Second Guessing

by K. J. Emrick

  “Nice!” I lean forward and grab up the report from MedFisher Labs almost before it’s come to rest. The company logo and contact information are right at the top. Perfectly legitimate. “Uh-huh. This is exactly what I needed to see.”

  “I must say, you’ve gotten better at putting details into your wishes.”

  “And you never disappoint.”

  “Thank you. I live to serve.”

  “You’re not my slave, Harry. You’re my friend.”

  “A friend who grants wishes.”

  “Mm-hmm. That’s the best kind.”

  For all of Harry’s rules and limitations, he really can deliver. This report is just as thorough as anything I’ve seen in an actual police casefile. For all I know, Harry somehow manipulated time and had a real lab tech test the champagne yesterday. While the alcohol was still in the bottle. Before I even found it.

  Wow. A girl could go crazy trying to figure all this out.

  According to this report, the contents of the bottle are C-2-H-5-OH—better known as ethel alcohol—ascorbic acid, sulfur dioxide, palmitic acid, and the list goes on from there. I recognize most of it. Basically, all of that put together adds up to champagne. I’d already deduced that part.

  The next page, however, lists an additional component present within the champagne. It takes me several minutes to make sure I’m reading it correctly. There’s a chemical composition listed, a long string of letters and numbers that would probably mean something to me if I was a chemist, which I’m not. Thankfully the report also lists the common name for the substance. Zolpidem, in liquid suspension. Twenty milligrams of it.

  “What in the hell is zolpidem?” I ask, not meaning to ask Harry directly, just sort of asking the room.

  “I’m guessing,” he says anyway, “that it isn’t something usually found in champagne?”

  “Not unless it’s some weird kind of grape that I’ve never heard of.”

  “Would you like me to find out for you? If you make a wish, I can add a page to that report. Just say the words.”

  He wants so bad to be helpful, like he said earlier. I want to let him be helpful, too, but I’m not wasting a wish on something like that. Not when I have a handy-dandy magical science device that can connect to a worldwide network of information and get an answer to my question right away.

  Picking up my cellphone from the table where I’d set it down earlier, I shake it in his direction. “I’ve got my own sort of genie right in here.”

  “Ha, ha,” he says. “Very funny. There is no way a genie could fit inside of that.”

  “But they can fit inside a rug this thin?” I point out, tapping my foot in its sock against his carpet on the floor.

  ‘That rug is quite comfortable, thank you. I should give you a tour sometime.”

  I pause my Google search for zolpidem to look up at him curiously. “Me? You can bring me in the rug? You can bring me to all these rooms you say are in there?”

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Naturally. All you have to do…”

  “Is make a wish. Uh-huh. I should have guessed.” I settle back against him again, angling my phone so he can see it. For a guy with muscles like his, he is amazingly comfortable. “Listen, mister. I’ve got two wishes left in this case we’re working on. Three wishes each time, and I’ve used one already. I’m not giving up one for a tour of your house. Someday, I’d love to see it. Maybe after you get your freedom.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and when he does speak his voice is heavy, and quiet. “That would be nice, Sidney Stone. I look forward to it.”

  I swear sometimes Harry is just a big kid in a grown-up genie’s body. He gets emotional over the weirdest things.

  “So,” I tell him, “my Google machine tells me that zolpidem is a tranquilizer. A pretty powerful one.” There’s information on its generic name, Ambien, and how it’s used to treat insomnia and sleep disorders. People who are afraid to fly use it to knock themselves out on long flights. There are warnings about its use, and about its abuse, too. “It says here that the absolute largest safe dose is five milligrams a day. There was four times that amount in the bottle. Enough to knock out two people for a night easy.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” Harry asks me. “We had drugs in my day as well, drugs that would make the workers in the field push themselves past their limits day in and day out, and I know what drug overdoses can do. What if they had drunk more than one bottle?”

  “Well then I suppose the champagne would have done the killing for our mysterious murderer, but I doubt there was any chance of them getting past that first bottle. They both would have been out of it just from one. Half of one, probably. After all, they never got to their strawberries.” I tap the edge of the phone against my mouth, thinking. “Yeah. So they drink the champagne, they both go off to snooze-land, and all the killer has to do is come in, strangle Donnie, and leave again.”

  “Hmm. Yes, I see.”

  “There’s a problem with that, however.”

  “What problem is that, Sidney Stone?”

  “Well,” I pause, thinking it through. “Say the killer comes in before the drug has taken affect. I mean, short of putting your ear up to the door and guessing when everyone inside is asleep, there’s no guarantee that when the killer goes in, the drug has knocked out Amelia and Donnie, right?”

  He purses his lips. “Yes. I see your point. So what does our killer do if he comes in the room, and either of them are still awake?”

  “They would have to have some kind of story that would explain why they were coming in the room. Something that didn’t alarm Amelia or Donnie. Some reason to be in there… and the only way that works is if neither of them would be surprised to see the killer…” I slap my hand against my leg as the answer hits me. “Of course. They knew the killer! It’s the only thing that makes sense. If the killer is discovered, he just apologizes and makes an excuse up about why he’s there, he leaves, he waits a little longer, then he tries again. By then the drug has taken effect for sure.”

  “Of course,” Harry agrees with me. “That must be the answer.”

  “Yeah. So that narrows our list of suspects down to… well, everyone who knew who Amelia Falconi was.”

  Which is to say, not very much at all. She’s world famous.

  Still, it’s a step in the right direction. One more piece in the puzzle.

  “Well done, my lady.”

  Harry leans back into the couch, taking me with him. I could so take a nap right here, right now. I’m still wiped from getting zero sleep last night after Arnie Chen’s phone call. That reminds me that I need to call Chen, soon, and let him know I’m turning down his offer. I’ll do that later. Right now, I’m definitely onto something with this report that Harry wished up for me.

  “Okay. So this report tells us two things about this case.”

  “That the two people were drugged?” Harry asks. “We already knew that.”

  “Sure, that. But two other things as well.”

  I can almost feel him smiling. “You have always impressed me with how you can see patterns in your investigations. Things other people miss.”

  “Aw, shucks Harry.”

  “I’m serious. What did you find out from this simple report?”

  “Two things, like I said.” I have to stifle a yawn behind my hand, but then I hold up a finger. “One, whoever did this had to know Amelia’s habits, as far as sleeping with Donnie, and drinking champagne when they were together. That confirms that this is someone who knows her, and more than just what you can read on Wikipedia.” Then I hold up finger number two. “And two…” Another yawn makes me stop, and then start over. “And two, it had to be someone with a key to her room.”

  “Hmm? Why a key to her room? You got in today, and you did not have one of these magic plastic card keys.”

  I smile sleepily as my eyelids droop. Yeah, I’m more tired than I thought I was. And Harry’s just like a giant, comfy man pillow. “I didn�
��t have a ‘magic key’ with me, that’s true. But I used a special kind of device that got me past the lock. You don’t buy those things down at WalMart and without one the killer would have to use a key to get in.”

  “There are other devices to defeat such a door, are there not?”

  “Well, sure. There’s a long thin rod that slides under the door and hooks the handle from the inside. Hotels use them when a lock breaks and they need to get in. But…” I yawned again, and again right after, hard enough to make my eyes water. “Wow, excuse me. The thing about using a device like that is it takes time. It makes noise. If you’re breaking into a room to kill someone you want to do it quick.”

  “I see your point,” he tells me. I can feel his voice rumbling in his chest, up against my back. It’s a nice feeling. “And as you said, there was a chance the tranquilizer would not have put the two of them to sleep as yet.”

  “Right. They probably would have noticed someone tampering with the lock to get in, even drunk and drugged.”

  I think I just fell asleep for a minute. I didn’t remember closing my eyes, but they flutter open again when Harry moves under me.

  “And,” he says, “do all of these things you have figured out give you a list of suspects?”

  “Kind of.” Yawn. “If I put it all together with something Amelia told me, I’ve got a place to start.”

  “Hmm,” he drones softly. “Who is this suspect, may I ask?”

  “Not sure I’m right,” I warn him, my voice getting softer, too, as sleep starts to sneak up on me for real.

  “I trust you, my lady. You can tell me.”

  I try, but the words get swallowed up in a yawn. This time it makes my jaw crack. I reach over, and drop the lab report on the coffee table, and lay my phone on top of it. Then I kind of roll over onto my side, pulling his arm down around my midsection like a big, muscular blanket. This isn’t the first time that I’ve started to fall asleep in his arms. It’s good to have, you know…yawn…a guy friend to do this with. No sexual tension, no worries about what it means, just body heat, and snuggles, and the knowledge that I’m safe right here where I am.

  “You can’t let me sleep too long,” I manage to tell him, already forgetting what question he just asked me. “Okay? You gotta promise. No long sleepy-sleep.”

  Might as well not fight it. I’m tired. It’s been more than a day since I got any sleep, and I’m going to need it to be sharp for my next stop.

  “What is the next move?” he asks me, just as if he could read my mind. He’s pretty in tune with me. For a guy.

  I remember what he asked me now. Who’s the suspect? What’s the next move?

  Amelia said her agent wanted her to stay in jail for a couple of hours. Good publicity, she told her. Well, following that logic, so is a murder. I don’t pretend to understand the world of Hollywood stars and big budget movies, but I do understand the principle of free publicity. No matter what your name is associated with in the news, people are still hearing it. Good or bad, they hear it.

  Amelia Falconi’s name is all over the news now. She hasn’t done a movie in two years, and even for the biggest stars that’s enough to kill a career. Now she’s going to have more free publicity than she can possibly stand. Publicity doesn’t come any freer than a criminal trial.

  So why would Amelia’s agent be keeping her distance now, when her client’s name is all over the news? She should be right there soaking it up and stirring the pot.

  And yet, I haven’t seen her anywhere. Neither has Amelia, from what she told me.

  “I’m going to talk to Amelia’s agent,” I tell him, closing my eyes again. “Her agent would know where she was staying. Know what wine she ordered on the studio’s dime. She’d know…” Yawn. Rub my eyes. “She’d know about the affair with the bodyguard. Probably. I’m just guessing.” Yawn. “Guess.” Yawn. “Just a guess.”

  Harry’s fingers stroke the strands of hair away that have fallen across my face. “A motive, Sidney Stone? Do you know the motive? No one kills without a motive. I know this from my own time as an enforcer of laws, before I was a genie.”

  I pat his big arm and close my eyes again. This time they don’t open. “One thing at a time, big guy.” Yaaaaawn. “One thing at a time.”

  When I woke up, it was to the sound of knocking on my apartment door.

  Harry was gone. I was lying on the couch alone with my head on one of the throw pillows and my arm dangling down to the floor. What time is it? There was still sunlight through the window. Still daytime. It sure didn’t feel like I slept for very long. My brain was buzzing like maybe I’d only just closed my eyes five minutes ago.

  Knock knock knock BANG.

  Somebody was really anxious to get my attention. Another somebody looking to hire me, maybe? Well, they’re out of luck. I’ve got all I can handle with a murder case now. I’m already turning down the most lucrative case I’ve ever been offered in my whole private investigations career by saying ‘no’ to Arnie Chen, a guy who never takes ‘no’ for an answer—

  With a sudden jerk I sit straight up on the couch, and I’m fully awake now. If that’s Chen out there, with a couple of his goons, then I’m in serious trouble. Of course, having a genie around to grant me a few wishes might be handy, but I seem to be minus one semi-powerful genie.

  “Harry?” I call out in a whisper-hiss. “Harry, where are you?”

  Nobody down the hall, nobody in the kitchen. Harry’s left me alone. He’s never done that before. Except… just once.

  Knock KNOCK BANG BANG.

  The last time he disappeared on me was when Chen’s spell pushed him back into his rug. What if Chen had some way of bringing that spell with him wherever he went, to keep magical people from doing anything to him? Like some kind of genie shield?

  That would be bad for Harry. It would be worse for me.

  I jump off the couch, running to the kitchen, over to where my purse sits up on the half-wall behind the stove. Not my clutch purse. This is my everyday purse that I rarely use, unless I want to carry my .38 pistol with me. I’d put it away in there after getting back from the hotel. I was just too tired to lug it all the way to my bedroom. I’ll do that later. I take it out now, and cock the hammer back, and hold it at a low ready as I stalk closer to the door.

  Memories of the dozens of times I did this in the Marines flash back to me. For some former soldiers, it’s too much. For me, even the bad memories are something to hold onto. A reminder I did something good with my life.

  BANG BANG BANG!

  Swallowing back a lump in my throat, I ease my way up to the front door. Someone’s on the other side, someone not happy with me, and although that’s a pretty long list my money’s still on it being Arnie Chen. Time to be careful, rather than stupid.

  Which means using all the resources at my disposal.

  Gun in one hand, I reach out for the door handle with the other.

  Then I stop. And wait.

  One.

  Two.

  Three…

  And that far into the future, I see who would be standing there if I had opened the door.

  With a sigh of relief, I decock the gun.

  BANGBANGBA…

  Opening the door, I smile up at the frowning face of Christian Caine.

  “I was beginning to think you were dead,” he says with a glower. Then he looks down at the gun in my hand. “Maybe I wasn’t that far off.”

  “Uh, no. No, I’m good, Chris. You just woke me up out of a sound sleep. I guess I got a little spooked. Come on in.”

  I step aside to let him in and put the gun back in the purse. It’s licensed, so I’m not worried about Chris seeing me with it—unlike the shotgun in the standup cabinet in my kitchen. It’s just that having a gun out while entertaining company is bad manners.

  “So what brings you over?” I ask him. “You want some coffee?”

  Coming over to where I’m standing, he folds his arms over his chest, and leans back against the
kitchen table. “What I want, Sid, is for you to stop messing around in police crime scenes.”

  From his back pocket he takes out a plastic Ziploc bag and tosses it over onto the stove.

  Inside the bag is an orange peel that looks really familiar.

  Oh, that’s not good.

  “Uh, Chris? That’s gross. I don’t go around dropping garbage on your furniture, do I?”

  “Knock it off,” he snaps at me. “You know exactly where I got that. You know these teeth marks on the inside of the peel are a match for your dental records. Seriously, Sid. How could you be so stupid?”

  I cringe, because I know he’s got me. Chris is one of the best cops I know, and in some ways he’s even smarter than I am. He’s not going to be fooled by my lame attempts to talk around what he already knows. “How’d you figure it out? You didn’t really send the peel to the lab, did you?”

  “Of course I didn’t send an orange peel to the lab! I would’ve been laughed right off the police force.”

  “Then how…?”

  “You’re the only person I know who eats that nasty white stuff off orange peels, and you’d be the only one who had a reason to go reinvestigate that crime scene. How did you even get in the room?”

  “Well…”

  “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Just tell me what you found.”

  “What makes you think I found anything?”

  I see him reaching out to take ahold of my wrist just before he does it, his dark skin against my pale hand, but I don’t pull away. There’s a certain kindness behind the anger in his eyes. That’s my Chris. He can’t stay mad at me.

  His fingers are warm on my skin when he gives me half a smile. “I know you found something because I know how good you are at your job. Baker told me that you went and got hired by Amelia Falconi to investigate her case. Actually, he screamed it at me. He’s not happy about it, but I couldn’t care less if he’s happy. So when I heard you were on the case I knew you’d make her hotel room your first stop. I went to look, and sure enough. So I came here to talk sense into you before you did something stupid.”