“No, no, I’ve walked the straight and narrow, I swear! I made amends wherever I could, and I sleep better at night, or during the day, or whenever it’s convenient. I took the second chance to heart. I listened to what you and Officer McGoohan said. I’m a changed man.”
His gaze shifted from side to side, but the eyeliner-painted third eye in the middle of his forehead stared directly at me. “Just like you said—I filled out every form, crossed every t, dotted every i, applied for every conceivable permit, paid fees that even the clerk didn’t know existed! I ransacked every single storage unit and spent hours with my clipboard, taking a complete inventory—and some of our customers were definitely not pleased. Kicked out a few homeless zombies, found a colony of feral black cats—talking ones, who were plotting to take over the world! Now, that was interesting. . . .”
I already knew that Max had filed his meticulous inventory of the storage units with the city clerk; Robin had obtained it through some legal somersault or other, and Sheyenne had pored over the listings until she spotted exactly what we were looking for.
He continued to ramble. “I properly disposed of any improperly stored items. I ensured legally mandated safety interlocks on all dangerous supernatural objects.” The former necromancer finally ran out of steam. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” He sniffled. “Honest.”
I decided not to reassure him; better to keep him nervous. “I’m investigating a storage unit that contains a large number of packaged hearts and souls. I need you to take me there.”
His eyes were bright and terrified, and even the painted eye on his forehead seemed to widen in fear. “I just knew those were going to be a problem! The clerk’s office didn’t know what to do with them. I think she wanted me to pay her a bribe to forget about the matter—but not me, no! Everything aboveboard from now on. That’s my promise.” Max sat up straight. “I spent hours with her looking through the books of regulations, and finally I got a permit for Dubious Sentimental Items. But I told her—I swear I told her—I said, ‘If this is the wrong category, call me back, and I’ll fill out the proper paperwork.’ I did think those combo packs were highly unusual. Why would somebody store them here?”
“I want to see these hearts and souls, Mr. Grubb.” From the pocket of my sport coat, I withdrew a thick folded document, an imposing and frighteningly legal-looking brief. “One of them belongs to a client of mine, and he will sue to get his soul back.” I looked around at the squalid offices. “Since you own the storage unit where the items in question have been hidden—perhaps illegally—you’ll be named as one of the parties in the lawsuit.”
Max held up his hands to ward off the document, like a vampire faced with a crucifix. That was fine with me, since I didn’t want him to read the papers anyway. The document was just Robin’s application for us to install a neon Chambeaux & Deyer sign outside our building, which had to be approved by the city council. The document had nothing whatsoever to do with retrieving the hearts and souls, but the former necromancer didn’t know that.
“No need! I’ll give you my full cooperation, but I’m not authorized to let you take any of the items away without a court order.”
“Right now, Mr. Grubb, my first duty is to make certain my client’s heart and soul are intact and undamaged.”
Max pecked away with two frantic, shaking fingers on his old, dusty PC, calling up the records. “Yes, yes, there’s the unit. It was rented by a Ms. Angela Drake, paid two years in advance.” He looked up with a small forced smile. “She got a free month that way.”
“I already know who rented it. Now please, take me out there so I can verify that my client’s heart and soul haven’t been harmed through any negligence of the Final Repose Storage Complex.”
Max yanked open a drawer and rattled a copious number of keys until he selected the correct one. He led me out the door, his purple necromancer robe swishing from side to side as he took me between rows of low buildings, along gravel and mud driving paths, until he stopped at the third row. He unlocked the padlock and rolled up the segmented garage door. Tugging on a string inside, he switched on the single naked lightbulb, which illuminated an empty vault.
The unit contained only a single rack of metal shelves, on which rested a dozen Mason jars with rusty screw-top lids; the jars were held in place with stretched bungee cords. Each jar contained a hardened, twisted lump—the shriveled heart of some creature desperate enough to have pawned it at Timeworn Treasures. Each heart was surrounded by the faint blue aura of a barely visible soul. The preserved hearts beat slowly, restlessly, like a nightmare-plagued person twitching in his sleep.
Maximilian Grubb beamed with relief. “There you are! As you can see, the items are protected from the elements. Unharmed. I’ve taken all necessary security precautions. No damage to any jar, no negligence whatsoever on the part of Final Repose . . . no need for your client to include us in the lawsuit.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said, hiding my relief. While the former necromancer pranced from one foot to the other as if he needed to go to the bathroom, I used my cell phone to call the Hope & Salvation Mission to tell Mrs. Saldana the good news.
She let out a delighted gasp. “Oh, bless you, Mr. Chambeaux! Bless you! Can we come get them?”
“And bring Jerry. He’ll have to identify which one is his. They all look alike to me.”
“A person just knows when he looks into his soul,” Mrs. Saldana said. “We’ll be right down!”
Robin would get the legal clockwork moving, appeal for Jerry’s rights as the legitimate owner. I didn’t even know the legalities of whether you could buy someone else’s heart and soul.
After I hung up, the former necromancer looked like a little puppy dog, standing there. “So, it’s all right? I have nothing to worry about?”
“There’s a chance you may be off the hook, Mr. Grubb.” I ran my gaze across the Mason jars sitting on the shelves. The stirring hearts looked dark and unattractive, nothing at all like what you’d see on a Valentine’s Day card. In fact, they looked like Cupid’s rejects.
I shook my head. “I wish I knew what Missy Goodfellow wants with all these hearts and souls. What does she intend to do with them?”
The necromancer blinked at me in surprise. “Oh, no, it’s not Missy. It’s Irwyn.”
Chapter 49
My phone rang before Max could explain himself, and Robin started talking in my ear. I had never heard her so agitated. “Dan, get back to the office right away! You’re not going to believe this—Mavis Wannovich is here.”
I stifled a groan. “Today’s not a good day for that.”
“You have to see the new evidence about Snazz’s murder! Mavis has proof of who killed him.”
That wasn’t what I expected. “Who? And how did Mavis get it?”