The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  Shackleford grimaced and shrugged.

  “Anything else, Doctor?” Roger asked.

  “Yes. Diet.”

  “He’s overweight?”

  “Under a bit. I need to see his blood work to get a better feel for it, but he needs a bit more protein, perhaps a little less fat. I’d prefer he not load up with unnecessary carbs, but you’re also the cook?”

  Roger nodded. “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Generic advice, but go with whole grains, get a mix of colors in the veg, lean cuts—although he doesn’t need to lose the weight, cholesterol is almost always a concern. Some fatty fish every week.”

  Roger nodded again. “So basic doctor advice.”

  She grinned. “Pretty much.” She looked at Shackleford. “You’re a pretty remarkable man, Mr. Shackleford. I’d like to keep you as a patient for as long as I can.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Shackleford said. “I need to keep going for at least a little longer.” He paused. “I suspect you’ll be pulled into this competency foolishness.”

  “Doctor-patient privilege,” she said. “I can only be compelled to reveal what you allow me to.”

  “That’s the thing,” Shackleford said. “I want you to defend me.”

  “I can attest to your physical health, but if you want my advice, find a psychiatrist or a geriatric physician specializing in dementia.”

  “Do you have any recommendations?” Shackleford asked.

  She pursed her lips. “Possibly.” She gave a quick glance in Roger’s direction before raising an eyebrow at the old man.

  “He knows,” Shackleford said.

  The doctor seemed to relax a bit, her shoulders losing some of the tension. “Let me get the blood work back and see where we are. I’ll make some inquiries.”

  “Fair enough,” Shackleford said.

  The doctor rose as the nurse re-entered the room. “Winnie will show you out. I’ll send that information to your email, Mr. Mulligan. I’m holding you responsible for him.” She smiled at him.

  “I’ll do my best, Doctor,” Roger said.

  “Winnie, show them out and give Mr. Shackleford a callback for six months. We may need to see him sooner, but I’d like to check on his progress then.”

  The nurse nodded. “Of course, Doctor.” She stood aside from the doorway and ushered them into the hall. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

  It took only a few minutes for them to get back to the Bentley. Roger pulled the car out into traffic and headed back for Shackleford House before Shackleford spoke. “Thank you, Mulligan.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. Dr. Littlefield seems quite competent.”

  “More than, Mulligan. Very much more than.” Shackleford cleared his throat and looked out the window. “Any luck on the vehicles?”

  “Midgeley will have something for us by the end of the week. I meant to ask what the procedure is for getting the current vehicles into your warehouse, sir.”

  “We can drive them over,” Shackleford said. “One at a time. I’ll have to go with you to unlock the doors.”

  “Even the MG, sir?”

  Shackleford laughed. “That used to be my car. Technically still is, but I’m not allowed to drive anymore.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Eh, don’t be. I lost too many points for traffic violations and the state took the license away when I was 50.”

  Roger glanced at him in the rearview mirror only to see him nodding at him with a grin on his face.

  “I was young and foolish,” Shackleford said.

  Roger thought about that for a while, finding the Bentley felt less like the Queen Mary as he got used to the size and steering.

  “We could take the Bentley now, if you like,” Shackleford said.

  “Sir?”

  “To the warehouse. We’ve got the car out already. You know where it is?”

  “Roughly, sir.”

  “Let’s take care of this one at least.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Roger adjusted his course a bit and took the northern arterial to the right part of town. He wasn’t sure how they’d get back to the house, but Shackleford didn’t seem bothered by it.

  “What did you think of Dr. Littlefield?” Shackleford asked.

  “She seemed very competent, sir.” He glanced at Shackleford in the mirror again. As usual, the old man stared out at the passing scenery.

  “More than, Mulligan. Quite astonishing, really.”

  Roger let the sigh die in his chest and checked the side mirrors.

  “You’re going to make me exercise, Mulligan?” Shackleford asked.

  “No, sir. I’m going to help you exercise, sir.”

  “You know it’s probably for naught, right?”

  “How so, sir?”

  “Naomi will win and I’ll be tucked away in Aspen.”

  “Vail, sir, but I’m not betting against you.”

  “Not yet, eh?” Shackleford asked.

  “Not ever, sir.”

  Shackleford laughed.

  Roger found the cross-street, turned into the short driveway and stopped at the front gate in the chain-link fence. A ramp beyond it led to a roll-up garage door. “We’re here, sir.”

  Shackleford leaned forward to peer out the windshield. The gate swung to one side and the garage door started rolling up. “You can go in. There should be a place to park on the left.”

  “Yes, sir.” Roger eased the car through the gate and started up the ramp. As he drove into the dimness of the structure, he saw the gate swing shut behind them in his rearview mirror. The ceiling felt low. A series of lights flickered to life as the Bentley made its way down a row of cars. He didn’t get a good look at any of them, but he thought one might have been a Model-A and he definitely spotted what looked like several vehicles from the 20s and 30s with their bug-eyed headlights and flaring fenders. The last car in line looked like something from the 40s. Roger eased up, angling the front of the Bentley toward the opposite wall to get the right position to back in beside it. He guided the car back into the stall and shut it down. The sudden quiet sounded odd.

  “Humber Limousine,” Shackleford said.

  “Sir?” Roger turned to look at him.

  Shackleford nodded at the car next to them. “Humber. My grandfather’s, I think. They used them in the war over there.”

  Roger flashed on Humvee for a moment but blinked the image away. “You’ve got quite a collection here, sir.”

  Shackleford nodded. “Indeed. Take the keys.”

  Roger pulled the keys from the ignition and set the emergency brake. He had no idea how long the car might sit there and hoped it would release when the time came. He got out and walked around to open the door for Shackleford.

  The old man got out and struck off across the aisle, back toward the front of the building. Roger followed along. “There’s a key safe here by the door. You can hang the keys there.” He glanced over. “The tag’s still on them, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As they approached the open door, it began to roll closed with a dull rumble, blocking off the outside brilliance and giving Roger a better look at the vehicles lined up along the row. He swallowed hard as he realized just how much automotive history stood waiting in this place.

  “I’ll get the supervisor to mothball them when we get them all over here. He’ll make sure they’re all in good shape.” Shackleford glanced at Roger. “You thought I might just leave it parked there?”

  Roger shrugged. “It crossed my mind, sir.”

  Shackleford smiled. “I try not to use magic when I can use mechanics.”

  Roger glanced at him but the old man stared straight ahead, a tiny smile playing on his face.

  A huge metal key safe hung on the wall beside the garage door rails, a hooded light over it shining down on the metal cover. Shackleford reached up and flipped the door open, revealing a booklike structure of metal pages with extrusions in rows as hooks. He flipped two pages and pointe
d to the next hook on the row. The top of the page held the word “CARS” stenciled across the top. “Not all of them took keys,” Shackleford said.

  Roger hung the key on the indicated hook and Shackleford swung the safe closed. “One down.”

  Roger glanced around as the old man took off again, heading along the wall toward a person-sized metal door at the corner of the building. As he opened the door the light inside came on and the overheads went out in the garage. A set of concrete stairs led down to the basement and another metal door. The knob turned at Shackleford’s touch, and he led the way into another cellar. Roger closed the door behind himself and stepped into the cellar at Shackleford House. He froze for a moment, then looked at Shackleford’s grinning face.

  “Shocker, eh?” the old man said.

  They’d come out of one of the arches into the cellar’s entry. Roger recognized the flooring and looked toward the arch that held the wine cellar. “I wondered how we were going to get back, sir.”

  Shackleford laughed. “Stout man, Mulligan. Stout man.” He headed for the stairs up to the garage.

  “I didn’t bring the key, sir.”

  Shackleford kept climbing the stairs. “It’s my house, Mulligan. You think there’s a door that won’t open for me?” He reached the top and turned the knob, swinging the door open and stepping out onto the concrete. He turned and smiled.

  Roger followed him into the garage. It felt empty without the Bentley. His footsteps echoed oddly.

  “This where the internet comes in?” Shackleford asked, walking over to the blinking boxes on the wall.

  “Yes, sir. I had the technician run the cable in under the last door down there.”

  Shackleford’s gaze traveled up and along the ceiling. “Nicely done, Mulligan.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  A car door slammed outside the garage.

  “Are we expecting anyone, Mulligan?”

  “Not that I know of, sir.”

  Shackleford frowned and crossed to stand by the door. “I’ll open it. You go out.”

  Roger nodded.

  The door clicked free of its latch and Roger pulled it open, stepping out into the afternoon sun. Naomi’s BMW stood on the tarmac and she stood at the back door, key ring in her hand. “Good afternoon, Ms. Patching. Can I help you?”

  She whirled to face him. “Mulligan. What are you doing out there? Are you the chauffeur now?”

  “And the cook, ma’am. Can I help you?” he asked again.

  “I’ve come to see my uncle.”

  “I’ll see if he’s receiving, ma’am.” Roger pulled the garage door closed behind him and walked toward the house, hoping that Shackleford could open the door for him. He needn’t have worried. As soon as he touched the latch, the door popped open under his hand. He swung it wide for Naomi and ushered her in. He walked her through to the front parlor. “Just one moment, if you’d care to wait?”

  “I would not care to wait, Mulligan. I want to see my uncle and I want to see him now.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I need to check with Mr. Shackleford.” His pager buzzed at his belt. He checked the message. It read “Bring her up.”

  “Mr. Shackleford will see you now,” he said.

  “I should think so.” Naomi stormed out of the parlor and up the stairs, walking fast and ahead of Roger, as if she was racing him to the library. She got to the door first and swung it open, entering the room without being announced and leaving Roger to follow after. “Uncle.”

  “Mildred?” Shackleford asked. “Mildred? What a surprise. I thought you were still on the continent. How was Paris?”

  “Uncle Perry? It’s me, Naomi.” She crossed to his wheelchair and crouched beside it, hand on the arm. “Uncle?”

  Shackleford blinked and shook his head. “Naomi? You can’t be Naomi. She’s just a girl.”

  Naomi stood, a triumphant smile on her face. “I’m so sorry, Uncle.”

  “Perkins,” Shackleford said.

  “Here, sir.” Roger took a step forward.

  “Tea, Perkins.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mulligan,” Naomi said. “I won’t be staying.”

  “Of course, you’ll stay, Mildred,” Shackleford said. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You haven’t told me how you found Paris. Please, sit. Keep an old man company.”

  Naomi shook her head and left the library, her sharp heels tapping on the wooden floors.

  “I’ll be right back, sir,” Roger said, following her out. He caught up to her at the back door, holding it for her as she left.

  “He needs to get a physical, Mulligan.”

  “He’s had one. Dr. Littlefield will send you a copy of her report.”

  She stopped, midstride. “He what?”

  “He’s had a physical exam. I have some exercise and diet recommendations from his doctor, ma’am.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I’m not privy to the results beyond some small details, ma’am. I suggest you wait for the doctor’s report.”

  “What did she say about his dementia?”

  “She recommended he see a specialist in geriatrics. She is making some inquiries among her colleagues, ma’am.”

  Naomi’s predatory smile raised unpleasant associations in Roger’s mind. “Thank you, Mulligan.”

  “Your key won’t work, ma’am,” Roger said. “I had the locks changed.”

  “I know that, Mulligan.”

  “Very well, ma’am. Good afternoon, Ms. Patching.”

  She turned on her heel and strode to her car, giving him one last grin before sliding in and rolling away.

  He closed the door and threw the deadbolt before going back to the library. “She’s gone, sir.”

  “Nicely done, Mulligan.”

  “Thank you, sir. Is there anything I can get you, sir?”

  Shackleford stood and crossed to the rolltop, sliding it up and turning the key on his computer. “A cup of coffee and perhaps a cookie if there are any in the pantry?”

  “I’ll see, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mulligan.” The old man looked back at Roger over his shoulder. “Seriously. Thank you.”

  Roger gave his butler bow. “It’s my pleasure, sir.” As he left the library he realized that it was true.

  * * *

  Midgeley—good as his word—rang the back doorbell just after lunch the next day. When Roger opened the door, a bulky guy, made larger by a tweed coat and heavy woolen pants, stuck out a blocky hand. “Mulligan?” Certainly overdressed for an autumn afternoon, but he seemed unaffected by the warm sun. A dark blue Prius waited on the tarmac.

  Roger shook the hand and nodded. “Mr. Midgeley, I presume.”

  The man beamed and nodded. “In the flesh.” He turned and waved a hand at the car. “What d’ya think?”

  “A Prius, sir?”

  Midgeley nodded. “You’re looking for something inconspicuous? Small enough to run errands in? Cheap enough that you’re not gonna feel bad if it gets hit or scratched?” He shrugged. “There ya go. Hatchback for groceries. Hybrid. Probably run all year on a tank of gas.”

  Roger nodded and walked out to look the vehicle over. “New?” he asked.

  Midgeley shook his head. “This year’s model, but used. Got it from a college student. Was a gift from his parents but he didn’t like the looks he got when he drove it on campus.”

  Roger looked at Midgeley. “Really?”

  “Ya have ta admit,” Midgeley said. “It’s not exactly a panty-dropper.” He shrugged. “He traded it for an older Mustang. Key’s in it if you want to take it for a spin.”

  Roger shook his head. “Not necessary, Mr. Midgeley.”

  “You sure?” Midgeley looked almost offended.

  “It’s perfect, sir. Small, economical, and—as you pointed out—cheap.” He eyed the vehicle. “Well, cheaper than anything in the garage at the moment. I trust your judgment on the fitness of the vehicle.�
��

  Midgeley nodded. “All right then.” He opened the driver’s door and pulled the key fob, tossing it to Roger. “It’s yours. We’ll settle the paperwork when I bring the sedan next week.”

  Roger caught the fob. “Thank you, Mr. Midgeley.”

  Midgeley grinned and gave him a jaunty two-finger salute. “Appreciate the business, Mr. Mulligan. Have fun with it.” He struck off down the tarmac and jumped into a car waiting at the curb. It rolled away, leaving Roger standing there with the key fob. He looked at it for a moment, realizing that he didn’t really know how to deal with keyless entry. He pressed the lock button and went back to the house to get the garage door key—and to see if he could find a video online.

  How hard could it be?

  The phone rang as he walked back through the house, interrupting his plans.

  “Shackleford House.”

  “Mr. Mulligan? I’m Winnie, Dr. Littlefield’s assistant.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please hold for Dr. Littlefield.”

  “Of course.”

  The line clicked and Dr. Littlefield came on the line. “Mr. Mulligan. I have a referral for Mr. Shackleford. One of my colleagues specializes in dementia and he’s an expert witness on the topic. I can give you his information.”

  Roger pulled out his pen and notebook. “I’m ready, Doctor.”

  She gave him the name—Dr. Edgar Cuttle—and a number. “His office should be calling you within the next couple of days to set up an appointment,” she said.

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll wait for the call.” He hung up the phone and took some small satisfaction from having thwarted Naomi Patching, if only for a little while.

  Chapter 11

  Before the end of the week, Roger drove the other two vehicles to the warehouse in the company of Shackleford. The old guy grinned like a boy all the way there in the MG, even when Roger fumbled the shift. He had to admit, the low-slung vehicle made him happy as well. Something about the old car, the rag top, and the closeness of the road. Still he was glad to have it parked safely in the dimness and away from harm.