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

by Honor Raconteur

  I wrinkled my nose in aggravation. “Sooner rather than later. Well, let’s go see what else is hot in here.”

  By the time we returned to the hotel, my partner was in high spirits. Jamie had enjoyed herself immensely and it showed in the high color in her cheeks and the bounce in her stride. I myself felt foot sore and in dire need of a meal that didn’t contain either sugar or grease, but I was also satisfied with today’s results. We’d gained a clue and found many stolen items in the process. A fine turnout indeed, although the purse was still missing..

  I spied both Weber and Seaton in the dining room, tucking into a fine meal with gusto. I changed my destination from my room to their table, pausing a waiter on the way to place an order for myself. Seaton saw me first and waved, gesturing for me to join him. I did so, moving Phil from my shoulder to my lap as I moved.

  Yes, my feline companion was still with me.

  “How did it go today?” Seaton asked before taking a sip from his glass. “I saw McSparrin and Gerring bring someone in, but I didn’t have a chance to ask what that was about.”

  “A thief,” I answered as I poured myself a glass of water from the ceramic pitcher at the table. “Gerring and McSparrin caught him red-handed at the market selling some of the Atwoods’ silverware. Not our murderer, though, but I think a witness. The man who approached via the pool door but never entered the house.”

  Seaton’s eyes lit up in understanding. “Ah, him. You believe him?”

  “I do, I think. Phil said he was the smell we noticed at the door.”

  “Was,” Phil maintained.

  I gave him a pet, as I knew he was quite proud of finding the owner of the scent. He purred under my hand. “Weber, what results do you have?”

  Weber dabbed at his lips with a napkin before speaking. “Some interesting results, actually. I’m quite glad Seaton was with me today. He helped speed the process along. Magic is deucedly handy in cases like this. Should I tell you now or wait for Edwards?”

  “I’m sure she’ll have questions. She acquired a painting at the market and went to put it in her room. She’ll be down shortly.” Although I was anxious to hear what Weber had found, I made myself wait.

  Fortunately, Jamie joined us quickly, shuffling two cats into a chair nearby, which was the smarter move. I doubted I could budge Phil off my thighs at this point. He looked far too pleased with his perch.

  “Did you start without me?” Jamie asked as she settled in the chair next to mine.

  “Only in regard to the meal,” Seaton assured her. “Weber, if you’ll do the honors?”

  Weber took a sip from his glass before speaking, turning to face both of us. “First of all, this was definitely premeditated. Both the Atwoods were drugged with Axphorilil. It’s medically used for patients with terrible muscle cramps, usually caused by fits, but the wrong dosage can cause grievous side effects. Frankly, if you don’t need it, the drug relaxes your body to the point that it arrests all voluntary movement.”

  “Like a date-rape drug,” Jamie murmured under her breath. “And in this case, was it given to make the Atwoods compliant?”

  “That would be my guess. This form is gaseous, so inhaling a strong scent of it would do the trick. I found strong traces of it around their nose and mouth, so I think they were ambushed from behind and dosed with a saturated handkerchief.” Weber grimaced, a moue of distaste pulling at his mouth. “Can you imagine, being cowardly enough to ambush two people in their seventies? Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “And mine,” Seaton agreed, making a similar expression.

  My mind supplied a likely scenario and I didn’t want to imagine it, but I could, too easily. They would have been entirely too easy to drug, their reflexes not spry enough to help them evade their attacker.

  Weber continued. “In Mr. Atwood’s case, I’m not entirely sure of cause of death, to be honest with you. I think it was a combination of the drug and physical force. He died from asphyxiation, which isn’t something this drug is known for. I believe he was face down after it was administered, and with the weight against his lungs, he lost all ability to breathe. He died rather easily. Mrs. Atwood seemed to have fought off the effects of the drug better, but she wasn’t in any position to put up a fight with her attacker. Her death was completely by strangulation.”

  It pained me to hear this. That someone hated two people—who had only ever been loving and kind to me—so much that they could look them in the face and kill them…. Strangulation wasn’t a quick method, not like they made it seem in the novels. It took at least eight minutes of consistent pressure to strangle someone to death. Anything less than dedicated pressure would simply knock someone unconscious and leave them with a bruised throat.

  “Premeditated, then.” Jamie tapped a finger against the table, thinking hard. “And the binding charm used?”

  “To hold them in position against the chairs,” Seaton supplied smoothly, returning to his meal. Although his expression remained angry, as if he burned cold on some internal level. “Interesting thing to note, however, there were traces of chaffing around their ankles and wrists.”

  “I think they were physically bound first,” Weber seconded with a nod. “Why, I’m not sure. But I don’t think the charms were something first thought of. The Atwoods were drugged, physically bound, and then it was as if the murderer changed the game plan. I don’t see why you’d use physical restraints when you had a binding charm of any sort on hand.”

  “It does seem odd, doesn’t it?” I remarked slowly, working this out in my mind. “Almost counterintuitive.”

  “Precisely.” Shrugging, Weber summed up, “The only other thing I can tell you is that they were both dead about fourteen hours before they were discovered. My guesstimate is sometime around 7 o’clock the previous evening was when they were murdered.”

  “That helps with the timeline.” Jamie gave him a nod of thanks. “Weber, you seriously earned your pay. I know it was a bear to get out here, so thank you.”

  “As much of a trial as it was to come, I’m heartily glad I did. I’ll work on a report of the Deems PD while riding back to Kingston.” Weber’s mouth curled up in a grin so evil that it reminded me of my loving partner when she contemplated mischief. “I just have so much to say about their general attitude and work ethic.”

  “Oh, we’re all writing reports on this place,” Seaton assured him with the same evil smile. “I’ll make sure they’re all filed and read by the correct people, too.”

  Reminded of an earlier request, I inquired of Weber, “If you’re done with the examinations, can we release the bodies to the family? The Atwoods aren’t sure how to plan a funeral at this point.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m done. There’s not anything more to learn from them, really. I can submit a form to that effect tonight, so the bodies should be available tomorrow. Actually, Davenforth, if I fill out the form, can you submit it for me? It’ll save me another trip in.”

  “Of course, I’d be glad to.” And I meant that. Burying their parents properly would help with the grieving process.

  My dinner finally arrived, as did Jamie’s. Since Seaton and Weber were done with their meals, they went off on their own pursuits. Jamie and I ate quietly without much spoken between us. It was one of the aspects of her I enjoyed, that she could let silence be when the mood called for it. After such a busy, hectic day, I wanted a slice of peace.

  She finished before I did and turned in her chair, regarding me in that manner she had, as if she could see right through the front of my skull and read every thought. Then she smiled, a gentle and affectionate expression, and offered, “Why don’t I call the Atwoods and tell them their parents’ bodies will be released tomorrow?”

  I breathed out a small sigh of relief. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Well, I know how you introverts feel about phone calls.” Her eyes crinkled up in a silent laugh before she bussed me on the forehead, gathered up Felixes, and left.

  I couldn’t
very well argue the point. I did rather loathe phone calls. We truly needed to get these texting pads to the point they became commonplace items in every household. That way we could write messages to each other and skip this talking business. Of course, that meant finding the time to improve the product, and time was never something I had in abundance.

  And there was one phone call I needed to place this evening that Jamie couldn’t do for me. Sighing in resignation, I made my way out of the dining room and into the lobby to the phone rooms. Slipping into one of the booths, I picked up the receiver and dialed for an operator. “Cromwell residence, Deems.”

  “Please hold,” a light tenor voice answered crisply.

  I’d try there first, then Kingston if they didn’t answer. The phone rang three times before someone answered in a gravelly tone, “This is the Cromwell residence.”

  “Hello, this is Henri Davenforth. I wonder if I may speak with either Julia or Graem Cromwell?”

  “Of course, please hold.”

  I waited semi-impatiently for someone to come to the phone. It was picked up again a few minutes later, a breathless female voice I knew well from my childhood days. “Henri Davenforth, how are you! I swear it’s been a tree’s age since I’ve last seen you.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Cromwell. I’m well, thank you. And it has been a while since I’ve seen you and your family. Work has kept me quite busy.”

  “Yes, your mother said you were now working as a detective instead of a magical examiner?”

  “I’m doing both, in fact. My partner and I focus more on the magically-related crimes. At least, usually. In fact, I’m calling about a business matter. I’m in Deems working a case, and in the process, I stumbled across something of yours.”

  She gasped. “Elise’s painting! You found it, didn’t you?”

  “I did. It’s safely in my possession. I assume you want it back?”

  “You clever man, I do adore you. We’ve been worried about how to get it back. Wherever did you find it?”

  “The Open Market.”

  “Ohh, that irritates me.” She did sound quite vexed. “We’ve checked there the past month and it wasn’t to be found. The one weekend I don’t go, of course it shows up. Well, Henri, I think I owe you dinner, at the very least, for rescuing something of mine. You said you’re in Deems working a case?”

  “Yes, we’re here to investigate the Atwood murders.”

  “I heard of that. Perfectly dreadful, not to mention frightening. It happened right down the street from us. Well, we’re hosting a dinner party tomorrow night. If you’re still here, do come—you and your partner. I’m quite curious to meet her.”

  Did I truly want to go to a dinner party? With such close friends of the family, I didn’t see a good way to duck the invitation. “Yes, of course. Six o’clock?”

  “That will be fine. Ohh, I’m so excited! I’d given up hope of getting that painting back. Thank you so much, Henri. I’ll see you and your partner tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you then.” I hung up, resigned to being social. What was that phrase of Jamie’s? Something about good deeds and punishment.

  Well, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. At the very least, doing a good turn would hopefully bring me luck in return. And heavens knew I needed all I could get.

  I stepped out of the phone room and spied Jamie coming out of the adjacent room. She stopped halfway and turned to me, head canted in question. “I take it they’re happy about the painting?”

  Of course she’d heard something with her keen hearing and these thin walls. “Yes, quite so. We’re invited to dinner tomorrow night as thanks.”

  “We being…you and I?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Cromwell wants to meet you too.”

  “Ahhh. Well, that’s fine. I did bring a dress, just in case.”

  Something I hadn’t considered, but now that she brought it up, that was good planning. “And Irvine?”

  “I couldn’t reach him, but I spoke with Ruthe. She’s very excited we found a witness and thankful they can plan a funeral properly now.” She sighed, looking tired. “I really hope we can figure this out, Henri. For their sakes.”

  I took her hand and squeezed it. “So do I, my dear. So do I.”

  My dearest Jamie –

  I hope this letter doesn’t come as a surprise to you. Try as I might, I cannot seem to find the right timing in confessing my feelings for you. I thought, perhaps, a letter

  In the past several months, I have felt my heart change. When we speak, even with the most of innocent of touches Deities, that makes me sound a pervert.

  I wish to reach out to you, most ardently. I feel that much between us is not said. And that what is meant, but not said, great magic I’m not even making sense anymore.

  What I feel for you has no mind or logic, but intensity that sometimes clenches my heart inside of my chest. At moments, I can barely breathe from the feeling.

  I am –out of ideas and words and why is this is so bloody difficult?

  Somehow, we always ended up around a table with boxes and boxes of files in front of us. I normally mourned not having a computer or my beloved Excel spreadsheets on those days, but today wasn’t the usual. This was more reading intensive than list-checking, which meant a different sort of headache.

  Not for the first time, I wished the murder case files had been something of a lead for us. Linking up MO’s was a hobby of mine. But every case they’d pulled was, at best, about three pages long. There was such little information to go off of that absolutely no part of it was usable. Our own case now was a prime example. If you looked at just the report, you’d not think there was anything unique about it.

  The murder files were a lost cause. Hopefully this wasn’t a serial killer—the town would surely be talking about it if it was. But that left us with legal cases.

  Someone shoot me. Put me out of my misery. Please? I might be conversational in Velars at this point. But I was not conversational in Velars legalese. And I thought Earth’s version of law-speak was bad. This bordered on insane with a pinch of anal-retentive for spice.

  We each had a file, except for Weber, of course. He was already on the train back to Kingston and probably writing a very pointed, sharply worded report on the way. I’d be doing the same on the way back, I had no doubt. My cats had all found a sunny spot in front of the window, which we had open to let fresh air into the room. They were sprawled out like the furballs they were, bellies up and looking entirely too comfortable. I didn’t begrudge them the break. They were fueled from light, after all, and topping off the fuel tank was a good idea for them. Besides, they’d been working hard this whole time.

  Fine, I might be a bit jealous they got naps and I didn’t.

  Sighing, I returned my attention to the court record in my hand. We’d been at this most of the morning now, and we were probably halfway through all the court records sent to us. No wonder the solicitor had taken a few days. It was a lot to go through. And to think, this was only from the past five years. Everyone kept saying the Atwoods were generous, loving people. I believed them, but wow, were they sue-happy.

  Penny stood and crossed to the blackboard the hotel had very helpfully acquired and rolled in for us. She added yet a sixth name onto the list with a date and then a succinct reason—breach of contract, imported car damaged in shipping.

  I stared at those words and felt my brain tilt a little. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but usually when something is damaged in shipping, doesn’t the company just replace it? Or fix it?”

  Penny turned and gave me a shrug. “You’re right. In this case, the argument was that the car was custom made just for the Atwoods. If another was made, it wouldn’t be as unique, since there would be two of them. And parts for it would be impossible to find, so fixing it wasn’t feasible. They argued that the packaging methods for shipping it were insufficient and that’s what led to the damages. Funny part is, they still kept the car. Took it to a different manufacturer, who fabricated parts to
fix it.”

  “So, he got a car for free. Basically.” I rolled my eyes. “Wow, that seems to be a common theme. First his country house, now his car. What else?”

  “How about his wife’s purse?” Gerring lifted the thick file in his hand and waved it in illustration.

  “Get out, are you serious?” I eyed the thick file and felt my brain cramp a little more. How do you get that much paperwork over a purse?

  Gerring’s expression said he was just as flabbergasted as I was. “Believe it or not, yes. They hired a company to make a completely unique purse for Mrs. Atwood. It was supposed to be an exact size, something she could put a novel in plus her cosmetics or whatever women like to carry in their purses.”

  “That would be everything,” Penny informed him dryly.

  “Well, in this case they didn’t get the size right. It was a bit too short, and she couldn’t put a book in there and close the clasp. Plus, when they investigated, the company had actually taken the base design of another purse and used it to make hers, so it wasn’t completely unique, either. They went back and forth for months on this but in the end, the Atwoods won. The judge awarded both damages and the purse, so it was a significant financial blow to the company.”

  I waved him toward the board. “Hard to imagine a double homicide over a purse, but add it on. People can be petty, and if it cost them that much money, it might have pushed someone over the edge. Wait, is there a description or picture of that purse?”

  “There is.” Fishing it out of the file, he handed it over to me.

  I took one look and snorted in dark amusement. “Of course it is. Henri, it’s the missing purse.”

  Henri stopped reading and leaned in, his shoulder touching mine so he could get a look. “Black embossed with a gold clasp. Certainly matches the description, doesn’t it?”

  “That it does. So, she sued over it, but still used it.” Wooow. I didn’t want to say anything aloud, as these people had been friends to both Sherard and Henri, but really? Suing someone because you weren’t happy with it and then using it anyway? That was tantamount to theft, in my book. They must have had an exceptional lawyer to get by with these shenanigans.