Mr. Peabody's House

by Eve Langlais

Which made me wonder what happened to me? Meemaw always told me I’d kick ass in the world if I wasn’t afraid to try.

  Well, hello, not afraid over here, and yet life kept passing me by.

  “What are you thinking? I can hear the gears in your mind churning. That’s never a good thing,” Chloe said.

  “I was imagining you pregnant.”

  “What?” Good thing Chloe didn’t have anything in her mouth. As it was, I practically felt the fine spray of spittle as she shouted, “I’m not pregnant. Nor do I plan to be.”

  “Are you telling me you’re using rubbers every time?”

  “Mostly.” At my arched brow, she shrugged. “Okay, maybe not so much. But we’ve been tested. We’re clean. And I’m on the pill.”

  “A human pill,” I muttered ominously. “You’re sleeping with a vampire and a werewolf. What makes you think they don’t have super sperm?” Wearing little capes, bulleting their way toward the egg, determined to save the world by impregnating my friend.

  “Can vampires even make babies?” she asked. Her face adopted a slightly horrified expression. “Would a vampire baby suck my blood from the inside?”

  Sounded familiar, probably because I saw it in a movie. In reality, while a whole bunch of bogeymen came out of the closet, vampires didn’t. Go figure, the one creature everyone kind of believed in didn’t want the world to know for sure.

  But I knew because Chloe didn’t keep secrets from me.

  Now if only I were a better friend and she knew the truth about me.

  I’m not the hot commodity you think I am. In truth, I was the sad loser friend, the duff who couldn’t keep a man.

  “Anthony’s not a sadistic prick. I doubt he would impregnate you with a life-sucking leech without telling you. But, if it makes you feel better, if you should die from a parasite eating its way out of your stomach, I will avenge you.” I kept a stake sharpened under my pillow and a revolver loaded with silver. And, unlike the crew of The Walking Dead, I didn’t have some tiny little knife that would force me to get close to a zombie. I had a three-foot machete.

  When, not if, the apocalypse came, I would face it properly armed.

  “Thank you, I think.” Chloe bit her lower lip. “Perhaps it’s time the boys and I chatted about the birds and the bees.”

  “Why? Let nature take its course and don’t worry. If it happens, it will be great. Any kid you birth is bound to be cute. Have you seen the prospective fathers?” I rolled my eyes and laughed.

  Any babies born of Chloe and her men would have a cocktail of awesomeness in their veins. And Chloe would have all the support she needed. I could just imagine how much her lovers would mollycoddle her if she carried their future namesake in her tummy.

  Lucky bitch. I could only hope to aspire to that kind of awesome devotion. Men tended to be thrown off by my rather upfront nature. They also labeled me aggressive, bossy, demanding, and scary.

  Pussies.

  But at least they all agreed I was cute before dumping me, which, in turn, forced me to hurt them. Meemaw always said, “If he doesn’t see what a treasure you are, then punch him.” Literally.

  I couldn’t pine after a guy who collapsed and cried after I dropped him. None of the men I met could handle me.

  None until recently.

  Dale didn’t fall when I attacked him. An insidious reminder that Dale had barely flinched when I went rabid squirrel on him.

  In my defense, he had backup.

  One on one, I could take him, all of them.

  Could have. Par for the course, I never heard from or saw them again.

  “Why do you look so blue?” Chloe asked. “Is it because I’ve got to miss TGIF tonight?”

  Way to remind me. “I can’t believe you’re ditching an evening of large tropical drinks in unnaturally fluorescent colors adorned with cherries and umbrellas to go see a movie.”

  “Not just any movie. Anthony is taking me to see the latest Planet of the Apes movie.” Her hands clapped excitedly, and her eyes shone with delight. Chloe had a thing for cheesy flicks.

  “Instead of going tonight, you could go for a matinee tomorrow. It will be less crowded.”

  “Crowds aren’t an issue. Anthony buys the seats all around so no one can sit in them.”

  “I assume it’s because all those yummy heartbeats make him hungry?” I asked.

  Chloe’s mouth rounded. “Of course not. He just doesn’t like people that close to me in public. Especially since he likes to, um, er, you know, during the movie.”

  “Do what?” I asked innocently. I could easily guess, but it was fun to see my best friend blush and squirm. At least someone was having a good time.

  “Things.” Said with bright red cheeks.

  “Ugh, I can’t believe you’d pass on free drinks and dancing for an orgasm in public.” There might have been a hint of jealousy on my part in there.

  “Guilt-trip me all you like, but now that I’m kind of taken, isn’t it false advertising for me to hang out in a singles bar?”

  “Oh, please, like some of those guys aren’t already hooked up and just looking for an extra piece of action.”

  “I get enough action. So much action,” she cooed, deliberately needling me.

  I loved it. About time she found her own inner strength.

  Sad as it made me, I was happy to see Chloe entering a new chapter of her life, one that involved less of me. She deserved a chance to build a family, birth a legacy, and I wasn’t about to get in her way. A real friend would set me up, though. “So, Anthony, no brother, hunh?” Being an old vampire, he kind of outlived his family.

  A shake of her head. “Nope. Sorry. I asked. Just like he doesn’t know any other vampires he’d trust you with.”

  Nice to know he wanted to keep me alive. It wouldn’t stop me from staking him if he ever hurt Chloe, though.

  “And what about Fido?” Pete and I had an odd relationship. I asked him all kinds of questions, and he got flustered and found reasons to leave. What kind of man didn’t have a yes or no answer for, “do you prefer it doggy style?”

  Chloe shrugged. “I bugged him, but Pete says all the guys he knows are dogs.”

  Wolves, but no point in quibbling. I’d met some of his friends, and apparently, I wasn’t their version of an irresistible Scooby snack.

  “Well, surely you know someone.” For a moment, my desperation came through, and I hoped she didn’t hear it. I’m supposed to have my shit together. Don’t lose it now.

  “I wish I knew someone so we could double date.”

  “By double date, I am going to assume we’re not swapping keys.”

  It took Chloe a moment. “Brenda! We are not swapping boyfriends.”

  “You say that now, but wait until you see my next one…”

  “Only one? Don’t tell me you’re going to go old school.”

  For some reason, I thought of a trio of men I wouldn’t mind calling my own.

  However, since I couldn’t snare one, what hope did I have of nabbing three?

  “Speaking of dudes I can date, what about the guy who just left?”

  “You mean my client, Mr. Peabody?” Chloe squeaked his name. “Did you not see the handcuffs?”

  “A little bondage never hurt anyone.” Unless they tied up a girl and didn’t put out. “So, is he single?”

  “Brenda, don’t even kid like that. You can do much better than that.”

  No, apparently I couldn’t. But even I should have standards.

  While looks weren’t everything, Mr. Peabody lacked any pretty features and any kind of suave confidence. A gangly fellow with rounded shoulders, a sallow complexion, and a few ginger strands combed over a shiny white pate.

  A guy with swagger could overcome many physical issues. Bad hair, annoying laugh, pot belly, bad taste in movies, but a dude who lacked looks and attitude?

  I’d put out an ad in the paper first.

  Desperate chick needs a man, preferably one who doesn’t understand Eng
lish.

  “What was he in here for? Peeping Tom?” He looked the creepy type to grip a windowsill and stare over the ledge. “Wearing a trench coat and flashing his junk?” Put it away. No one wanted to see that.

  “Actually, it’s more fucked up than that. Mr. Peabody is accused of trying to set his house on fire, while his family was sleeping inside.”

  “Doesn’t sound too fucked up to me. Arsonist and murderer. Happens all the time.” As a secretary for the state’s legal department, stuff came across my desk all the time. The most common being crimes of passion—if I can’t have you, no one can. Closely followed by cases of the crazy-voices-made-me-do-it variety.

  After a while, you became numb to it. Cynical about the evil of mankind. It was probably why I had less of a problem with Chloe’s animal boyfriends than she had at first. I saw the reports on monsters every day, and they were human.

  Chloe tapped the folder sitting atop her desk. “Mr. Peabody is actually being charged with attempted murder. But I’ve requested a mental evaluation. They’re taking him over to the institution right now. Either Peabody has a few screws loose, or there is something truly whacked out happening at his house.”

  “Whacked out how? What’s he claiming?”

  “Peabody claims his house is alive and that it possessed his family.” Chloe swirled a finger alongside her head in a universal nutjob sign.

  “His house is haunted?” Interest piqued, I sat up.

  “Haunted. Possessed. Evil.” Chloe shrugged. “Peabody says he tried getting it exorcised. It failed.”

  More and more interesting. “Did the priest start speaking in strange tongues? Spewing ectoplasmic vomit?”

  “No idea. No one knows what happened, so Mr. Peabody is being investigated for the cleric’s disappearance as well.”

  “That scrawny dude killed a priest?”

  “He claims the house ate him. Then turned his family against him, which is why Peabody tried to burn the house down. He wanted to cleanse them with fire.”

  “Dude, that is like an epic case.”

  “Epic if it were true. I haven’t verified any of his claims yet. Which is why we’re having him evaluated.”

  “If it does turn out he’s crazy, is he going to have to stay in the loony bin?”

  “Awhile, but worst part is”—Chloe leaned forward and lowered her voice—“I kind of believe him. Which is why I’m sending a copy of the case over to TDCM.”

  “Oooooh.” For those that never ran into them before, TDCM stood for the Thaumaturgic Department for the Concealment of Magic. A secret investigative organization run by none other than wizards. Most humans didn’t know the TDCM existed.

  But I was special.

  And bored.

  I leaned forward and slapped my hands on the desk. “Let me in on it.”

  “What?”

  “Please, Chloe. I am tired of typing up boring briefs and filing stupid paper that’s just going to be shredded in a few years.”

  “But that’s what your job is. You’re not a cop.”

  “Neither is Frederick”—the office brown nose—“and he’s always running around for you guys, tracking down shit. Plus, he’s human.”

  “So are you.”

  “I am pretty sure I was a mermaid in another life, which means I should be the one working on this case, not Frederick. He doesn’t know what to look for. You know he’ll ignore anything magical that he comes across.”

  “Valid point.” Chloe’s lips twisted as she mused over my argument.

  I prodded some more. “With my open mind, I’m more likely to see stuff, things that might prove your client innocent.”

  “The wizards can probably find magic stuff more easily than you,” Chloe said gently.

  “Maybe. But you need an impartial set of eyes and ears. Who better than me? You know I’ll tell you the truth. Plus, look at all the experience I have.”

  “You’ve never dealt with a haunted house or possession before.” Chloe paused. “Have you?”

  “No, but I’ve seen all the Amityville movies and the knock-offs. I can handle a spooky house. I need this.” Needed to do something that excited me.

  “But it sounds dangerous. Didn’t you hear what Peabody claimed happened to the priest? The house ate him.”

  I’d heard. Could anyone see the giddiness inside? “The real question is, did the priest enjoy it?”

  “Brenda!”

  “What?” I shrugged, a less than innocent expression on my face. “It’s a valid question. After all, the priest probably never gets any action. Holy vows and all that shit. Who’s to say he’s not having a grand ol’ time inside those walls?”

  “You are one sick puppy, Brenda.”

  “More like a bored and caged songbird who needs to fly free!” I flung out my arms and rapped my knuckles off a filing cabinet.

  Damned small space.

  “Let me do this,” I pleaded.

  Chloe tapped a nail on the desk. “I am kind of swamped, and given Mr. Peabody is my client, I should keep an eye on what transpires. Both with the TDCM and the actual police department.”

  “What? I could be working with cops?” My interest took off running and leaping. It expended itself in a bounce that caused the old chair I was sitting in to creak alarmingly. “Please, Chloe. Let me handle this.”

  “If I do, you have to promise you won’t go to that house by yourself, just in case any of it is true.”

  “If you insist, I’ll surround myself with at least a pair of men in uniform before going over to the house.” Oh, the hardship of being guarded by cops. The horror.

  The possibilities…

  The file slid across the desk, not so thick, yet filled with real crime scene notes, witness statements, all kinds of yummy stuff.

  “You’ll have to do this on top of your regular stuff. You know how Craig is about losing a secretary for what he calls ‘unnecessary extras.’ But I will make sure you get paid overtime.”

  Could this deal get any better?

  Dye my hair red, throw me in a purple mini dress, and call me Daphne. I was going to crack this case.

  5

  Determined to make Chloe proud of me, and finally excited about something in my life, I decided to go about this job intelligently.

  Despite my intense desire to rush off to see if the house would try and eat me without taking me on an expensive date first, I stopped and came up with a concise plan of action.

  First things first, I chose to gather more information. Only a few witness statements padded the folder. One each from Peabody’s wife and two kids. Another by the first officers to arrive on the scene, and then Mr. Peabody himself.

  Guess whose was the most interesting?

  Really, if you thought about it, what better person to begin this investigation with than the culprit himself, Mr. Peabody?

  Alfred Dickson Peabody, which, for some reason, made me giggle. What were his parents thinking?

  With my credentials in place—legal assistant to the defense attorney in charge of Mr. Peabody’s case, proven by the stack of business cards I filched from Chloe’s desk—the following morning, bright and early, I was allowed through the gates to the loony bin.

  Ahem, the Lupium Psychiatric Evaluation Center—for the truly crazy.

  Making it through the heavy-duty gate with barbed wire at the top, I parked in front of the massive building. When the gentleman in the white coat and matching pants ran out the front to greet me with a shouted, “You can’t park there,” I handed him my keys.

  He gaped, and I patted his cheek and said, “Be a dear and park it in the shade so it doesn’t get too hot.” I didn’t figure I’d be long. An hour at most, less if Mr. Peabody was too busy catching mental butterflies to talk to me.

  My heels clicked as I strode through the heavy doors. In my role as awesome assistant, I’d chosen to wear all red. Short red jacket over a red blouse, with a red pencil skirt and matching red shoes.

  The lipstick? A
shade of red called Blow Me. Which, if you asked me, was kind of backwards. Shouldn’t it be called Blow You?

  The male nurse manning the reception eyed me, utterly speechless. I could see he was quite taken by my appearance.

  Despite knowing it might stun him into incoherence, I smiled as I introduced myself. “Brenda Jane Whittaker, here to see Mr. Peabody.”

  “You can’t see him looking like that.”

  “Like what?” I looked down at myself before meeting his gaze. “I can’t help how pretty I am. It’s how I was born.” Well, not exactly, but the laser eye surgery, dermatological treatments, and braces I’d worn for about five years weren’t something the receptionist needed to know about.

  “I was talking about the color you’re wearing. Red.” He shook his head. “Didn’t anyone tell you that Mr. Peabody can’t stand it? It sets him off.”

  “Oops. I must have missed that part.” I batted my lashes. Naughty me, I had read that tidbit in the report and thought to use it to my advantage. Throw the lunatic off his meds and get him to spill some secrets.

  The receptionist, with a name tag saying Oscar, frowned. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll have to come back when you’re more suitably attired.”

  Ma’am? Please don’t tell me I’d finally migrated from the Miss age group.

  Am I truly so old? Nah, because Oscar was surely older than me.

  Oscar was also in my way.

  “You expect me to leave without doing my job?” I slapped a hand to my chest. “My boss will kill me.”

  Actually, my boss would probably sigh and wonder why she’d given me this case to work.

  “I have rules I have to follow.”

  “And here I would have thought you were a man who thought outside the box.” I batted my lashes.

  I had no shame. I’d flirt with anything, even this man wearing a ring on his finger.

  His lips pursed. “Do you have a spare set of clothes?”

  I shook my head. “Couldn’t you loan me a coat or something to wear over my ensemble? I could leave the shoes here at your desk.”

  A little more batting of my eyes, a tissue to wipe my lips, and an offer to let him borrow my shoes while I talked to Mr. Peabody—hoping Oscar wouldn’t stretch them too badly—meant a few minutes later, I was wrapped in a huge doctor’s coat and being led barefoot down a sterile, gray hall.