A Key, An Egg, An Unfortunate Remark

by Harry Connolly

  “Did he say he wanted to bring your relationship into the open?”

  Sherilynne glanced at Albert and lowered her voice. “He told you about us?”

  “No, dear, but it’s plain for anyone to see. Did he promise to start seeing you openly?”

  “Well, he didn’t come right out and say that, but I think so,” Sherilynne said, sharing for the first time one of the many lies she told herself. “It was no good for us to be sneaking around and I’m positive that’s why he was going to help me find work somewhere else. For propriety.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “When he left the office for the day.” She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “Do you think I was the last to see him alive?”

  “Only if you were the one who killed him. Is Mr. Grabbleton still in?”

  Sherilynne’s phone rang, but she ignored it. “No, he had to run out.”

  “What about the argument that morning?”

  “They argued all the time. It was part of Al’s personality; even though Stan is a really nice guy and super smart, Al had an alpha’s instinct to control and dominate beta males. So they weren’t exactly friends. You know.”

  “I understand, dear, but I’m curious what exactly they were arguing about that morning.”

  “Stan was angry about something being missing from his office. They argued about that all the time, and it was really unfair of Stan to blame Al every time he lost his umbrella or whatever. Anyway, the odd thing was that Al actually apologized. I mean, I was as surprised as anyone could be, but it happened right in front of my eyes! Al just said ‘I’m sorry, Stan, I’ll make things right’ or whatever. It was exactly what I’d been suggesting he do, so it was, wow, shocker.”

  “Where did Stan go? I’d like to talk to him.”

  “I don’t know, I’m sorry. I can only take messages for him and ask him to get back to you.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the ringing phone. “I can forward an appointment request, if you like.”

  “Please do, dear, and thank you. We need to move along, now.”

  Albert opened the office door and they stepped through it. Sherilynne called out to them over the ringing phone: “Let me know if you need help with the arrangements! I’m very good at that sort of thing!”

  Albert pressed the elevator button to head down. “Aloysius really had a lot of women going, didn’t he?”

  “Apparently so, even if he did seem to be breaking things off with them. And yet, he was still mooning over Jenny.”

  “Probably because she didn’t want him. Some guys fixate on things they can’t have and don’t show any respect for the things they do have.”

  “They’re not things, dear. They’re women.”

  Albert flushed. “Er, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know it’s a common turn of phrase, but personally I find it distasteful. Still, your insight is probably correct.” The elevator doors opened. Marley and Albert got on and rode down to the lobby. “I wish I knew where Stan Grabbleton went. I’d like to speak with him, too.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “That’s a good question. We have some time before we speak to the police and there’s still a great deal of work to be done; this is still the early stages of the investigation.”

  “We don’t even know who did it yet.”

  Albert meant it as a joke, but his aunt said: “Exactly! We need to keep turning over rocks, as they say. I’d like to search Aloysius’s house. I’d like to go over his files. And I’d like to speak with Stan Grabbleton.”

  “Speaking of which... as an employee of yours, maybe it’s not my place to ask, but what you did upstairs—with the vial you asked Inez Shankley to smell and the computer files—that was magic, right? Another magic spell?”

  “Barely. Like most of what I do, it’s mostly trickery.”

  “Trickery?”

  “I tricked her into giving us those files.”

  Albert couldn’t help feel disappointed. “When you put it that way, it’s way less appealing.”

  Marley laid her hand on Albert’s arm and made him bend low so she could kiss his cheek. “I’ve been grumpy with you all morning, haven’t I? Come on. Let’s break into your brother’s house and I’ll explain why.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A Thorough Search of Feelings and Domiciles

  Albert took to the collection of clues eagerly. Inez, he was sure, was their most likely suspect. Yes, she’d played it cool, but what if it was an act? Also, Albert suspected Stan and Aloysius were involved in some sort of swindle. Why else would they argue all the time? Because it certainly didn’t have anything to do with alpha males. Albert had known his brother fairly well, and there was nothing “alpha” about him.

  “Different people see different things,” Marley told him. “Quite a few of them see exactly what they want to see.”

  “That makes sense,” Albert said, wondering if Marley’s remark was also some kind of lesson in magic. “Still, even if they’re not super-successful, they’re still lawyers. If Stan wanted Aloysius dead, he wouldn’t have to raise his arms over his shoulder. He’d only have to reach as high as his wallet. And if Aloysius apologized sincerely, it might have been too late. The hitman might have already been hired.”

  “Or it was Sherilynne,” Marley offered.

  Albert suspected she was joking, but he answered seriously. “She should be a suspect, too. He was giving her the brush-off, and she might have found out about Inez.”

  “And Jenny.”

  “And Jenny,” Albert said, feeling more judgmental about it than he had a right to. And he knew he didn’t have the right, and shook the feeling off. “And who knows how many others. She acted like she didn’t understand that he was giving her the boot, but maybe she did. Why do you think he apologized to Stan?”

  Marley looked out the window, seeing the city zip by without paying much attention. “Maybe he wanted to play a new role.”

  Aloysius’s house was nestled on a tree-lined street on the southeastern side of Queen Anne Hill. It wasn’t a new house, but the swing on the front porch and pale blue drapes in the windows gave it a comfortable air. Albert pulled in to the empty parking slot, then double-checked the address. He’d expected to find something tacky, like plastic flamingoes in the front yard.

  “I wonder where his car is.” Marley said.

  Albert let her out of the backseat and they went onto the front porch together. Albert looked all around them; if there was anyplace the gunmen from last night might lie in wait for them, it was here. He didn’t see anything suspicious and could only hope it was because there wasn’t anything so see. “I hope he gave you a key, Aunt Marley, because he sure didn’t give one to me.”

  Marley shrugged. “I never asked for one. Hmm.” Marley went to the swing and ran her hand along the wooden slats. Finding nothing, she did the same along the back. “Ah!” She pulled a key out of a key holder.

  “He kept a key on his front porch?”

  “And in the first place we looked, too.” Marley gave the key to Albert, and they went inside.

  The house was simply furnished, with IKEA chairs and tables placed in vague clusters, as though Aloysius knew they were supposed to go together but didn’t understand why. None of the colors complemented each other and the walls were cracked and peeling like student rental housing.

  Albert typically felt a thrill when he found a reason to look down on his older brother, but this was just depressing. “This place is like a ‘before’ picture on one of those house-flipping shows. Was he underwater on his mortgage?”

  “He never asked me for money, and I suspect he would have.”

  Albert looked around, trying to dredge up a charitable feeling. It wasn’t easy. “What are we looking for? Suitcases full of drugs? Pickled human limbs? Boy band posters?”

  “I have no idea. I never was much good at the investigative side of things. But I did learn one thing the hard wa
y: put these on before you touch anything else.” Marley gave him a pair of latex gloves.

  They went through the house together. Nothing seemed to be disturbed. If the place had been searched already, it had been done carefully and neatly. They didn’t find anything unusual in the downstairs except a cabinet full of Cookie Crisp cereal. The refrigerator had nothing in it but leftover take out cashew chicken and a carton of milk. The only cooking utensil in the whole kitchen was a quart-size Pyrex gravy separator.

  Marley led the way upstairs. All the doors stood open. Feeling clever, Albert went to check the bathroom medicine cabinet while Marley went into the front bedroom.

  “Well!” she said quite loudly. “This isn’t good!”

  Albert ran to her, thrilled at the prospect of a fresh clue, but what he discovered confounded him. Aloysius’s narrow, iron-framed bed was set in the exact center of the room and an elaborately designed circle had been painted onto the floor around it. There was even a pentacle with a number of runes and glyphs written inside and outside it. Marley bent low to examine it closely.

  “Oh...” Albert was momentarily at a loss for words. He was glad they had another clue, but a bit crestfallen that he didn’t know how to decipher it. “This is magic, right? Was he summoning something into his bed? Is this why all those women...”

  “No, dear,” Marley said, distracted. “I doubt he would bring women here. This is a circle of protection.”

  “Can you tell what it’s supposed to protect against?”

  “Judging by these marks, everything.”

  She moved to the window and began searching along the jamb. Albert moved close to her. “This is what you do, right? Magic? Did he learn it from you?”

  “Certainly not!” Marley took offense at the idea that she would teach anything to a person like Aloysius. “And this is absolutely not what I do. This is a very basic, very crude sort of craft. Crude, blunt and obvious. Ah, here it is.” Up near the top of the window, where the drapes were heaviest, was another circle—this one about the size of a poker chip—with a glyph inside. “Albert, dear, check every...”

  Marley’s voice trailed off as she slowly turned around. For a moment, Albert thought she’d heard voices downstairs. He had a sudden vision of himself being fingerprinted and photographed like the criminals he’d seen on television. Then she gestured toward the closet. “Open that, please.”

  Albert shrugged and crossed the room, moving as quietly as he could. He wasn’t sure why he was sneaking up on a closet door, but something in his aunt’s manner suggested it. He grabbed the handle in his good left hand and yanked it open.

  The closet was full of a great many of the usual things—shirts and sport coats hanging on the rod, a tie rack, nice black leather shoes, not-so-nice black fabric luggage—and one unusual thing: a woman.

  She was in her mid-thirties, pale-skinned, with a weak chin, a mass of curly black hair, and thick spectacles. She stared wide-eyed up at Albert, terrified.

  To his embarrassment, Albert’s first thought was a clue! The curly-haired woman was obviously terrified, and he foolishly thought a joke would put her at ease. “Well well,” he said. “I’ve freed a hostage.”

  She thrust a pudgy hand at him, fingers splayed, and there was a flash of light and a crack of electricity. Albert felt heat blossom against his chest just as a tremendous force lifted him off his feet and flung him back onto his half-brother’s bed.

  “I want to talk to her, Albert!” Marley said imperiously.

  The woman had already staggered to the door, and his aunt made no move to intercept her, so Albert forced himself to stand. His muscles were stiff, but he didn’t seem to have any third-degree burns. He lumbered into the hallway like Frankenstein’s monster.

  The woman had reached the top of the stairs, where she clung to a post as though it was the only thing keeping her upright. Whatever she’d done, it had taken a toll on her, too.

  She spotted him and stumbled down the stairs, her thin sandals clop-clop-clopping. Albert lunged forward, feeling his strength and agility returning quickly.

  He vaulted over the railing onto the bottom step. The curly-haired woman stumbled on the landing and backed away, looking trapped. She lifted her hand again.

  “Be cool!” Albert said. “We’re not going to hurt you, so just be cool!”

  “Zoe!” Marley called. “Dear, you left your rather large purse in the closet.” She appeared the top of the stairs with a shapeless plaid cloth handbag in her hands. “Why don’t we talk downstairs? Would that be all right?”

  Zoe looked at Albert, then at the bag in Marley’s hands, then at Albert again, trying to decide what risks would be worth taking.

  “Hey,” Albert said. “Let’s just talk.” He stepped backward into the living room, opening a path for her.

  Zoe sighed and slumped down the stairs. Marley followed. Within moments, the three of them were perched on pressboard chairs, watching each other with evident discomfort. Albert checked the front of his shirt and was glad to see there were no visible burns. Marley seemed lost in thought. Zoe took a lanyard from her pocket and hung it around her neck. Screwed onto the end was a wooden disk with a pentacle carved into it. When she looked at them again, with her pinched face and squinting eyes, she looked like a mole newly emerged from her burrow.

  “So—“ Marley began.

  “I don’t have to tell you a thing, you old bag!” Zoe said savagely. “And if either of you tries to do anything to me, I’ll tear off your balls!”

  Whatever advantage she’d hoped her aggressive posture to earn never materialized. Albert looked as though he wanted to reassure her somehow, and Marley was as placid as a statue.

  “Dear, do you know who I am?”

  Zoe didn’t seem to want to answer that question, but she couldn’t resist. “Yes,” she blurted out. Tears began to run down her cheeks.

  “Why were you hiding in my nephew’s closet?”

  “It’s not fair,” Zoe whined. “Aly cost me everything. I lost my job, my apartment, my plan for the future.... I was going to be rich! Now I can’t even find a friend who’ll put me up, because he cost me all of those, too. I just came here for...”

  “For what, dear?”

  “Something that belongs to me.”

  Marley asked, “What is it?” But Zoe wouldn’t elaborate. She just sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Albert, get Zoe a glass of water, would you?”

  Albert lunged out of his chair, went into the kitchen and returned with a tall glass of water. He’d even put ice in it. When he returned, Marley was still trying to get Zoe to explain why she was in the house. The young woman wrapped her arms around her shoulders and stared down at her dirty feet. She wouldn’t even accept the glass.

  “Here,” Albert said, his voice soothing. “Drink it. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Zoe took the glass and threw it, smashing it against the fireplace hearth.

  “Well,” Albert said, “we know she didn’t break in because she was thirsty.”

  “I’m not stealing anything,” Zoe snapped, aggravated because no one was as upset as she thought they should be.

  “Of course not,” Marley said, while Albert returned to his seat beside her. “You’re only here to pick up something that belongs to you. Right?”

  “Yes!”

  “Something you left here?”

  Zoe laughed bitterly. “Something Aly took. God, he was the worst boyfriend ever! And I should know, I’ve had some real winners. I just want what’s mine, and then I’ll go. Just let me look for it alone.”

  “Dear—“

  “Don’t try to threaten me!” Zoe’s resentment had turned nasty again. “You’re not supposed to be here either, so if you get me arrested you’ll get yourself arrested, too!”

  “He was my only brother,” Albert lied. Any qualms he might have had about being unkind to her had shattered with that glass. “And he didn’t have any kids. This house and everything in it is mine
now.”

  “Then why are you wearing those gloves?” she asked with childish triumph.

  “As a courtesy to the police!” Albert answered. “So no, I’m not trespassing and no, I’m not letting you rummage through my late brother’s things unsupervised.”

  “But it’s mine!” Zoe whined.

  “What’s yours?” Marley asked. “Tell us.”

  Zoe sighed again. She looked around the room as though taking one last opportunity to find what she needed. “A book. A leather-bound journal. It’s the only valuable thing I own, and Aly slept with me just so he could take it. But he said I could have it back! He called me to apologize and he said he’d arrange a time to return it at the end of the week.”

  “When did he call you, dear?”

  “Sunday afternoon.”

  Marley and Albert glanced at each other in recognition—Sunday had been a big day for poor Aloysius—but Zoe was sure that glance was really about her. She was sure they knew all about her book.

  With a shrug, Marley said: “We haven’t found anything like that here, but if we do—“

  Absolutely certain they were lying to her, Zoe grabbed the carved wooden disk at the end of her lanyard, holding the rim in her thumb and forefinger as though making an “OK” gesture. She made a fist with her other hand, pressed it against her temple, and grimaced in furious concentration. “Surrender to my will! Surrender to my will! Surrender surrender surrender—“

  There was a hiss that sounded like rain on red hot metal and the wooden disk began to glow. Out of habit, Albert reached for a weapon he no longer carried, and his whole body shuddered in anticipation of something even worse than the shock he’d received upstairs. Maybe if he ripped the lanyard from her neck…

  Marley leaned forward and blew on Zoe as though she were a birthday candle. The glow and the hiss both dissipated, leaving Zoe looking shocked and frightened.

  “Zoe.” Marley’s voice wasn’t sharp, wasn’t angry, wasn’t anything, really, but it captured the other woman’s attention. “You should know better than to try that sort of thing with me.”