I watched her trudge toward the graduate student dorm where she and Emma lived. And probably Corey, but I hadn’t bothered to find out about that. I continued to the Faculty Club.
Kelly had already showed up and grabbed a table by the only window in the room, giving us a view out on the quad.
“Does it give you an eerie feeling to walk past where that kid was killed?” Kelly asked as I sat down. “It kind of does me, and I didn’t even see the body. It really weirds me out when I pass by Agnes’s shop.”
“But not Brett Kavanaugh’s apartment?”
“To an extent, but that’s three floors up, and it’s been six months.”
Leaning closer over the table, inviting Kelly also to lean closer, I said, “I have some new info from Kagan. He told me they collected hair samples from seven women in Kavanaugh’s apartment, including four from his bed.”
Kelly grinned and shook her head. “Doesn’t surprise me. I wonder if any of them knew about the others.”
“I wondered if any of them were there at the same time,” I said, and we laughed.
“That’s something I hadn’t considered,” Kelly said. “Maybe more than one person killed him.”
We were speaking in low tones, but I dropped my voice even lower. “That is something I considered with Agnes. Tell me, you’ve got books of power in the museum, right?”
“Some. Some are on display, some are locked away in the Archives, and some are locked away in an alchemist’s safe in the Archives.”
“Suppose I had a book that looked rather ordinary—like a journal or a ledger book I could buy at any store. And I copied a bunch of rare spells into it. Would it feel like a book of power?”
The waitress showed up and took our order. After she went away, Kelly said, “It depends a lot on how the spells were copied. Simply copying the words wouldn’t necessarily help anyone cast the spells. Why?”
“I cast a scrying spell. I’m not very good at it, and don’t have a lot of power for that sort of thing, but I think Kavanaugh had a book—green with a red spine that looked like a journal you’d buy in a stationary store. Nothing fancy, and not old. We didn’t find anything like that in either his apartment or his office.”
Kelly took a sip of her wine. “You do know how to copy a spell, right? The words are only part of it. To make sure someone else can cast it, you have to pronounce the words as they’re written, with the proper pronunciation, including intonation, inflection, rhythm, etcetera.”
“Yes. I have my dad’s grimoire, and occasionally he’ll ask me to send him a spell from it. I’m glad I didn’t have to wait for him to die before I could use it, so that’s the accommodation I make for him.”
“Right. So, depending on how the spells were written, it makes a difference as to whether the book has any power or any use.”
“So, there could be dozens of Gambler Grimoires floating around, some worthless, some extraordinarily powerful,” I said.
“Exactly. Like that Maleficium Spiritus we found. That was the real thing, but someone could copy spells from it that would be worthless.”
“I can feel magic in artifacts and books and things,” I said. “But you have a special talent for it, right?”
Kelly nodded. “I’m a librarian. It’s a talent I was born with. Uncle Harold recognized it when I was very young, and I was given special training, just as you were with alchemy. Dr. Phillips has it. Brett didn’t. The chance to study under Dr. Phillips was the original reason I came to Wicklow.”
“Would you recognize it in someone?”
“I don’t know. I think Edmund might. Partly, I can pick up on it because of something a person can do, like untie knotted spells, or see through certain kinds of illusions, or read spells that are beyond my power to cast.”
It took a minute for me to digest that last part, since it contradicted something I’d been taught since my magic first manifested. “You’re saying that if I gave you my grimoire, you could read the healing spells, or the master alchemy spells, even though you have no healing talent or alchemy talent?”
“Yes, although the supposition about my alchemy talent is sort of off base. Edmund believes—and a fair number of librarians and alchemists agree with him—that the librarian talent contains a sort of mutation of alchemy. I can create and unlock an alchemist’s safe, for instance. I can ward or unward, and shield charms, amulets, and other kinds of artifacts.”
“Can you make a wand?”
Kelly shook her head. “No, but I can ward one, make it useless.”
“Sort of a null-magic spell?”
“No. Once I remove the ward, the wand would still work. The spell just disconnects it from magic. It’s complex, and not a quick and easy spell.”
“You don’t know anyone who is a forensic witch, do you? Someone who could use a strand of hair to scry who the hair belongs to?”
“Nope, but you could talk to Dr. Evans at the infirmary, or the medical examiner with the county, Dr. Parsons. And speaking of wands, the wand I have was a gift from Uncle Harold when I graduated college. Is it one of yours?”
I had seen her wand that night in Kavanaugh’s apartment, and it definitely wasn’t something I had crafted. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s from Gerard Toussaint, a wandsmith in Lyon, France. Harold handled a lot of his wands. I never made that many, but last year I started trying to put some money away so I could get out of San Francisco. I’m a little slow sometimes, but I finally figured out that the Institute in Sausalito was going to string me along forever without giving me a full-time position. That’s how I could lure Steven here. He was in the same boat.”
“Mom said she would send a check for the wands. It sort of seems like a lot of money.”
I nodded. “They take a lot of time to make, and the materials I use are expensive and difficult to find. That’s why I sold them through Merriweather’s instead of on the street corner. I’ll have to find another outlet for them now.”
Chapter 27
“Katy, is there a travel agency here in town?” I asked. “Or does everyone just make arrangements on the internet?”
She looked up from the computer, where she was typing something. “You can do it on the internet if you wish, but I book most of the travel for faculty and upper-level administrative staff. If it’s something like a conference that you want the college to pay for, then you need to do it through me. Why, where do you need to go?”
“I was just wondering about Dr. Kavanaugh and where he went last Christmas. I ran across some papers I gave to Lieutenant Kagan—correspondence with a bookseller in England.”
“That’s where he went. He and Kelly flew out of Pittsburgh right after the end of the term. Went to DC, then on to London.”
“Dr. Kavanaugh and Kelly?”
“Dr. Robinson, you can’t imagine what it’s like trying to book flights out of Pittsburgh for the holidays. There are at least a dozen colleges and universities in the area that let out about the same time. But I remember their bookings specifically because Brett and Kelly wanted to get out a day earlier than everyone else, and they flew back from London on New Year’s Day.”
I was used to making my own travel arrangements, and I made a note to myself that if I wanted to keep anything private, not to tell Katy about it.
“You wouldn’t happen to know a redhead that Dr. Kavanaugh was dating, would you?” I asked.
Katy rolled her eyes. “Seanan Murphy. She’s a cousin of mine. I wouldn’t consider it dating. I think more like a booty call. She’s a bartender down at Shillelagh. Her father owns the place, but he’s retired. You’d think both of them would know better. She was still in high school when Brett knocked her up. Paid her family a goodly bit of change to hush it up. It would have been his job if they’d a made a stink. But the two of them could never keep their hands off each other.”
“And he was how old?”
“In his thirties.”
“Did he make a habit of that sort of thing?”
Katy shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time. Personally, I would have looked at Seanan first thing when he was killed, but I think Sam Kagan is sweet on her.”
“Did she keep the baby?”
“Oh, yeah. Brett paid child support, but Seanan could never get him to marry her. Why buy the cow when milk is free?”
“It doesn’t sound like the milk was free.”
“Not as expensive as a wife would have been.” Katy chuckled and winked at me. “You know how women are. She would have wanted a house, a car, nice clothes. And he’d have to take her to functions here at the college. The girl’s sweet, and good-looking, but dumb as a hammer. Brett would have been embarrassed.”
That evening, I talked Steven into driving me into town, and we went to dinner at Shillelagh.
As far as American Irish pubs went, it was an American Irish pub. The menu was what I expected, including corned beef and cabbage, cottage pie, and fish and chips. There were few beer taps—Guinness, Smithwick’s, and Harp—and American beers were available in bottles. The food was good, and there was plenty of it.
The bartender and two of the waitresses were redheads, and there was a strong family resemblance.
When our waitress came to clear the dishes, I asked with a laugh, “Do you have to have red hair to work here?”
“Family operation,” the waitress said. “My momma didn’t have any brown-haired kids.”
After the waitress left, I saw that Steven was smirking at me.
“What?”
“That’s my question. What was that about? I didn’t realize you were fond of Irish pub grub or redheaded Irish girls.”
“According to the gossip, Brett Kavanaugh and the bartender were buddies. Even had a kid together.”
“Ahh. I sure hope you catch his killer soon.”
“I hope his killer is caught before I get murdered, too. I don’t care who does the catching.”
“Keep your nose out of other people’s business, and there’ll be less chance someone wants to blow it off.”
I glared at him. “Bombs and poisons are cowardly weapons.”
“Says the girl with enough power to melt someone’s brain in their skull.”
“Shhh. That’s not even true. Do you see those women who just came in and sat at the bar? The ones talking to the bartender? The one with light-brown hair in a braid is Iris Bishop. Her sister Agnes used to work in your greenhouse and was murdered. The other woman is Helen Donnelly, your predecessor as horticultural manager.”
“Do you know that my high school had more people than there are in this town?”
“Mine, too. It will help you broaden your horizons.”
“Or narrow them.”
“No one in Wicklow is going to try and burn you at the stake.”
“True. Not for being a witch, anyway. No gay bars.”
“No over-forty dance bars, either. But no one in San Francisco or New York or Paris offered me a job.”
“And I wasn’t born king. The world isn’t fair.”
It was late when I got in, but the call from my father didn’t surprise me. For the past twenty years, I had lived one time zone earlier than he did, and now I was two time zones later. It would take a while for him to get used to it.
“Hi, Dad. What’s up?”
“Got some information on some of those names you asked about.”
“Great!”
“Agnes and Iris Bishop. You do know that the Bishop name in Salem goes back to the time the town was settled, right? Prominently mentioned in the witch trials. Family seems to have fallen on hard times. Nothing unusual pops up, though. Rebecca Hall. She works for me here in Santa Fe, you know? I sponsored her daughter to pharmacy school in Albuquerque.”
“What do you know about the girl’s father?”
“Professor at Wicklow up until his death last spring, if that’s what you mean. That’s where Rebecca is from.”
“So, you know Emma?”
“For most of her life.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Surely, Emma must have known who I was. Why hadn’t she ever said anything, even when I talked about using Seth Robinson as a resource for Emma’s dissertation research?
Chapter 28
The email-form letter from the computer lab was innocuous but got my attention.
Please provide, for each personal computer you own:
Make
Model
Serial Number
Hard drive size
Amount of memory
Any specialized software installed by Wicklow College
I picked up my office phone and called Kelly. “Hey, why do you need all this information on my personal computer?”
“Standard security procedure. Cuts down on theft, makes it easier to identify and recover computers that do get stolen.”
“Is this for all students, faculty, and staff?”
“Yes. Why?”
“And if you find a computer that isn’t registered with you?”
“Then we register it.”
“How do you know if it’s registered or not?”
“It’s in our database, and I give you a sticker to put on your machine.” Kelly sounded a little irked. “It’s really not a big deal, Savanna.”
“How many computers in your active database match the fancy new machine Brett Kavanaugh bought himself last Christmas?”
A few moments of silence, then, “Three computers of that brand and model. And one has the same serial number as Brett’s, which shouldn’t be possible.”
“Anyone we know?”
“Ophelia Harkness.”
“Do you still have the information on Agnes Bishop’s computer in your system?”
“Yeah. Hang on a minute.”
More silence.
“Savanna, I should call Sam Kagan. I’ve got some strange things here that I shouldn’t have.”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah. I’ll call you if I can’t make it.”
I was deciding between the two lunch specials or one of my favorites from the menu when Kelly sat down across from me.
“So? What happened?” I asked.
Kelly shook her head. “I’m not sure Sam Kagan should be running a murder investigation, let alone three. I remember you kept asking about computers and grimoires, but no one ever asked who worked in computer operations here on campus.”
“And?”
“Both Josh Tupper and Corey Lindsay worked in the computer lab, which is where we maintain the inventory database. There’s a known bug in the system that allows duplicates. Oh, it flags the duplicate, but all you have to do is mark it as obsolete, and it sort of hides it from most searches. Usually that means the computer died, or was sold, or the owner left Wicklow. We do a mass update at the end of each term. A lot of buying and selling between students goes on.”
“You didn’t know they worked for you?”
I was rewarded with a glower. “I don’t micromanage. Ted hires students who are computer savvy, and I trust him to keep them honest.”
We ordered lunch, then Kelly continued. “Ophelia sold her computer to another student, and Corey entered Brett’s in as her new machine. But here’s the big thing—Agnes’s missing computer is registered to Corey, and so is Josh’s.”
“What happens now?”
“Kagan arrested Ophelia and Corey again.”
“You’re a woman of many talents,” I said.
Kelly shrugged. “A master of library science nowadays requires a bit more than memorizing the Dewey Decimal system. It is essentially a computer systems degree. There are three systems administrators on campus—a guy who handles the business computer systems, a guy who handles facilities, and me, who handles the library and academic computing services. Facilities have a subsystem that runs food services and inventory.”
I had kept asking about Kavanaugh’s computer because of the correspondence between him and Merriweather. It might also contain research he had done on the GG book. People died,
their computers disappeared, and no one seemed concerned. I wondered if Kagan knew how to use a computer.
Upon returning to my office, I called Kagan.
“I hear you recovered computers belonging to Brett Kavanaugh and Agnes Bishop.”
“Possibly.”
“I talked to Kelly. While you’re snooping around, look for a thin green book with a red spine. I think that’s the motive for everything. I’ll bet its contents are handwritten, not printed.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Kagan said. “You know both of them have bailed out already. Their lawyers got to the jail about the same time I got there with the kids.”
“Bail? For murder?”
“I couldn’t arrest them for murder, though that might still happen. Possession of stolen property. But I am on my way to serve search warrants. Josh Tupper’s computer is still missing.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a chance I could get a couple of hours with Kavanaugh’s computer?” I asked.
“A snowball’s chance in hell. An expert with the State Police is on his way to take possession of it.”
“Is he a witch? I’d be careful with what you let someone from outside dig around.”
Kagan paused, then said, “The only computer expert witch I know is Kelly Grace, and since she’s a potential suspect in Kavanaugh’s murder, that’s a problem.”
I thought for a moment. “I know someone on the Council. Can you hold the State Police expert for a day?”
“Sure. Tomorrow’s Friday, I’ll just tell him to wait until next week. I doubt I’ll get an argument.”
Immediately after Sam hung up the phone, I dialed my father and explained the situation.
“I’m sure there is someone on the Pennsylvania State Police with the proper qualifications,” he said. “Let me work on it.”
He called back two hours later. “I found your man. Give me the phone number of the local cop who’s working the case.”
Kagan called an hour later. “I’m impressed. State headquarters in Harrisburg just called and said they are sending a different forensic computer expert out to help me with the case. Then he gave me a call to tell me he’s a witch.”
The Gambler Grimoire: An Urban Fantasy Mystery (Wicklow College of Arcane Arts Book 1) Page 15