Three Charms for Murder (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 5)

by Honor Raconteur

  Phil immediately darted off, straight to Jamie. My partner seemed to have some sixth sense where the kittens were concerned. I could see her through the open doorway. She immediately bent down, listening, then gave a nod. In six long strides, she caught up a chair that sat next to the doorway, easily lifting it by the back, and made her way to us. “Are we starting interviews, then?”

  “We are indeed. Do join us.”

  Situating the chair, Jamie took the seat, pulling out a notebook from her breast pocket. Every movement was fluid and efficient. I sometimes found myself watching her for the simple pleasure of observing such poetry in motion.

  It seemed her appearance in the room signaled everyone else, as my parents followed her in. Everyone found different places on the settee and chairs bracketing the fireplace.

  “Gwyneth,” Jamie greeted. She crossed her legs, getting comfortable—then changed positions entirely when Tasha leapt into her lap. Phil and Clint chose the window seat, sparing her from juggling three cats at once. “Tell me everything you know. Start from the day of the incident. Were any of you nearby?”

  Shaking her head, Gwyneth replied, “None of us were. Deems is a country vacation house, not our main residence. I was in Jordane, in fact.”

  “That’s, what, an hour away from Deems?”

  “Closer to an hour and a half by car. Two by train. Still, I was the first on scene when the police informed me. A Jordanen policeman made a house call to break the news in person and—” Gwyneth abruptly cut herself off. Irvine was there in a moment, hugging her around the shoulders, his hand stroking up and down her arm. She leaned into him for a moment, eyes closed. She took three large breaths before she regained control of herself enough to speak. “He was very kind but had little in the way of information. I immediately went to the Deems house to see the situation for myself. They wouldn’t let me in. Most of my information comes from our housekeeper, Drummond. He’s been with the family since I was a toddler, a very loyal man.”

  I cast my mind back to younger years. “I think I remember him. Stout, short fellow with a bushy beard, always smells of mint?”

  “That’s him,” Gwyneth confirmed with a quick, wavering smile. “He was set to retire after the house sold. Drummond’s pushing one hundred, and even as a half-dwarf, that’s far past retirement age. He was determined to settle the house first, though.”

  “Does he live at the house?” Jamie inquired, her pencil scratching as she took quick notes.

  “No. None of the servants do. Drummond lives across town, in fact.”

  As an aside to Jamie, I explained, “Deems has a population of around six thousand. Drummond would be perhaps fifteen minutes from the estate.”

  “Got it.” That was noted as well before Jamie’s head came back up. “So, no one was at home with your parents overnight. Were they expected at the house?”

  “No, not at all. Drummond was quite perplexed about that. When they chose to sell the house in Deems, everything of a personal nature was moved out of it, but the furniture was left in place. The buyers had the option to buy furniture as well as the house. And it shows better that way, according to our real estate agent. It wasn’t really in a situation for anyone to stay in, and my parents didn’t have any reason to be there at this time of the year. In fact, it—” Gwyneth’s hands twisted together in her lap, the motion so absentminded I wasn’t entirely sure if she were aware of it. Clint appeared, inserting his head into her hand, and she paused, bemused, before petting him. It took her a moment to realize she’d been in the middle of a sentence. “In fact, it was the real estate agent who found them initially.”

  Clint purred, bringing something of a smile to Gwyneth’s face. Her hand found a rhythm, stroking the fur of his neck.

  “And who is that?” I prompted.

  “Oh. Abigail Morven is her name.”

  I jotted the name down as someone to interview.

  “She’s quite excellent and came highly recommended. She’d shown the house several times, but no one was interested enough to put in an offer. She has access to the wards of the estate with permissions to bring people through. Drummond said she’d alerted him that morning she would be coming through with prospective clients. He went to the house to make sure it was tidy enough for a showing. What with all the winter storms we’ve had, I think he was worried about the state of the floors.”

  That seemed reasonable to me. With people trekking in and out during a house showing, of course the floors would be dirtied in the process. “And then?”

  “Well, he said Ms. Morven came out looking white and spooked, as if she’d seen a ghost. She said goodbye to the clients and then quickly came back to Drummond. She said there was something odd going on in the pool room, and could he go look for her, as she was sure she was seeing things. I suppose I can’t blame her for that reaction—I might have thought so as well in her shoes. Drummond went to see for himself and he found”—Gwyneth’s eyes turned bright with unshed tears, voice trembling—“both of my parents. They were tied to chairs with magic restraints, he said, but also posed in a very peculiar manner—like the statue that was in the living room.”

  Everyone else moved closer, apparently drawn to hearing us speak of the thing at the forefront of all our minds. They abandoned their own seats, choosing to stand around us instead.

  “I can show you what the statue looks like?” Ruthe offered, looking a little pale at the idea. She was the only one of the Atwood children with dark hair instead of fair, her raven locks a throwback to another generation. Her heart-shaped face looked blotchy from tears as well, but she kept her head up with a determined expression. She wanted to help, and we could certainly use it.

  Jamie turned in her chair. “Yes, please. The more I can visualize this, the better off we’ll be.”

  “Irvine, help me?”

  Irvine immediately nodded at Ruthe’s request. They retreated to the nearby love seat they’d just left and posed. Irvine sat with his legs comfortably spread and arms extended as if resting on a cane. Ruthe sat next to him, her left leg pressed against his right, one leg crossed over the other. She leaned her body into his, head not quite resting on his shoulder. One of her hands rested on his forearm in an affectionate manner. The other rested in her lap.

  “In the statue, there’s a cane here under my hands,” Irvine explained.

  I vaguely recalled the statue in question, something that rested in an alcove between the living room wall and the entrance to the hallway. It was a bronze piece they’d acquired from somewhere, a statue of an old couple still showing affection for each other even in their golden years.

  “Mother loved that statue,” Gwyneth said sadly, watching her siblings pose. “She said it was exactly like her and Father.”

  Jamie gave them a smile. “Thank you both. Irvine, you mentioned earlier magical spells were in evidence?”

  “Yes, that’s what we were told. Not how or what spells, just that some were used.”

  I stood, circling them from one side and then to another, my thoughts churning like a locomotive still acquiring speed. I didn’t know enough to do more than make educated guesswork at this moment. I could see how spells would need to be used. Even with restraints, this pose would be impossible to maintain with dead weight.

  Jamie hummed, the noise indicating she, too, thought hard. Her fingers had found the spot under Tasha’s chin and stroked idly. The kitten allowed this with a tilt of the head and rumbling purrs. “Yes. We’ll definitely need to figure out what spells. It might help lead us to a suspect. Alright, you two can relax. Thank you. So, Drummond finds your parents and then…what?”

  Picking the narrative back up, Gwyneth spoke steadily. “Drummond told me he immediately informed the police by telephone. They dispatched two officers and a detective to come investigate. They asked everyone else to leave, which they did, but stayed outside waiting for news. Even Ms. Morven stayed to hear. I stood with her as we waited. I arrived first, as I was closer.” Gwyneth
waved a hand to indicate the other two siblings. “Upon my arrival, Drummond notified the police I was there, but the detective wouldn’t see me. I spoke to Ms. Morven and Drummond, tried to say very little to the reporters. I didn’t understand what was going on, you see. Then the detective came out again and told all of us it was a murder-suicide. That my father had killed my mother and that was the end of it. I could have an autopsy if I wanted it, but there was no point, in his mind, and he was closing the case.”

  My mother gasped in outrage. “It makes me so mad! Henri, they were a loving couple. They’d never hurt each other.”

  Backing his wife up, Rupert immediately agreed, “They were very much in love with each other even after forty years of marriage. They couldn’t even bring themselves to say an unkind word to each other during arguments. And—you’ll forgive this—but Luther Atwood didn’t have the health or strength to murder someone. Much less cart his wife’s body about.”

  Jamie pursed her lips together, eyes narrowed in thought. “Irvine said much the same when he first came to us. I’m inclined to accept this judgement. Everyone seems to be in agreement.”

  Gwyneth cleared her throat, visibly battling back tears. “They wouldn’t tell us how they died, either. I went into the house after our parents were taken to the morgue and there was no sign of blood, at least.”

  I’d need to find out cause of death, but I couldn’t bring myself to press the point now. It was too crass, for one. And they clearly didn’t know.

  Gwyneth continued without prompting, “I think the media picked up on it somehow, as two reporters arrived within the hour. I had to deal with them.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” Jamie said with true sympathy. “Media is always a bear to deal with. They’re sort of a necessary evil in my job. They can be handy, but most of the time they’re just pests. Now, let me back you up for a minute. Why did the detective jump to murder-suicide? Did he have some other reason for it?

  “He didn’t speak to me much of his reasons. He just gave a brief statement that there was no sign of forced entry and they weren’t looking for suspects.”

  “Which doesn’t make sense, in some ways,” Irvine threw in. He was visibly agitated, struggling to sit still under his emotions. “I know the ward was up and all, but it was set to the lowest level of security. It had to be, so the house could be shown. But the doors were all locked. Mother was adamant about that.”

  Gwyneth made a face. “They said the pool house door was unlocked, though. The detective was adamant there was no forced entry, so it couldn’t be murder. He seemed to think the unlocked door proved that.”

  This logic hurt my head. Ease of egress did not automatically lead to that conclusion. It wasn’t even a logical fallacy, to my mind. And not looking for suspects? An hour into an investigation this strange? That did not make sense to me.

  Jamie hummed in a dark tone. “No, that dog does not hunt. Criminals take advantage of unlocked doors. And it’s entirely possible your parents let in their murderer unwittingly. Give me an idea of possible enemies. Anyone have beef with your parents?”

  Irvine shook his head in immediate denial. “They were generous. To a fault. We sometimes had arguments about it. My father routinely invested in friends’ ventures even when they mismanaged the funds he gave them.”

  “How much are we talking, here?”

  “The last time he gave a friend a loan, it was over a million crowns.”

  I let out a silent whistle. The Atwoods were very affluent, almost criminally so, but even then—a loan to a friend to that tune? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  Jamie choked and gave Irvine an incredulous look. “Wow. Yeah, okay, I can see why you’d argue with your parents over that one. He did this regularly?”

  “Yes, and always had.”

  “Dude.” Shaking her head, she went back to taking notes. “Parents were generous, okay. But he seriously had no enemies?”

  “Well.” Ruthe grimaced. “We can’t say that. Father liked to take people to court over things. And he always won, which…doesn’t endear people to him. For instance, the contractor who built the house in Deems—Father claimed it wasn’t built correctly and took him to court over it. He won, too. The court settled the same amount on him that it took to build the house in the first place.”

  “It was a little shy of that,” Gwyneth protested. Making a face, she agreed, “But near enough, I suppose.”

  Jamie looked between both sisters, eyebrows arched. “So, you’re saying your father sued and basically got a house for free out of the deal?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Irvine ran a hand roughshod through his hair. “And that’s more or less how things would go whenever he went to court. Mother used to joke that the reason he had so much wealth was because he never ended up actually paying for anything.”

  I had not been aware of this quirk of Luther Atwood’s. A habit like that would generate many enemies. Which was good, in a sense, as we needed suspects. But that also meant we’d be running afoul of the problem of too many suspects.

  “If the two of you could put your heads and records together so I have a full list of how many people your father has sued in, oh, say the last five years?” Jamie gave them a winsome smile. “That’ll be awesome and help us. It gives us a place to start, if nothing else.”

  They all seemed in agreement, but it was Ruthe who spoke. “Yes, of course. Anything to help.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be frank, there’s too much that’s odd about this case. I wouldn’t peg this as a murder-suicide even if they loathed each other. The logistics of it all doesn’t jive. Neither of your parents had any magical skill, correct?”

  Ruthe nodded fervently. “Not a trace of magic anywhere in the family.”

  “And yet the detective honestly thought someone—a man with no magical ability—murdered his wife and then posed them in such a way using magic before committing suicide?” Jamie snorted. “Yeah, no. Not buying it. That theory has so many holes in it, it could be swiss cheese. I mean, he didn’t even tell you what kind of magic was used. That means he didn’t consult a magical examiner before making that verdict.”

  They clearly didn’t understand the swiss cheese reference—neither did I—but I understood the gist of her point. “I quite agree. Even if charms were used, none of this connects. I think the detective in charge couldn’t make sense of it and chose instead to wash his hands of it. What was his name, by the way?”

  Gwyneth’s face darkened. “Lawler. Gradey Lawler.”

  I committed the name to memory. “He’ll be sharply reprimanded for that.”

  “We’ll make sure of it,” Jamie purred in a dark manner.

  Oh dear. I knew that smile. Heads would roll before she was done.

  Jamie flipped through her notes, then frowned before tapping the edge of her pencil against the pad. “I’d really like to know what time your parents went into the house. A time frame would help a lot. Any idea?”

  Gwyneth bit her bottom lip for a moment. “Drummond said he left the house sometime before dinner, so I assume six in the evening? And he didn’t return until the next morning, sometime before noon, to do a quick cleanup.”

  “Okay, you also said he was still there after the house was shown?”

  “It was part of our parents’ instructions. They wanted him to make sure the house was locked back up after every showing. Drummond was in charge of that.” Gwyneth faltered. “I’m not sure why, though.”

  “Father found an unlocked door after the house was shown,” Irvine explained. “He blamed the realtor for it. He complained to me about it and I suggested Drummond be in charge of locking the house back up.”

  “Oh. He didn’t tell me that part.” Gwyneth splayed her hands to either side. “Aside from Drummond being there the night before, and that morning, I don’t know of anyone else there that night. Certainly not the staff. I’m not sure if you can narrow it more than that. For once, my parents chose to take the train down instead o
f drive.”

  I found that interesting. “You’re sure?”

  “Well, I didn’t see their Jordane car in the garage at Deems. Sorry, I mean to say my parents had two cars. One in Jordane, one in Deems, which we all called the country car. The country car was still in the garage, but not the one they would have driven from home…” She trailed off as if only realizing. “Oh dear, maybe someone took the Jordane car from the house in Deems? I just assumed they’d ridden the train down. Although I suppose I shouldn’t have. Father loved that drive, said it was exhilarating. He always chose to drive if he could.”

  Jamie made another note. “Let’s double-check where that car is. It might have been stolen by the murderer for a quick getaway.”

  Something Gerring and McSparrin would no doubt be set on. “Allow me to double-check. The wards around the house are still up?”

  “Yes, they’re still active,” Irvine confirmed. “Will you need us to let you in?”

  “No, not at all. My police badge gives me access through. And the doors, are they still locked?”

  “The doors are locked now. We didn’t know what else to do. Drummond can meet you and give you the keys to allow you access.” Irvine ran a hand over his face, the appendage shaking slightly. “I didn’t even think of how you’d get in.”

  Considering his emotional state, I supposed I couldn’t judge him harshly. “Drummond’s keys will do fine. For our knowledge, who else has keys to the house?”

  “The realtor,”—Gwyneth ticked people off on her fingers—“the staff, and Drummond. Myself, of course, and my parents. There’s no one else to my knowledge.”

  That was a great many keys to be circulating about. “And do they all have badges as well that allow access through the wards?”

  “Yes, of course.” Ruthe canted her head, as if not seeing the point of that question. Then again, to her, it might be obvious. “They’re attached to the key rings.”

  Jamie shot me a look that spoke volumes. Even she saw the possibility of a lost or ‘borrowed’ set of keys falling into the wrong hands. “Alright, I can’t think of what else to ask you right now. We’ll have more questions as we dig in. For now, I want you to just stay available to us. We’re going to dive in tomorrow. Tonight, try to rest.”