"Here before ten? What's the occasion—an early nail appointment?” Bentley Smith, my co-worker and resident pain in my butt, delighted in giving me a hard time whenever possible.
I dropped into the chair beside him. “Why so cranky? Did your girlfriend finally realize she was dating you?”
Bentley stiffened. “Meadow and I are still going strong, thank you.” Bentley and Meadow met on MagicMirror, a paranormal social media site. They’d gotten a rocky start thanks to a magical parasite, but seemed to have overcome their unfortunate beginning.
"Tonya said you needed me here to cover a story. So I'm here. I had to push my broomstick training back to late afternoon. Aunt Hyacinth was none too pleased about it, I'll have you know." As the de facto leader in Starry Hollow, my aunt could wield her power with a whisper or a hurricane, depending on her mood.
"She’ll be pleased when she knows which story you’re covering," Bentley said. "After all, her beloved right hand is involved."
My antenna went up. "Simon?"
He touched the tip of his long, slightly upturned nose. "You've got it. It's the annual butler conference."
Ugh. “You want me to cover the butler conference?" I couldn't think of anything less interesting. Maybe a paint-drying convention or an in-depth discussion on the invention of the wiffleball bat. "Why don't you cover it?"
Bentley smirked. "You’re still the new fish, Rose, and you seem out-of-favor with our fearless leader at the moment, so I'm taking the opportunity…"
"To be a complete turd?" I finished for him. "You're not the boss of me, Bentley." I knew I sounded like a petulant child, but Bentley seemed to bring that out in me. He was like the brother I never wanted.
Tonya fluttered over to intervene. "I'm sorry, Ember. Alec did leave him in charge of assignments in his absence. If Bentley wants you to cover the conference, I'm afraid you must."
I gritted my teeth. I debated invoking the wrath of Aunt Hyacinth, but decided this particular argument didn't warrant her involvement. I'd save that card for a rainy day. "Fine. I’ll do it. Where is it and what time?"
Bentley inclined his head toward the office manager. "Tanya will provide the details. Make sure you pay attention. You wouldn't want to miss anything earth-shattering."
I flicked his arm with my pen.
"Ouch," he yelled, and rubbed the sore spot on his arm. "I forget how violent they raise your kind in New Jersey."
"If you think that's violent…"
Tonya dropped a slip of paper onto my desk. "Please do not list all of the ways in which you could have been more violent," she said. "I don't need to be breaking up a brawl while Alec is still away."
Instinctively, my gaze drifted to the back of the office, where Alec’s private office was nestled in the corner. "Any word?" I asked quietly.
"I'm sure he'll be back very soon," she responded in an equally quiet voice.
“I hope he’s enjoying himself, wherever he is,” Bentley said. “I can’t remember the last time he took a holiday. It’s completely out of character.”
“I think it’s high time,” Tanya said. “He’ll work himself into an early grave if he doesn’t slow down.” She paused, thinking. “I suppose, as a vampire, he’s done the early grave part already, hasn’t he?”
I didn’t want to contemplate how Alec might be enjoying himself right now, especially in light of the fact that none of the options included me.
"What happened to make him leave in the first place?" Bentley asked. "I've been dying to know. He’d been acting so strangely just before he left. Karaoke in a bar?” He whistled. “By the gods, do I wish I could’ve seen that performance.”
“It was incredible,” I admitted, but I refused to say anything more on the subject. I wasn't about to tell Bentley that I was the reason Alec left. That we’d nearly engaged in carnal relations while Alec was under the opposite spell and that the buttoned-up vampire was probably still reeling from the aftereffects. He’d been so careful to keep his distance from me and I’d blown his comfort zone to smithereens with a single flick of my wand.
"Never you mind, Bentley," Tonya said. "Your job is to keep the paper ticking along, not writing a gossip column about your boss."
Bentley began tapping away on his keyboard. "Not to worry, Tonya. I'm working on a more important story than the butler conference. Alec is going to be very pleased when he returns."
I highly doubted that, since Alec Hale was never very pleased about anything.
I glanced at the paperwork on my desk. “Wait. The conference started twenty minutes ago."
Bentley gave me a look of mock surprise. "You don't say? You'd better hurry then. Don't want to miss any of the juicy bits. Maybe you can show us best practices for polishing the silver when you get back.”
I punched his arm as I rose to my feet. He winced and rubbed the sore spot.
"I'll check in with you later, Tonya," I said. "If you hear from Alec, will you let me know?"
Tonya nodded. "Of course, dear. Good luck today."
"Thanks," I said, although it wasn't luck I needed. It was the ability to liven up the most boring day possible.
The Starry Hollow Convention Center was not what I was expecting. Although the large lobby appeared normal, the surrounding conference rooms were arranged like the rooms of a grand estate. A directory board hovered in the middle of the lobby, detailing the schedule for the day. Registration had taken place in the lobby an hour ago. There was a first timer's orientation in the Billiard Room. The welcome reception took place in the Main Parlor Room. According to the clock, that was where I would find the attendees right now. My curiosity piqued, I scanned the remainder of the schedule. There were a few sessions to choose from in each timeslot. Next offerings were: Of Human Bondage: The Day in the Life of a Household Manager; Eleven Ways Every Butler Can Increase Their Productivity; and From Ancestral Estate to McMansion: A Reversal of Fortune. There were several vendors scheduled to speak as well. Cleaning companies, golf course designers, gardening experts, a one-on-one with a life coach. Tomorrow was even better. A morning of trust exercises, then more lectures: Butlering Demystified; Butler Basics; Driving Miss Daisy: Pitfalls to Avoid; The House You Built: A Blueprint for Effective Household Management; and Five Reasons Your Staff Doesn't Respect You and How to Fix It.
This was a jam-packed schedule. I could understand why it was such a popular conference. Before I could make a move toward the welcome reception, a man in black tails and a crisp white shirt intercepted me.
"Can I help you, miss? You look lost," he said.
"I'm covering the conference for the local paper, Vox Populi," I said. "I'm running a bit late. Do you know where the Main Parlor Room is?"
He offered his arm. "Right this way. I happen to be heading there myself. I tried to use the restroom closest to the conference room, but the door was locked, so I had to hurry to this end. I'll need to alert management once the reception is over."
Entering the welcome reception was like entering the grand foyer of Versailles. The room itself was enormous, designed to resemble the entryway of an estate that made Thornhold look like a crab shack. I was glad Aunt Hyacinth wasn't here. She'd probably run directly to a local architect to rectify the inadequacy.
The butlers stood in rows, listening to the speaker. It was like walking into a room of attentive penguins.
"Why aren't there any women?" I asked my helpful companion.
“If you look closely, there are a few here,” he said. “The profession is still heavily dominated by men, though.”
"Who's speaking?" I whispered. A man stood facing the penguins, addressing the crowd.
“That’s Belvedere," he said. "He's this year's president of the association. The president always gives the welcoming address."
I typed notes on my phone as I listened. I wasn't really sure what the pertinent information to convey was. Did readers care about changes in the world of estate management? For the most part, paranormals were no different from
people—they wanted to live vicariously through those whose lives seemed much more glamorous. Clearly, the owners of these estates lived such lives.
I scanned the matching ensembles for Simon. He’d be a good butler to attach myself to if I could manage it. It helped that I also happened to be fond of him.
While searching the crowd, I spotted Jenkins and Bates. I gave a small wave, but only Bates noticed me. He offered a friendly nod in return. The room was so quiet that I hoped no one had a rumbling stomach, or worse, because the sound would definitely echo.
As the president began his closing remarks, the door flew open and a man stumbled in, clutching his stomach. His white shirt was stained red and he dripped a trail of blood as he staggered across the floor. No one screamed. The unflappable butlers remained eerily calm as the man fell to the floor and promptly died.
“Someone call a healer,” a voice shouted.
“A healer can’t resuscitate the dead,” someone else replied.
“Help him!”
In the blink of an eye, the body was completely surrounded. I pushed my way through the crowd and everyone moved politely aside as I did so. Their manners were impeccable, even in a crisis.
I kneeled beside the body and checked for a pulse. Nothing.
“Miss Rose, whatever are you doing here?”
I craned my neck to see Simon behind me. “What does it look like? Finding trouble, just like I usually do.”
Simon appeared concerned. “Your aunt will be most displeased.”
“With which part?” I asked. “The fact that I’m on the scene, or the fact that Starry Hollow’s body count is piling up faster than the number of disappointing Will Smith movies?”
“Both, I’m afraid.” Simon dabbed away the beads of sweat on his forehead with a neatly pressed handkerchief and I noticed several other butlers doing the same.
I stood and dusted off my hands. Time to get loud. “Everyone stand back and give us space,” I demanded. “Law enforcement is on the way.” Or would be, as soon as I made the call. Sometimes it was handy to have the sheriff on speed dial.
Simon clucked his tongue. “Yet one more thing my mistress will object to.”
“The sheriff has to investigate,” I said. “It’s his job.” As I finished my sentence, I glanced at a small spot on Simon’s shirt. “Simon, is that…blood?”
He looked down at his white shirt. “Hmm. I believe it is.”
“Simon has blood on his shirt!” someone yelled.
“Simon killed him!”
Simon’s eyes met mine and I saw the fear and panic reflected there.
Sweet baby Elvis. What had I done?
Chapter 4
I recognized the familiar swagger of Sheriff Granger Nash as he entered the convention center. I watched as his gaze darted from left to right, quickly assessing the scene. Behind him, Deputy Bolan struggled to keep up with the werewolf’s longer strides. The leprechaun tried to make his movements seem effortless, but the pink cheeks and labored breathing betrayed him.
Deputy Bolan scowled when he noticed me beside the body. "You again?" He elbowed the sheriff. "Look, boss. Bad Penny is here."
I shot the leprechaun a quizzical look. "Bad Penny? That sounds like a stripper name."
The sheriff chuckled. "That's what they call you down at my office. You always turn up when something horrible happens."
"Yeah," Deputy Bolan chimed in. "You’re bad luck, pure and simple."
"Well, that's just insulting," I said. "I'm here covering the conference for Vox Populi. I can't help it if one butler decided to take a stab at another. It's nothing to do with me."
"So you're saying the butler did it?" the sheriff quipped.
"Oh, hilarious," I said. "I'm sure we’ll only hear that joke about a hundred more times before the case is closed."
"Sheriff, we’re so relieved you’re here,” Simon said, unusually ruffled. “The entire conference is in chaos.”
The sheriff blinked as he glanced around the calm, quiet room. “You and I have a different understanding of chaos.”
“This butler has blood on his shirt,” a man said. I recognized Belvedere, the president of the association.
The sheriff looked down at the spot on Simon’s shirt. “So he does.” He cocked his head. “Simon, anything you can tell us about what happened? Do you know this butler's name?"
“His name is Higgins, sir," Simon said. "I met him at dinner last night. A number of us got together for a meal and this butler was a member of our party.”
“Ooh. A night out?” I taunted him. “I bet Aunt Hyacinth wasn’t happy about that.”
Simon wore a mask of tolerance. “My mistress was taken care of before I left. I would never leave her needs unmet.”
I sure hoped he was talking about her evening cocktail.
“You said you met him for the first time last night?” the sheriff asked, seeking clarification.
Simon stared down at the body. “Yes, sir. I knew Jeeves and Stevens from last year's conference. I believe Higgins tailed along because they were staying in the same hotel."
"And which hotel is that?" the deputy asked.
"The Gryphon," Simon replied.
"Is that where you had dinner?" I asked. “At the hotel restaurant?”
The sheriff shot me a look. "We’re perfectly capable of handling the investigation, Rose."
"Since when?" I shot back.
"As a matter fact, we had dinner at the Flying Pig. It offers an excellent view of the pier." Simon removed another neatly folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket and carefully dabbed his brow with it.
“How many of those do you carry around at a pop?” I asked.
Deputy Bolan blew a raspberry. “If you’re going to ask questions, why not limit them to relevant ones only?”
"Anyone else attend this dinner?" the sheriff asked. "I'll need a list of names."
Simon gave a crisp nod. "Of course, sir. Whatever you need, I am at your disposal."
“What about the blood?” Belvedere persisted, pointing to Simon’s shirt. “You should at least test it to see if it belongs to Higgins.”
“Even if it does, that doesn’t prove he killed him,” I said. Belvedere was rubbing me the wrong way. He seemed a little too eager to pin the murder on Simon, probably because he didn’t want the situation to taint his organization. “The guy was dripping blood everywhere. It’s possible a little drop landed on Simon’s shirt.”
“Deputy Bolan, please secure the area where there’s evidence of blood,” the sheriff said, pointing to the trail on the floor.
“Yes, Sheriff.” The leprechaun set to work and the sheriff returned his attention to Simon.
"What did you talk about at dinner?" he asked. "Any controversial topics? Any arguments?"
"Dear me, no," Simon replied. "We're trained to avoid such unpleasantness. That’s why butlers typically make excellent company even when we’re off duty.”
“I have to agree,” I said. “I met a couple for dinner at Linnea’s last night and they were delightful.”
“Delightful or not, we need to clear all these butlers out of here," the sheriff said. "Deputy, once you’ve secured the area, take down names and any witness statements before dispersing the crowd.”
The leprechaun stood and faced the room. There was no way he could handle this on his own. They'd be here all day.
"I can help," I said. I knew the deputy wouldn't like it, but he was too smart to ignore the fact that he needed assistance.
Deputy Bolan flinched. “I’ll allow it today," he said. "But don't think it gives you a license to do my job whenever you feel like it."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I said. “My dance card is full enough as it is.”
“Simon, don’t go anywhere,” the sheriff instructed. “I’m going to need you to come down to the office with me when we’re finished here.”
“Oh, come on, Granger,” I objected.
The sheriff gave me a sharp look. “It’s Sh
eriff Nash when I’m working, Miss Rose.”
“Right. Sorry,” I mumbled. He’d been encouraging me to call him Granger, and now that I made the effort, he gave me the smackdown. Ugh. We’d never get this relationship right.
I didn’t miss the hint of a smile on Deputy Bolan’s tiny face.
While the sheriff studied the evidence on and around the body, the deputy and I worked in tandem to organize the butlers into groups. Those that saw something, and those that did not. Obviously, I was tasked with handling the oblivious, which consisted mostly of the butlers at the back of the room. I made a list of names, contact details, and times of arrival, and let them go.
“Sheriff Nash, thank the gods.” A curvaceous woman hurried into the room, her ample bottom swinging from side to side. Behind her was a petite pixie, her wings moving so quickly that they were almost invisible. “I just received word and got here as soon as I could.”
“No need to panic. We have everything under control, Tish,” the sheriff said.
The sheriff knew this buxom woman called Tish?
“Tish Wells is the manager of the convention center,” Simon whispered, noting my confusion.
"This is a catastrophe," she said, surveying the room. "The town will lose money on this conference if we have to cancel the remainder of it, not to mention the taint of a murder.”
"You can just delay it," I said. “Many of the butlers won’t be allowed to leave town until the case is resolved. If they’re stuck here, they may as well continue the conference."
Magic & Mercy Page 3