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

by Honor Raconteur

  “And we’ll comb through, meet in the middle?” I nodded, okay with this game plan. “Fine by me.” I eyed Penny suspiciously. “You’re going to eat all the things, aren’t you?”

  Penny put a hand to her chest in mock-surprise and hurt. “Me?”

  “Ha, yeah, that’s what I figured. Well, take a Felix with you. We can use them as messengers if something happens. Tasha, Clint, Phil, who wants to go with them?”

  Tasha immediately leapt onto Gerring’s shoulder as if he were her noble steed she would ride into battle. Gerring didn’t even blink, which said something, right there.

  Phil perched on Henri’s shoulder in much the same fashion. I tried telling Henri multiple times that a Felix will always land on its feet. Even if Phil lost his balance (which odds were slim on that), he’d be just fine. Henri stayed anxious anyway about Phil’s balance and moved very, very carefully. It’s funny how a grown man could get whipped by something less than a pound in weight.

  Speaking of being whipped…I looked down at the furball in my arms. “Clint, you could walk, y’know?”

  He twisted his head up to blink at me, his golden eyes expressly saying, Now why would I do that?

  “You are utterly spoiled,” I sighed. “I blame me. Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

  We walked in, me scanning the left of the aisle, Henri to the right. I didn’t see anything that leapt out at me, most of it nothing of high value. Lots of used clothing, some tents with tools on display, a few with original artwork. Some of it was kind of pretty, actually. I might come back for that seascape; it was eye-catching.

  A hand reached out and caught mine. I glanced down, recognizing it instantly, then looked up. “Yes, Henri?”

  “Don’t want to lose track of you,” he told me with a soft smile, a little shy. He turned back to looking for stolen objects.

  It wasn’t that crowded in here…you know what? If that’s how he wanted to play it, fine by me. I swallowed a smile and returned the hold, our fingers overlapping with each other. It was nice, that contact. I hadn’t held hands with someone in…I drew a blank. Wow, that long, huh.

  But holding hands while strolling along with a handsome man was definitely no hardship. I wanted to tease him so much, though. It took willpower to restrain myself.

  His hand pulled me to a halt. I stopped immediately, turning to see what he had spotted. Henri’s eyes narrowed against the morning sun as he stared very hard into one of the tents displaying art.

  I leaned in to whisper, “Something wrong?”

  “Either that is one of the most excellent reproductions I’ve ever seen,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing further, “or that is the original. And I know who owns the original.”

  “Oh-ho, the plot thickens.” I put my head closer to his, trying to figure out which along that line of propped-up paintings he stared at. “Which?”

  “The lady in the white gown.”

  Ah, that one. It was a pretty picture, very upper crust. The woman in question was half-turned toward the viewer, a laugh on her face, blonde hair trailing over one shoulder in a waterfall of curls. The dress was poofy with multiple layers, just the hint of a pastel print of flowers in the folds. It looked like something commissioned for family, not something you’d see out in a gallery.

  Or an Open Market.

  “How do you want to play this?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely taking a closer look.” Henri didn’t let go of me as he entered the tent, his free hand already pulling out a wand from his inside jacket pocket.

  The tent’s owner stood at our entrance and gave us a smile. “Hello, folks, how are you today?”

  “Oh, we’re fine,” I answered, keeping his attention on me and buying Henri a second. “We’re just out browsing, really, seeing if we spot anything interesting. Busy morning so far?”

  “Can’t say it has been. But then, that’s usually the case first day of market. Most people are at work at this time. It doesn’t pick up until afternoon.”

  “Sure, sure, that makes sense.”

  Henri lowered his wand and growled in the back of his throat. Tilting his head toward me, he murmured, “Original.”

  Of course, it was. Sighing, I dropped his hand so I could pull out my badge. The shopkeeper’s face fell when he saw it. “Sorry, it looks like you bought stolen goods.”

  The shopkeeper cursed soundly. “I knew it was too good of a deal. But it was such excellent quality, I couldn’t pass it up.”

  Henri pulled out his wallet. “I, in fact, know who this belongs to. Why don’t we do this? Give me a written account of everything you remember of who sold this to you. I’ll reimburse you for what you paid for the painting.”

  The shopkeeper eyed the wallet, already calculating which would benefit him more. In the end, he took the sensible approach. “Sounds good to me, Detective. Here, I’ll wrap it up for you, too, so you can safely carry it back out.”

  “That’s kind of you. How much?”

  I let Henri handle that part even as I considered what to do with the painting. I didn’t want to continue carting that thing around. Maybe going back to the car and letting Drummond babysit it would be better. Yeah, let’s do that.

  The shopkeeper had paper at hand, which he used to write a quick witness statement. Henri and I both signed and dated it, preserving it as part of the chain of evidence. With the painting wrapped, we headed back to the car. I looked at it, tucked under Henri’s arm, and scratched my head. “So…who does that belong to?”

  “The Cromwells,” he answered, making a face down at the painting. “The woman in the picture is Elise Cromwell, a dear friend of my sister’s.”

  “Ahh, that’s why you recognized her so instantly.”

  “And I knew that it was a private commission. It was odd to see it there. I tested it just to be sure before I threw accusations about. I’ll contact them tonight and make arrangements to return it.”

  “Are they in Deems?”

  “Part of the year, at least. I’m not sure if they are at the moment.”

  I hummed, taking that in. “So…did the painting come from their house in Deems?”

  His dark eyes cut to me. “Is that what you’re getting to? Yes, I remember it being down here. But it’s been years since I’ve seen them in person. I could be mistaken.”

  “Something to ask, either way.”

  “I’ll make sure to do so.”

  Drummond had been standing and chatting with someone, but on seeing our approach, he broke off and approached. “Did you find something already?”

  “Stolen painting,” Henri reported as he lugged it to the back of the car’s boot. “But not out of the Atwood’s house. The Cromwell’s.”

  “That’s distressing, sir.” Drummond stared at the wrapped painting with an expression mixed with resignation and a dull anger, as if he’d seen this play out too many times. “I hadn’t heard they were robbed.”

  “We’ll look into it,” I promised, trying to console him. “The man that—ungh.” I looked down at the kitten who had just landed on my arm like I was some sort of jungle gym she was intent on climbing, her little claws sticking into my jacket. “Tasha, what gives?!”

  “Follow,” my little black kitten ordered curtly. Then she leapt off and started running back into the thieves’ market.

  Swearing, I took off after her, letting Clint find his own feet. I heard Henri scrambling to follow but I left him rather quickly in the dust. He’d catch up eventually. Phil’s nose would lead him if nothing else.

  Tasha led me straight to the second aisle of the market and halfway down. I heard them before I saw them, a man’s voice at full range, hitting every possible note in the musical scale as he screeched, “I ain’t done that! You can’t pin that on me!”

  Well, well, well. Penny and Gerring had caught a live one, it seems.

  I took in the situation as I slowed to a walk. Gerring had cuffs on a man about his size, and had a good hold of his arm. The man was youn
g, maybe early twenties, a wereweasel with a button-cute nose and whiskers that kept wiggling in outrage. I never liked to play into the stereotypes, but seeing a wereweasel in trouble was so cliché it amused me. Really? This was a thief?

  Penny spied me in relief and moved to meet me partway. She closed in quickly, reporting in a low tone as she moved. “We spotted two different pieces of silverware with the Atwood family crest on them. The vendor informed us they were on commission. When we asked by whom, he pointed out this guy.”

  “Got it. So, he’s the thief, possibly murderer?”

  “That’s the fun thing,” she told me, shooting the wereweasel in question a speaking look. “We barely got a question out before he started screaming about not having murdered anyone.”

  “You know, Penny, I find that fascinating.”

  “Don’t you? I found it fascinating myself. I believe him, oddly enough, but he definitely saw something. I’d like to know what.”

  “Yup. Let’s see if we can calm him down enough to get some reasonable answers out. For now, let’s get him out of here.” I waved Gerring over.

  Gerring took that as his cue and started dragging the man out of the market. I pulled the badge out and waved it around so the onlookers didn’t get the wrong idea. “Move along, folks. Just a thief.”

  People gave the badge a look and then shrugged, returning to their shopping. I followed at Gerring’s heels, ready to lend a hand if he needed it, but he was a pretty strong dude. The thief wasn’t even able to budge him.

  “You did such a good job, Tasha,” Penny crooned to the kitten. “You were so fast in bringing her back. Oh, did you need tummy rubs for that?”

  I glanced back to find the kitten a puddle of purrs and fur, stretched out in the crook of Penny’s arm.

  You know, the problem with having two kittens and lots of friends was that the kittens got all the attention. All. And they could make the rounds between people to ensure the attention never waned. At least I had two of them instead of just one. A single kitten would have been spoiled beyond redemption.

  Not that I had much hope for these two to begin with.

  Shaking my head, I turned my mind back to business. Under normal circumstances, I’d haul our thief straight back to the station and do an interrogation there. But this was as far from normal circumstances as it could possibly get. I’m not even sure I trusted the Deems PD to hold this guy, honestly. As informal as it would look, I considered holding an interrogation for him out here in the parking lot.

  Man, that sounded so wrong.

  Henri caught up with us partway, gasping for breath and so red in the face I was afraid he’d keel over. I caught him up around the waist and towed him with me, reading him in as we walked to the car. He listened and didn’t ask a single question. Didn’t have the breath for it.

  Phil reached over and patted my cheek. “Jamie, Jamie. Sniffy.”

  I darted a glance at him. “What sniffy?”

  “Person sniffy. Man at the door.”

  It took a second for the words to make sense, then my head snapped toward him. “You sure?”

  Henri found the breath to ask, “You only got a whiff of him while he passed us, are you certain?”

  Phil nodded seriously. “Him.”

  Well now. Wasn’t that interesting. “Thanks, Phil. I’ll follow up on that for sure.”

  Henri mostly had his wind back by the time he reached the car. I let go of him at that point, planting my feet and getting comfortable as this might take a while. “Right,” I told the group. “Let’s get some answers. Gerring, if you’ll park him right here, thank you.”

  Gerring put the wereweasel’s back to the side of the car and stayed planted right at his side. We all stood in a half-circle around him, making sure there was no avenue for escape. The thief looked longingly for the open field beyond us, no doubt thinking of a way to run for it.

  I snapped my fingers in front of his nose. “Pay attention here, please. I’m Detective Edwards. You are?”

  He glared at me half-heartedly with round, dark eyes. “Hartley.”

  “Hartley, you’ve been caught with stolen goods out of a crime scene. That doesn’t look good for you.”

  “I didn’t murder them,” he protested in a whine.

  “Let’s say I believe you.” I actually rather did. When a guilty man tried to evade, he either did so by pretending complete innocence, or he had a very good story he tried to sell you on. Whining like a five-year-old was not the usual tactic. “Tell me what happened. Don’t leave a detail out.”

  He sighed, as if he didn’t actually think this would help him. But he opened his mouth and grudgingly answered, “I went in for the job. Heard the place was empty, figured it’d be easy. I came in through the side door, the one near the pool. Barely got it open when I saw a policeman backing in through the door, and he’s got something heavy he’s dragging, a big man. Pretty obvious the man was dead, as he was flopping about without a sound. Well, I couldn’t just stand there and watch, could I?”

  I stared at him hard. A policeman? “You’re sure it was a policeman?”

  “Had the uniform on, the dark blue. No hat, but the rest of it was on. Can’t mistake it for anything else. Don’t ask me who it was, can’t tell you that. Only saw the back of him.”

  “Height? Hair color? Race?” Gerring’s tone suggested he had asked these very questions many, many times before.

  Hartley shrugged in ignorance again. “He was bent in half, almost, I couldn’t see his head from that angle. Or anything much but his backside. I only got a glimpse, I tell you. Didn’t see much but the uniform, and the uniform was enough to tell me to get out of there, and fast.”

  I shared a speaking look with Henri. Assuming the thief wasn’t just spinning us a story, this was very interesting information. And it might explain a lot about how shoddy the investigation was. “Okay, so you decide you’re not sticking around. Then what?”

  “Went back the way I came in, around the front of the house.” Hartley gave a shrug, as if there was nothing else to it.

  Penny gave him a flat, unamused look. “If you never properly entered the house, how did you get your hands on Atwood silverware?”

  “I might have nicked it.” Hartley’s shoulders hunched defensively, and he actively averted his eyes now. The ground had suddenly become fascinating. “There was a truck, see, in the driveway. It had all sorts of things being piled into it, and there was a box of silverware sticking out on the tailgate. I maybe snagged a few things to make it worth my time. It was right there, what was I supposed to do? Ignore it?”

  “If you had ignored it,” Gerring observed dryly, “you wouldn’t be here now, the suspect of a murder case.”

  Hartley’s head whipped back up. “But I told you what happened!”

  “Witnesses lie to us all the time, Hartley,” I answered with false sympathy. “We’re not going to automatically believe you. Now, second question: How did you get past the ward?”

  Hartley abruptly clammed up.

  Clint hopped up, first onto the roof of the car, then slowly made his way around and down onto Hartley’s shoulder. His nose worked a mile a minute, whiskers twitching. Hartley eyed him like he was a viper ready to strike. “What is that? Get it off me!”

  Ignoring him, Clint kept working his way around, claws digging in as he went vertical on Hartley’s chest, his nose toward the ground.

  “Sniffy?” I asked him, sure my crazy cat was doing something. You just never knew with him.

  “Sniffy,” he said, and then his nose dove into the wereweasel’s vest. “Here. Pocket.”

  I lifted Clint back off, letting him sit on my shoulder as Gerring unbuttoned the vest and pulled it open. Hartley was back to being crestfallen as Gerring pulled free a fireman’s badge.

  “Ha!” Henri crowed victoriously. “I knew it had to be one or the other. Where did you get this, Hartley?”

  “Found it,” Hartley muttered, mulish now.

  To me
, it mattered less how he found it. At least we had an answer of how he had breached the wards on so many properties. “Gerring, Penny, can you haul him back to the station and get him processed? I want to finish combing through this place with Henri, see if anything else will pop up. We’ve still got a missing purse to locate, might as well see if it ended up here.”

  “Of course,” Gerring assured me. “Mr. Drummond, could we bother you for a ride?”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Drummond assured him darkly, glaring holes hot enough at the thief it was a wonder Hartley didn’t immediately burst into flames.

  They loaded in, and Henri and I retreated back to the thieves’ market with three cats either walking alongside or riding a shoulder. I liked holding hands with Henri earlier, so I slid my hand back into his as we returned and got a smile from him.

  “What did you think of his story?” Henri asked.

  “I think I believe him. There’s no proof he didn’t go inside the house, since the cleaning charm could have erased his scent, but his story makes sense.”

  “And seeing a murder in progress would certainly stop a thief and force a retreat.” Henri’s brows pulled together. “But did he actually see a policeman? Or someone pretending to be a policeman in case they were spotted near the house?”

  “That is an excellent question. But if it was a policeman, it would explain partially why the investigation was conducted so poorly. Someone might be covering their tracks.”

  “I can’t say the idea hadn’t occurred to me. But why murder them? What would a policeman stand to gain from this?”

  I shook my head. Something else I didn’t have an answer to. “Aren’t witnesses supposed to clear things up?”

  “We seem to be repeatedly exchanging one set of questions for another,” Henri agreed with a sigh that spoke of pure exasperation. “I do wish we’d hit a breakthrough.”