Death Warmed Over (Dan Shamble, Zombie PI #1)

With a flourish like a circus showman, he twirled his top hat, plopped it back on the straggly gray strands covering his cranium, and returned to measuring the window before he cut the glass.

I informed Mrs. Saldana that, thanks to the restraining order, she could have the Straight Edgers thrown in jail for contempt if they bothered her again. The old woman blessed me and gave me a sweet grandmotherly pat on my shoulder.

My cell phone rang. It was Sheyenne. “Beaux, you better head over to Howard Phillips Publishing—something’s brewing. Robin wants you there to see what she’s got up her sleeve.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “I take it the witches weren’t satisfied with the publisher’s response?”

“Robin has a plan, whatever that means.”

“Now I’m curious. Give me the address.”

Leaving the mission, I tried to hail a taxi and, as is typical when you’re in a hurry, I couldn’t find one. It was the middle of the afternoon, with sunlight filling a crystal-clear sky. Since not many unnaturals wanted to be abroad in bright daylight, they had snatched up all the available cabs.

So I set off on foot, stopping at every corner, holding out my hand, trying to catch a taxi. It took me sixteen blocks, and by the time I slid into the backseat of the cab and told the driver where to go, I was only four blocks from my destination. Still, it saved a little time.

When the taxi pulled up in front of the publisher’s building, I paid the driver, tipped him too much, and bounded out of the backseat. I easily spotted Robin looking professional in her business suit; she stood between the black-skirted Mavis and her sow-sister Alma. A TV news van had already arrived, and two men with cameras recorded the small spectacle. Another camera van pulled up just as I arrived.

The headquarters of Howard Phillips Publishing was a modern rectangular structure of stone blocks and steel with re-flectorized windows. In order to afford a stand-alone building in the city, they must have been doing well with their spell-book reprints and annotated editions of the Necronomicon, which they claimed were authorized by Abdul Alhazred himself.

Two medium-height, middle-aged men with prominent lantern jaws pushed their way through the main revolving door. They wore white short-sleeved shirts and neckties that were identically askew. At a glance, I guessed that this was the publisher and his entire legal department, twins apparently. From Robin’s research on the case, we had learned that the brothers were Howard Phillips and Phillip Phillips, respectively.

“What’s all this?” said the one I determined to be Phillip. “Go away—you’re trespassing. Shoo!”

The TV cameras turned toward him, and he quailed. The other brother, Howard, grabbed Phillip’s shoulder and pulled him back toward the revolving door, but Robin seized her moment. She raised her voice and spoke for the cameras. “My clients, Mavis and Alma Wannovich”—she pointed to the witch and the sow—“have suffered grievous harm due to errors in spell books published by Howard Phillips. The results are obvious.”

Reporters began scribbling notes. Others held out recorders to capture her words. The news cameras recorded every moment.

In a scorn-filled voice, Robin continued, “However, according to this letter, the publisher insists their books are completely safe.” She waved the letter in the air. “All right, let’s give them the benefit of the doubt.” She patted Alma’s head and flashed the nervous twins a shrewd glance. “If this spell is indeed harmless, as they claim, then we’ll graciously withdraw our complaint.”

Howard and Phillip attempted to retreat, but only succeeded in jamming themselves into the revolving door. “But it is harmless!” the publisher cried.

“Thank you, gentlemen. We accept your assurances, but now for the proof.” Robin gestured, turned her attention back to the cameras. “Mavis will cast this purportedly innocuous spell on Howard and Phillip Phillips. The truth will be obvious to everyone in a minute.” She seemed completely in her element. This was even better than arguing a case in front of a jury. “Be sure to have your cameras tracking this.”

Mavis opened the spell book, turned it so the news crews could capture the cover and its prominent Howard Phillips logo. The sow shifted back and forth, barely able to restrain a joyful squeal. “Summoning the Fairness of Form,” Mavis said and cleared her throat. She fixed her glare on the twins and began to incant the strange words printed in the book.

The reporters held their breath.

“Stop!” cried Howard. “There’s no need for this!”

“But don’t you want us to vindicate you?” Robin said with an innocent smile. “You do believe the spell is harmless, don’t you?”

The reporters loved it. Mavis chanted louder.

Phillip, the “legal department” brother, was even more agitated. “Wait! We wish to reconsider our position!”

Mavis looked at Robin for guidance as to whether she should continue or not.

“We’re listening,” Robin said.

“My brother and I, uh, need to study the matter further. It’s possible that there might have been a typographical error.”

“The typographical error is indisputable,” Robin countered. “We have copies of the original wording and a side-by-side comparison to the version you published.”

“But it hasn’t been shown the misprint caused any direct harm,” Howard spluttered.

“Then by all means, let’s continue and remove any doubt.” Robin nodded at Mavis, and the witch held up the spell book.

Phillip the Legal Department raised his hands again. “That’s not necessary. Without admitting responsibility, perhaps there are some reparations we could offer? A donation to your favorite charity, a revised edition of the spell book—”

“An office with a window,” Mavis said quite clearly.

Howard and Phillip looked at each other, perplexed.

Robin picked up the conversation. “The Wannovich sisters believe that your company is sorely in need of experts to do spell-checking. They have generously agreed to dismiss the suit if you give Mavis Wannovich her own office and a position in Howard Phillips Publishing, at an appropriate salary.”

“And my sister, too,” Mavis said. “She needs an office of her own.”

“But she’s a sow!” cried Phillip.

“Only because of you,” Mavis snapped. “And part of my job will be to research a reversal spell to restore her.” She held the error-ridden spell book like a hand grenade from which she had pulled the pin.

The sow grunted. The cameras continued to record the scene.

“I think . . . that’s acceptable,” said the publisher.

“I’ll draw up a hiring agreement and a waiver of liability,” said the legal department.

“With my input,” Robin insisted.

“It’s my dream job,” Mavis said. “I’ve always wanted to work in publishing.”





Chapter 27

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