The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  When Fidelia presented herself to the ER desk, the attendant took one look at her, the documentation, then nodded. “Is one of you Mulligan?”

  Roger raised a hand. “That’s me.”

  “He’s been asking for you,” she said. “Waiting room right around the corner. I’ll let them know you’re here.” She waved a hand and smiled.

  “Wanna bet the front desk called ahead?” Rexwood asked, leading the way around to a large waiting room with comfortable chairs filled with anxious-looking people staring at the newcomers.

  Fidelia shook her head. “No bet.” She sighed. “Now I feel bad.”

  Rexwood patted her arm. “If he’s asking for Mr. Mulligan, that’s a lot better than the last time we saw him.”

  They found two seats together and Roger stood nearby. Rexwood tried to get him to take her seat but he shook his head. “In theory, they’ll be coming for me shortly, ma’am.”

  Roger’s suit attracted a lot of attention and he felt a bit self-conscious in it for the first time. It had become second nature to him to wear it much as his fatigues had been. He let the day’s events replay in his mind while he waited, feeling the weight of the necklace around his neck and resting on his chest under his shirt. It didn’t feel as bulky as he first thought it was. He pulled out his notebook and made a reminder to call Barbara Griffin to let her know the latest news as soon as he returned from seeing Shackleford, but then had a better idea and leaned forward to speak to Fidelia. “Ma’am? Might I suggest that you call Barbara and let her know the outcome of the legal case?”

  Fidelia glanced up at him. “Good idea, Mulligan. She’s probably pulling her hair out. Thank you.” She rummaged in her bag for her phone.

  Rexwood leaned in. “Who’s Barbara?”

  “Long story,” Fidelia said. “She’s one of Joseph’s lost relatives. He found her recently on the internet, if you can believe it.”

  “Lost relatives?” Rexwood asked, brow furrowed for a moment before her eyes widened. “A talented relative?”

  Fidelia smiled at Rexwood as she pulled the phone out of her bag. “Yes. Rather talented at that.”

  Rexwood settled back in her chair, an oddly contemplative look on her face. “Did Patching know?”

  Fidelia nodded. “Found out the first day she was at the house. The summons came very shortly after.” She scrolled through the screens until she found the contact and pressed the button, holding the phone to her ear. After a moment, she said, “Barbara? Delia Necket.” She paused listening. “It’s over. Case dismissed or refused or whatever.”

  Roger heard the happy sounds coming from the phone, even over the low-level angst in the room.

  “That’s a little more complicated, my dear.” Fidelia said, after another pause. “I’ll call you back as soon as we know more.” Fidelia nodded a couple of times. “Yes, cryptic. I’m sorry. I’ll explain more when I can. Give me an hour and if I haven’t called you back, call me.” She smiled into the phone. “I’m sure Joseph would be delighted.” She listened and nodded. “I’ll ring off now, my dear. Talk soon.” She pressed the disconnect button and looked at Roger. “She asked if it would be all right if she came back to Shackleford House.”

  Roger smiled. “I’m sure Mr. Shackleford would be pleased, indeed, ma’am.”

  A little boy playing with a plastic truck on the carpet by Roger’s feet tugged on the leg of his trousers. “Hey, mister? Are you a butler? You sound like a butler.”

  Roger grinned down at him. “Thank you, young man. I am a butler.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Really? They’re not just in movies and stuff?”

  Roger nodded. “Really.”

  A pale woman in capri pants and a mis-buttoned blouse hustled over to the boy. “Ethan! What are you doing?” She looked at Roger. “I’m really sorry he bothered you.”

  “He was no bother, ma’am.”

  She gave him an uncertain nod and glanced at Fidelia and Rexwood. “I hope it’s not too serious,” she said.

  “Thank you. Best wishes to you, ma’am.”

  She nodded again and took the boy by the upper arm, scooching down to pick up his truck. “Stay by Aunt Rosa, all right?”

  “But we’ve been here forever,” the boy said, drawing out the “ver” as only a child could. “When can we go home?”

  The woman hugged him to her side. “I know, mijo. I know. Soon as we hear about your mama, okay?”

  “That man’s a butler,” he said, glancing back at Roger.

  “You shouldn’t bother people, strangers, mijo. It’s not polite. Come, sit over here with us and play with your truck.”

  Fidelia looked up at Roger. “You made rather a big impression, Mulligan.”

  “So it would seem, ma’am.”

  A young-looking doctor with old eyes stepped around the corner and every face turned in his direction. “Mr. Mulligan?”

  Roger lifted a hand. “That would be me.”

  “If you’d come with me, Mr. Mulligan?”

  Fidelia and Rexwood rose and followed them.

  The doctor paused and glanced at Mulligan with a raised eyebrow.

  “Ms. Necket holds Mr. Shackleford’s power of attorney and Ms. Rexwood is his attorney, Doctor.”

  The doctor nodded and changed course. “In here,” he said, holding a door open to a small consultation room just off the hall.

  They trooped in and the doctor closed the door behind them. “I’m Doctor Oswald. Joe’s been asking for Mulligan ever since he woke up.” He kept looking at the three of them like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the three well-dressed people in his ER. “The EMTs said somebody was giving CPR when they arrived. Was that you?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Roger said. “Ms. Necket handled the breathing and I did the compressions. Ms. Rexwood went for help.”

  “You probably saved his life, although his ribs aren’t going to be much fun to live with for a few days.”

  “Will he be all right?” Fidelia asked.

  “He’s stable,” Oswald said. “It probably comes as no surprise to you that he’s rather old ...” He paused to grin at them. “For a man his age, he’s in remarkably good health.”

  “Heart disease?” Fidelia asked.

  “We’ll need to do some more tests.” The doctor thrust his hands into his pockets. “We’re going to put him in ICU overnight, but if he’s still stable by morning, we’ll move him up to a room in the cardiac care unit.”

  “How long will he be here?” she asked.

  “Depends on what we find in the next few hours. Typically it’s three or four days. We’ll do round-the-clock monitoring on him.” He paused. “We have financial counseling available, if that’s a concern?”

  Fidelia shook her head. “Planning purposes only, Doctor.”

  “I have to ask you ladies to wait in the waiting room for a little longer?” He sounded apologetic. “Mr. Mulligan won’t be long.” He opened the door and ushered them out.

  “Give him our best, Mulligan,” Fidelia said and followed Rexwood out, leaving Mulligan and the doctor.

  Oswald smiled. “Follow me.” He led the way in the opposite direction through a maze of curtained alcoves, all apparently occupied, until they got to the end of the row. The doctor slipped behind the curtain, holding it open a bit for Roger to follow.

  “Mulligan. Thank God. What happened?” Shackleford lay on one of the hospital beds, the head of it raised slightly, an IV line in one arm and a wiring harness line running out from the neck of his gown.

  Out of habit, Roger scanned the readouts and nodded to himself. “You had cardiac arrest, sir.”

  The doctor eyed Roger. “You can read that?” he asked, nodding at the monitor on the wall.

  “I’m a licensed EMT, doctor.” He shrugged. “Long story.”

  The doctor snorted a laugh. “I bet. I’ll leave you to him. Five minutes. You know the drill already, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  The doctor nodded. �
�Call button if you need it.” He pointed to the remote hanging on the headboard before he disappeared between the curtains.

  “Mulligan. Where is it?” Shackleford’s voice sounded like little more than a croak.

  Roger patted his chest. “Here, sir. It’s safe.”

  The old man’s eyes widened and the monitor in the corner showed an extra couple of points on his heart rate.

  “Easy, sir. It’s all right.” He reached down and gently pressed Shackleford’s forearm. “You keeled over. Ms. Necket and I started CPR while Ms. Rexwood called for help. Ms. Necket convinced me to remove it from you but I had to put it somewhere.” He shrugged. “Next thing I knew, it was on me.”

  Shackleford sighed and his eyes blinked. He looked old and frail against the white pillow and sheets but his green eyes shone clear and bright against his pale, wrinkled skin. “Court?”

  “The judge threw Naomi’s case out, sir.”

  Shackleford smiled. “Really?”

  “Yes, sir. We came right from the courthouse to here. The ladies are in the waiting room. You asked for me, so they let me come in.”

  “I’m going to be here a few days, Mulligan.”

  “Yes, sir. The doctor told me. They want to know what caused the heart failure.”

  “They won’t find anything,” Shackleford said.

  The note of certainty surprised Roger. “Why do you say that?”

  Shackleford glanced at Roger’s chest. “It’s not there anymore.”

  “What are you saying, sir?”

  Shackleford lowered his voice to a whisper. Roger had to lean down to hear him over the monitors and other equipment. “It spoke to me. It told me ... well ... it told me lots of things over the years, but it told me good-bye. Next thing I know I’m here.” He gazed into Roger’s eyes and nodded a couple of times as if to emphasize his words. “It tried to kill me.”

  Roger pressed on Shackleford’s forearm. “It didn’t succeed.”

  “I have you to thank for that, Mulligan.” He glanced at Roger’s chest again. “But now you’ve got it.”

  “Yes, sir, but it has a problem.”

  “What’s that?” Shackleford asked, his brow furrowing.

  “I’m not talented. It has no link to me.”

  Shackleford’s eyes flashed open and his mouth opened. “It can’t reach you.”

  “I had to wrestle Ms. Necket for it when it came off your neck, sir, but as soon as I got it on, she was able to fight it. I haven’t heard anything from it myself. Haven’t felt anything rummaging around in my mind. Nothing, sir.”

  Shackleford’s eyes narrowed and his tongue ran along his lower lip as it always did while his brain was working. “I’ll want to hear about that wrestling match. Later. You’ve had nothing from it? At all?”

  “Nothing, sir.” Roger touched the disk where it lay under his shirt. “It feels a little smaller than I thought it would, but that’s it.”

  “Show me,” he said, glancing at the curtain. “Quickly. They’ll be back in a minute to kick you out.”

  Roger unbuttoned one button and reached in to pull out the amulet, making sure to keep it far enough away that Shackleford couldn’t touch it.

  The old man’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “It is smaller.”

  Roger looked down to see for himself. He wasn’t sure whether it really was smaller or if he had just become used to it. “Perhaps it’ll fade away to nothing, sir.” He tucked it back into his shirt as the doctor came through the curtain.

  “Time,” the doctor said. “Your lady friends are going to be frantic. You better go let them know.”

  Shackleford held out his hand to Roger. “Thank you, Mulligan.”

  Roger shook the old man’s hand. “My pleasure, sir. Can I bring you anything from the house?”

  “He can have his own pajamas, small electronics with earbuds, books,” the doctor said. “I’ve just cleared it with the floor nurse. You can visit him tomorrow in the Cardiac Care Unit.”

  Roger nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

  Shackleford raised a hand in farewell as Roger slipped through the curtain.

  Roger collected Fidelia and Rexwood with a nod and a smile. “He’s doing well. I expect him to remain himself for the foreseeable future. If you’re ready, we should probably make room here and I can tell you about it on the way back to the courthouse so you can retrieve your vehicles.”

  * * *

  Roger returned to an empty mansion for the first time since he’d stepped into Shackleford House nearly six months before. He pulled a saucer from the cupboard and lifted the stopper from the decanter of whiskey he kept in the pantry for just this purpose. He poured a little into the dish and, after a pause, poured one finger in a glass for himself. He stoppered the decanter and put it back on its shelf. He picked up the glass, angling it so the heavy liquor flowed along the side of the crystal, the late afternoon light shining through the amber. Lifting the glass, he offered a toast. “Thank you,” he said. “To better times.” He took a sip and savored the rich burn as it slid down.

  He spent a few quiet moments communing with his drink, leaning back against the sink and surveying his domain. Who would have thought he could have found peace after ... everything. His mind balked at rehashing all the things that had come before. He took the last drops from the glass and rinsed it in the sink before turning to his duties. He’d need to pack a bag for Mr. Shackleford’s hospital stay and he still had his normal routine to complete for the day. He probably wouldn’t get it all done but with Shackleford out, it gave him an opportunity to give the library a good going over.

  He smiled to himself and got back to work.

  Chapter 21

  After almost a week, Roger went to the hospital to retrieve Shackleford. The doctors had apologized for keeping him, but as Shackleford had predicted, they couldn’t find anything. They kept him a couple of extra days “just to make sure,” but when they started talking about an extended stay, the old man put his foot down. Roger found him in his room—the normal hospital room instead of the cardiac unit where he’d been for the previous couple of days.

  Shackleford sat in the straight chair, dressed and combed, tie tight. “Ah, Mulligan. The doctor hasn’t been around yet, but I suspect he’ll be here shortly. How are things at the house?”

  “Very good, sir. At least I haven’t heard any complaints.” Roger smiled.

  Shackleford chuckled. “How did it feel to have the place to yourself?”

  “We got along famously, sir. I took the liberty of giving the library and your suite a good airing out while you were gone. I haven’t had any pranks pulled on me yet, so I trust I haven’t stepped on any spiritual toes.”

  Shackleford’s eyes danced with his smile. “Libations?”

  “Even a drop for the outside help, sir. I’m relatively sure they’re happy.”

  The doctor came in, an older man in a white coat with the obligatory stethoscope in the pocket, a tablet in his hand, and a red folder under his arm. He nodded to Roger, extending a hand. “You’re Mulligan, I take it?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “John Delacroix,” he said. “Nice to finally cross paths with you. You administered the CPR?”

  “With some help, Doctor.”

  “Good man,” he said. “Well, Joseph? You ready to get back to your own bed?”

  “I am, sir. Looking forward to it.”

  The doctor grinned and made a notation on his tablet computer. “If you’d just sign here, we’ll get an orderly up here to roll you out.”

  Shackleford scrawled his name in the appointed box and handed tablet and stylus back to the doctor. “I have a packet of care instructions,” he said, holding up the folder. “Who wants it?”

  Roger held out his hand. “I’ll take it, Doctor. Anything I should be aware of?”

  “There’s a note here that you’re an EMT. Is that right?”

  “Yes, Doctor. I’m certified, but I work fo
r Mr. Shackleford now.”

  “You have an AED at the house?”

  “I do. I know how to use it. Should I expect to?”

  The doctor looked at Shackleford, his lips pursed. “Beats the hell out of me,” he said. “I’m seeing none of the typical pathology that would indicate cardiac arrest. He clearly had one, but from all appearances, his heart just stopped on its own for reasons I can’t begin to guess.” He shrugged. “Kills me to say that, but honesty compels me to admit I have no idea why and I can’t say it won’t happen again.” The doctor sighed. “There’s a schedule of exercises for him in there. Take it slow at first, no heavy lifting. Diet and exercise cures a multitude of ills,” he said.

  Roger nodded. “His primary care gave me a list as well. Working on his balance and core.”

  “Are you doing them?” the doctor asked, looking at Shackleford.

  The old man gave a sheepish shrug before shaking his head. “We’ve been rather busy of late.”

  The doctor nodded and gave him a wry “Uh huh.” He looked to Roger. “The more he moves, the longer he lives.”

  Roger nodded. “I’ll remind him of that, Doctor.”

  The doctor grinned and offered his hand to Shackleford. “Good luck, sir, and I hope I never see you again.”

  Shackleford shook the doctor’s hand and smiled back. “Nothing personal, Doctor.”

  Delacroix chuckled and headed for the door, holding it open for the orderly entering with a wheelchair.

  “Your chariot awaits, Mr. Shackleford,” he said, rolling the chair up to him. He looked at Roger. “You the driver?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Patient pickup right at the end of this wing. If you’re in the main lot, there are signs. Follow the one for Cardiac and we’ll meet you down there in a couple of minutes.”

  * * *

  Shackleford didn’t have much to say on the ride home. Roger kept an eye on him in the rearview mirror but the old man seemed happy just riding along, watching the world scroll by his window.