The Murder Prophet

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  Interesting. How closely involved in the research had she been, and did her talent as a Mancer contribute to the marriage breakup? It always seemed to me that it could be uncomfortable being in a relationship with a Seer. I mean, how much fun is it to argue if you always know who's going to win ahead of time?

  For that matter, how much fun would it be to be in a relationship with someone who always knew when you were lying? I'd found out the hard way that for a lot of people the answer to that question was, "not much."

  I put that thought, and Clarice's file, away. I toyed briefly with the notion of going out somewhere just to be rebellious, but I'd promised Glaive—and the bed was far too comfortable to get out of it without an awfully compelling reason. Once I put the light out, sleep came swiftly. I breakfasted alone the next morning since Glaive didn't put in an appearance until it was time to catch the boat over to Clarice's island. I wasn't sure if he was piqued at me about last night, or worn out from his own activities, whatever they'd been. He wore a black t-shirt in deference to the heat, and matching dark circles under his eyes. He didn't say much, although he seemed to be in a good mood, and I wondered briefly how late he'd been out, but didn't dare ask.

  We walked the short distance to the dock where Glaive had arranged for a boat to ferry us over to Clarice's island. It was a small, clean centre-console craft with a cheerful owner who introduced himself as Maru. He and Glaive spent the pleasant ride out to the island discussing the boat's specs. I spent the time musing that at least here, no-one was following me.

  Clarice Valencia's island was an oval, tree-dotted paradise, the requisite white sand beach on one side sloping down into the turquoise waves. The house, fully glass-fronted to take advantage of the view, perched atop a small hill, and a winding path that looked just wide enough for something like a golf cart led up to it. A pale board dock extended out into the water and our boatman fetched up at it expertly.

  Clarice Valencia did not come down to the dock to meet us, even though we were expected. She didn't come to door when we pulled up in front of her palatial home in the well-appointed and predictable golf cart she'd sent to meet us. In fact, she didn't come into the house or even get up off her chaise longue. Maybe, on reflection, it had been the housekeeper who sent the golf cart. A maid led us out to the poolside where Clarice lounged in a violet two-piece bathing suit that showed off her excellently preserved body to good effect.

  She did deign to pull her designer sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and gaze up at us over the tops of them. Her eyes were a washed-out grey, but they were the only thing about her that verged on colorless. Her hair was an artful mix of dark and light blond highlights, with a shot of pure color, midnight blue, defining one chunk on the left side. Her skin was light bronze, even and taut. She gave me only a cursory glance, but gave Glaive a predatory once-over. I wondered if he noticed, and if so, if he minded. At any rate, she got the first word in.

  "I don't really know what I could tell you about Aleshu," she drawled, as if we amused her. "We've been divorced for quite a while, now."

  "We know that, ma'am," Glaive said smoothly. I couldn't tell if he was impressed with her bikini—or what was in it—or not. "We don't know what the motivation for this threat might be, so it could date back any length of time—to when you were together, or even before. We're just looking for any information that might help."

  She pushed her glasses into place on her perfect nose and wriggled a bit on the lounger. "Well, you might as well both sit down, at least. I'll have Marguerite bring you some drinks." She pushed a button on the table beside her and requested the drinks cart.

  Glaive and I pulled up two vacant beach chairs, and while we awaited the drinks I asked her, "Have you spoken with your ex-husband lately?"

  She shook her head. "No, we don't really talk," she said with an enigmatic smile.

  Marguerite arrived with the drinks. I accepted a small glass of wine and Glaive had lemon iced tea. Clarice had something pale pink and bubbly, complete with a red paper parasol and a thin slice of lime perched on the rim.

  "Do you still receive support payments from him?" Glaive asked.

  "No. We had a lump sum settlement. He's never had to make monthly payments." She nodded, seemingly to herself. "I thought I'd prefer it that way, a clean break as far as the money was concerned, and I was right. It was much better to have those messy details out of the way."

  I'd taken my Maginox® after breakfast, so I didn't hesitate to apply a little Mancer talent. Her answer held the hint of a lie. Maybe she wasn't entirely happy with the financial outcome of the divorce, despite apparently having enough cash to fund an enviable lifestyle. "Do you know of anyone who would want to harm your ex-husband?"

  She laughed then, displaying bright, perfect, white teeth. "I doubt that Aleshu has gone through life without making anyone dislike him," she said. "For a while I hated him, but I got over that long ago. I'm sure his first wife hated him, too, at least for a while. She certainly stuck it to him financially when they divorced. And there are lots of ways to make enemies when you're in a business as big as he is." She paused for a moment and then shook her head. "But no, honestly, I can't think of anyone in particular who'd want Aleshu dead."

  "You don't see him at all, then?" I pressed, trying to follow up my first question.

  "I've seen him in the media from time to time, but I know that's not what you're really asking." She smiled that sphinx-like smile again. "I haven't actually seen him since the divorce was finalized."

  Having seen that smile twice, I wondered what it meant, so I turned on the magic. The reading was weird. It said she was lying, but it also said she wasn't lying. I kept my face still, but I didn't know what it meant. I was sure she was doing it deliberately. I wondered if there was any way she might know what my talent was, and was playing with me. I decided I'd check every word she said now, although it was almost certain to trigger the Maginox® headache even quicker than usual.

  Glaive, however, had picked up on something else she'd said. "What do you mean about his first wife? The financial end of it, I mean."

  Clarice shrugged elegantly. "It wasn't enough for her to take a money settlement; she wanted a part of the company, too. Her lawyer claimed she'd supported Aleshu during the years he was building it up, and in the end the judge said she had a right to shares in MageData. Aleshu was wild. Nothing he could do about it, though."

  "Does she still have those shares? How big an interest in the company did she get?" Glaive tried to make the questions sound casual, but I knew by the way he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, head thrust out like a dog catching a scent, that he thought this was important.

  "I have no idea," Clarice said, sipping from her drink with studied nonchalance before she answered. "But I certainly learned from her mistake. When Aleshu and I split up, I was happy to take a reasonable payment and walk away clean."

  Sure you were, I thought. My magic suggested that she hadn't been at all happy about that. No doubt it was Coro who had learned his lesson and insisted on a pre-nuptial agreement with Clarice, taking MageData off the table if things didn't work out.

  "Do you know if she tried to take an active part in the company after the divorce?" Glaive pressed.

  "Well, she stopped working there around that time." Clarice's dark glasses still masked her eyes, but a note of irritation crept into her voice. "Then she went to board meetings for a while. I know that, because Aleshu would be terribly frustrated when he came home from them."

  "They fought about things?"

  She readjusted the brim of her hat and rearranged herself languidly on the chaise. "I suppose. She wanted to take the company in a different direction, or something. Change the focus of the research end, put resources into helping more people actually use their magic abilities. Eliminate the need for Maginox®, or find a better drug, one with fewer side effects." She shook her head. "Look, it didn't last long. She didn't have the support of the board. Eventually she move
d away, and frankly, I was happy to see her go."

  Well, according to my magic, that was the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I felt the first twinges of the expected Maginox® headache coming on, though.

  "I don't know why you care at this point," she continued, her carefully bored monotone finally cracking to let annoyance through. "It's ancient history."

  "The people who've been killed aren't ancient history. Neither is the message your ex-husband got," Glaive said.

  Clarice snorted. "I doubt it came from her. She's too scattered to come up with something like that. She used to come up with these wildly elaborate ideas, but she had no practical planning skills. I heard she took up painting, and she's pretty good at it. That's more her style. I don't think she had a head for business, or much magic to speak of. Honestly, I always thought she didn't have the brains of a goose."

  I was suddenly glad that Trip wasn't with us. The last thing we needed was him demonstrating his killer moves on Coro's ex-wife.

  "Well, thank you for your time, Ms. Valencia," Glaive said smoothly, standing. We obviously weren't going to get much more from her. I stood up, too.

  "If we need anything else, we'll contact you," he added, since she wasn't volunteering. She nodded, but her body language said that she didn't give a damn one way or the other.

  I wished I could think of something pithy to say, but my brain wasn't doing pith at the moment, so I merely echoed Glaive's thanks and said goodbye. The maid who'd ushered us in appeared as if by magic of her own to escort us out.

  Glaive waited until we were outside the mansion before asking me, "What did you think of that? Think the first wife needs a close look when Kiku tracks her down?"

  "Maybe." I watched the driver with the golf cart approach. "If she's still a shareholder, she might have something to gain if he were dead," I said, squinting against the bright sun. The water threw it back in diamond sparks that stabbed into my eyes, and there was so much water there was no escaping it. "But I have a wicked Maginox® headache coming on right now, and I don't want to have to concentrate on anything else until we're across this water and back on dry land again, okay?"

  Glaive raised his eyebrows but said okay, and I kept my eyes closed as we jostled down to the dock and putted back across the channel, not even trying to untangle the twisted skein of truth and lies Clarice Valencia had handed me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Two Aspirins and a Shot of Sprakele

  I drank two glasses of water while I changed for dinner, and it took the edge off the headache. Glaive and I met up again in the hotel restaurant. It was quieter tonight, and as I contemplated the tall, cool glass of sprakele on the table in front of me, I felt ready to consider what Clarice Valencia had told us.

  "I called Kiku," Glaive said. "She traced Evangeline Coro to London, but she hasn't been able to pin down an address or specific contact username yet. I told her to get the shareholder information for MageData and see if Evangeline's still listed."

  "She could have divested those shares ages ago."

  "Sure, but what if she didn't?" Glaive said, picking up a menu. "If she had enough shares, she might be able to influence the board of directors if Coro was out of the way."

  "But his shares would just go to someone else if he died," I said, opening a menu myself. It had changed since last night. The first thing listed was kakoda (raw fish marinated in lemon juice) and ota (a local seaweed). I closed the menu for a moment and signalled the waiter to bring another sprakele. I had a feeling I might need it. I took a healthy sip of the first one and enjoyed a pleasant shiver as it tingled its way down my throat.

  "Yes, but if Evangeline knows other shareholders or some of the directors, she might be able to influence a majority of them. Some of them might switch their allegiance to her if Coro were gone. Some might sell out to her."

  I shook my head. "Okay, but why? She hasn't appeared to have any interest in the company all these years. Why now? What would she even be trying to influence them about? Could she still want MageData to become a different kind of company?"

  Glaive shrugged. "We'll have to wait until Kiku finds out more to be able to answer those questions. But I wouldn't be surprised if it just comes down to money in the end."

  On that cheery note he went back to his menu, and decided to order the prime rib and cassava balls for dinner. I sipped sprakele while I perused all the choices this time, smoothly avoided the seafood and went with chicken fricassee and green pawpaw salad.

  While we waited for the food to arrive he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "If you're talking to LemurCandy later he might know something. I'll bet Kiku will get him to run a check on Evangeline. And when we get back, if Kiku hasn't beat us to it, we'll go see Aleshu Coro. He might be able to tell us something."

  "Why do you think he didn't mention Evangeline owning shares in the company?"

  Glaive shrugged. "Like you said, maybe she doesn't even have them anymore. Or for whatever reason, they're just not an issue."

  "Yeah." I contemplated my two empty sprakele glasses in mild surprise, and signalled for another. "I guess we can't really figure out anything until we know more."

  "You get anything else from what Clarice said?" Glaive asked.

  I frowned. "There was a lot of stuff going on with her. Truth, lies, all kind of mixed up together." My drink arrived and I took a soothing gulp. "I think she wash...was lying about talking to Coro, but..." I shook my head, then closed my eyes since the head-shaking had made the room slosh around rather alarmingly. When I opened them, Glaive was staring at me with a strange expression on his face. "I can't sort it out right now," I said. "I think I'm having a worse reaction than ushu...usual to the Maginox®."

  Glaive raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, the Maginox®, I'm sure that's it."

  I sat up straighter in my chair. "You can't always predict how it will affect you."

  "Right."

  I thought Glaive looked too serious, so I tried to talk him into having a sprakele too, but he wouldn't hear of it. I know it's not exactly a manly drink, but I was thinking this case had been difficult for him so far. No one to beat up yet, much less kill, like in the old days. It had to be a strain on him. In the end he agreed to a beer, but I suspected that maybe he'd had his fill of those the night before, because he didn't seem to enjoy it all that much. We stopped talking about Clarice because of my headache.

  Meanwhile, dinner arrived and I drank the third (and maybe a fourth) sprakele while we ate, and barely made it up to my room before I collapsed. Luckily, it was on the bed. My third-last thought before passing out was that like everything else, magic made things both easier and more difficult. Magic drinks could get you drunk without getting you addicted, but they worked so fast they took all the fun out of it. Especially when you'd been a good Mancer and taken your Maginox® as directed.

  My second-last thought was that this trip would have been a lot more fun if LemurCandy had been here with me instead of stuffy old Glaive. It could have been a romantic paradise instead of just a work stopover.

  My last thought was that LemurCandy was going to be mad that I hadn't contacted him like I promised, but before I could get back out of bed to send him a message, I was asleep.

  ***

  If he was mad he didn't show it, possibly because Glaive had contacted him and asked him to run the search on Clarice Valencia. It seemed Glaive had also let something slip about the way I couldn't hold my sprakele, because there was a message on my screen when I opened it up in the morning that said, "Two aspirins washed down with an ounce of sprakele does wonders for a hangover."

  "Very funny," I muttered as I checked my other mail. I didn't have a hangover, anyway. Well, not exactly. The sun seemed awfully bright again, but we were in Fiji, right? I'll bet a lot of people think the same thing.

  Our flight back home wasn't until just after noon, so we spent a busy morning making the rounds of the local police department, magic Registry, and a couple
of spots that looked likely for local gossip, but we discovered nothing out of the ordinary about Clarice. Except that she really did seem to have the money to live the way she did. No legal troubles, no staffing troubles, no community troubles. It looked like she'd just figured out what she wanted to do with her life and had the means to do it.

  Now I really hated her, and it wasn't just for giving me a headache.

  We flew home, feeling like we'd wasted Saga and Anna's money. There was still the matter of following up with a visit to Coro, but neither of us expected it would amount to anything. Maybe because we felt guilty, we dropped off my bags and swung by Coro's office before we went back to our own. I downed a couple more Maginox® on the way. Might as well be able to make a full report, and headaches be damned.

  MageData occupied its own stately high-rise in the industrial park on the outskirts of the city. The architect had avoided the tackier full-on medieval theme that some magic-related businesses went in for, and instead settled on a facade of concrete and glass that just hinted that somewhere in its ancestry, there might have been a castle.

  Inside, the lobby was modern and spacious, dotted with elegant waiting chairs clustered around low tables, and punctuated by lush greenery. A bank of elevators ranged along the back wall, guarded by a semi-circular reception desk that somehow managed to look both welcoming and imposing. The auburn-haired receptionist was as thin, stylish, and perfectly-made-up as Kikufaax, and I was suddenly very aware that I'd just spent hours sitting, dozing, and fidgeting on an airplane.