics, the mayor was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die.”
“Yes, I hope so. Now, before we go, I have two more questions,” I said. “Don’t take either of them personally.”
“If you’re looking for an alibi, I have one,” she offered. “I worked here yesterday until Mrs. Lapel retired to her bedroom after dinner. Then I returned to the staff quarters where any number of people can vouch that I showered, ate leftovers from Chef Lollabridge, and then fell asleep. My room is shared, so I was never alone aside from the shower, and that was brief.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And lastly...”
“You’re wondering about the girl,” Marta said, once again perceptive beyond belief. “The poor Goblin Girl found with the mayor.”
“Yes.”
“I just don’t see it,” she whispered. “I don’t believe there was anything going on between them. If I had to guess, I think the mayor was trying to help her somehow. Do you know her name? What she was doing with him?”
I hesitated to answer. “No, not yet. She hasn’t been identified.”
“I’m going to give you a suggestion, which I’m sure isn’t warranted” she said with a smile. “But I think that finding out what the Goblin Girl wanted from the mayor will be the key.”
“We’re working on it,” I said. “Thank you for your insights.”
“Detective, Captain,” Marta said as she led us from the mayor’s bedroom and closed the door tightly behind her. “I know most people think politics is a charade, or a circus, or a play. And probably, it is most of the time. But Mr. Lapel meant what he said when he got elected—he truly does love Wicked and the people in it. If that Goblin Girl was in trouble and came to him asking for help, he would have given it.” Marta nodded firmly. “He wouldn’t have turned her away.”
“What are you trying to say, Marta?” I asked. “That she’s the reason he’s dead?”
“I just think it’s worth looking deeper into the girl. Find the connection between the two, and you might find some answers.”
Matthew and I waited until we were outside, past the Guardeners and beyond the hedges and the gate, before we spoke.
“I think Marta’s onto something,” I said. “We need to find out how the mayor and the Goblin Girl are connected.”
“Let’s check in with Felix,” Matthew said. “The HoloHex of Charlie Bone should be ready. We can show it around the casino and see if any of the other girls recognize him.”
“We should get a sketch done of the girl, too,” I said. “If we find the girl, we may find the killer.”
Chapter 14
Matthew heard the chaos before he saw it. He kept the warning to himself, however, because it annoyed Dani to no end that his senses were more perceptive than hers. Dani preferred to see, hear, and experience the world on her own.
Except when that meant trouble. And the commotion around the corner was trouble.
As Dani swung around the edge of the building, Matthew threw his arm out and blocked her path. She glared at him, furious, until she paused long enough to see the gathering for herself.
“Oh, no,” she breathed, the fury leaving her with a sigh. She glanced down at her watch. “I really thought we’d have until lunch.”
“It’s a big case; the ban can only do so much.” Matthew surveyed the swarm of reporters hovering around the steps to the station. Media wasn’t allowed in the actual building or on the property, but the dusty path before the precinct was fair game.
Matthew melted silently back into the shadows, bringing Dani with him. One thing he hated more than the rest—and there were many things he hated—was the spotlight. And with the media came spotlight.
“The hologram of our mystery man will have to wait,” Matthew growled. He turned and moved in the direction from which they’d come, heading south toward the Dead Lands. As he walked, he raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into the Comm. “Felix, you got the HoloHex waiting for us?”
Felix grumbled a reply. He was the grumpy, magical version of a computer tech. He dissected spells, ran the Comm system, and was the Brainiac behind every weird magical investigation in the borough.
“It’s a frenzy outside, so we’ll be back for it later. Can you also get me a HoloHex of the female vic, too?”
“You have the vic’s body,” Felix snarked loud enough for Dani to hear as she caught up. “What do you need a hologram for?”
“We want to show her face around a few places. We’ll be back to pick them up late this afternoon.”
“You think I can pull HoloDiscs out of my ass?” Felix snarled. “I’ve got other cases besides yours, you know. I’ll need more time.”
“This afternoon. Top priority.”
Felix signed off with a few choice words that made Matthew smile. “He’ll have it,” Matthew assured Dani. “In the meantime, I vote we pay our respects to the dead.”
Dani fell in line behind Matthew, and together they walked toward the morgue. Sienna, the necromancer in charge of the lab, was simply the best in the business. If anything was left on the bodies that might be of use in the case, she’d find it.
For Matthew, a visit near the Dead Lands always toyed with him like a sick game of cat and mouse. Vampires, the undead, never quite fit in with the necromancers. They also didn’t quite fit in with the living. And as the only known vampire in the borough, Matthew King didn’t fit in with anyone at all.
Vampires had chosen collectively years before to avoid interaction with the living. It’s said some of them still live in the Dead Lands. Others migrated to damp, dark corners of the earth and formed small colonies where they could live mostly in peace. The vast majority, however, existed in singles and doubles, living in sewers and drains in large cities, feasting on inhabitants that wouldn’t be missed.
Matthew’s fangs had never killed. He’d bitten exactly one living, breathing entity, and she walked beside him now. A shudder came over him at the thought of what would have happened if he hadn’t found the patience, the self-control, to stop. Vampires couldn’t be changed recklessly through a bite—despite what most legends said—but only through careful, cautious consideration and planning. Only then could a vampire change a human to join their kind.
The sight of the Dead Lands approaching sent a chill over Matthew as he walked. A murky mist hovered over the lands for no scientifi
c reason known to man. It was as if the very earth sensed the death and destruction there and cast down tears to cover the surface.
Matthew stopped the moment the dampness touched his skin. “You don’t have to join me.”
“Excuse my crassness, Captain,” Dani said, “but I dated the undead. I think I’m fine at the morgue.”
He allowed a small smile, then continued onward. After flashing their badges and following the familiar sign-in procedure at the front desk, Matthew and Dani waited for the bored looking monster named Ursula to alert them that the necromancer was ready.
Neither Matthew nor Dani had ever quite figured out what sort of creature Ursula was, and they hadn’t asked. She had a scar running across her face and strange, almost opaque purple skin. She must have immigrated from a monster camp some time back, and over time had assimilated as a staple in the community. It was considered very impolite to talk about one’s species in public with anyone except close friends.
Finally, Ursula pushed a thick set of glasses over her odd skin. She opened a huge mouth and called for the detective and the undead guy to approach the bench.
“Sienna will see you now,” she said when we stood before her like we might a judge. “You know the drill. Don’t touch anything. No holograms or notetaking will be tolerated. You want an official report, you request it from me.”
We grabbed our temporary passes and moved beyond the desk to find Sienna waiting quietly for us in the background. Unlike the big, busty Ursula, the necromancer didn’t offer any sort of greeting.
Sienna had viciously pink hair, dyed by a spell, and wore headphones over a pixie-tiny head. The necromancer came up only to my shoulder and couldn’t have weighed more than eighty pounds soaking wet. Still, neither Matthew nor Dani would want to meet her in a dark alley.
Sienna stomped back toward the lab in heavy black combat boots. Tight jeans were ripped up and down her legs as if she’d let a werewolf try them on, and her thin shoulders were covered by flimsy tank top straps underneath a cropped leather jacket. She was the epitome of flashy, trendy, and terrifying all at once.