Robin was like a little kid holding an unpleasant surprise. “Just get over here! I’m calling Officer McGoohan.” She hung up without telling me.
I gave Max a stern warning as I turned to rush away. “Lock this place up tight and make sure nothing happens to those hearts and souls until I get back. Guard them with your life.”
The former necromancer groaned, “I don’t have much of a life.” But he promised anyway.
When I arrived back at our offices, I felt breathless. Or maybe disheveled was a better word. I was putting a lot of mileage on these dead-tired feet today, but if I could wrap up a couple of major cases, then I promised myself I would take time off and reschedule that date with Sheyenne. We hadn’t had very good luck so far.
The first thing I saw was the sow standing in the middle of our reception area. Mavis paced back and forth in her black dress. The sisters had brought the large crystal ball in its birdbath-sized holder that they’d purchased from the pawnshop liquidation auction.
When Mavis saw me, her expression melted into one of relief. “We’ve been leaving messages and messages for you, Mr. Chambeaux, but you wouldn’t return our calls! We were going to call the police, but we wanted to talk to you first.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “I’ve run myself ragged all week.”
The witch ran her gaze up and down my form. “Everything about you looks ragged, Mr. Chambeaux. We’ve got spells for that. We can spruce you up, just like we promised.”
“I’ll take you up on that, Mavis, as soon as we get a free minute.”
Alma snorted with impatience. Robin and Sheyenne both crowded close to the large crystal ball. “I never would have thought,” Robin said. “Dan, come here and watch.”
“Allow me.” Mavis went to the ornately carved stand, touching runes carved into the decorative moldings, and the crystal ball sparkled. Images floated inside the glass globe, flickering back and forth. Mavis clucked her tongue. “Sorry . . . I’m still learning how to tune this thing.”
It turned out the crystal ball that Snazz kept at the pawnshop’s front counter was not just a decorative item that he loved to polish. The crystal ball was also a full-fledged security camera, with its curved surfaces able to record all activities around the shop, 360 degrees. It had allowed Snazz to sit propped on his stool and observe everyone and everything in Timeworn Treasures.
I felt guilty that I hadn’t called Mavis back right away—not just because we had missed this clue, which might have an impact on several pending cases, but because I owed it to her. I’d given my promise, and she had done me plenty of favors. After this, I would sit down with the Wannovich sisters and their vampire ghostwriter for as long as it took to give them all the background material they needed.
“Ah, there we are—the correct time stamp,” Mavis said.
I leaned closer and realized we were about to watch the little gremlin get murdered.
In the crystal ball, we saw Snazz working alone, well after dark. I wasn’t surprised he had no customers because by now most window-shoppers knew the gremlin couldn’t bear to be parted from his treasures. With an old rag, he polished sparkling gems and a gold amulet; I saw a tarnished old Arabian lamp in the pile of treasures waiting to be polished, and I dreaded what might happen when the pawnbroker started to rub that....
But Snazz didn’t get the chance. The door opened, and a customer came in—the gremlin’s last customer.
“Watch this!” Mavis said. “This is it.” The sow snorted and leaned closer, rising up so she could peer into the crystal ball.
“I’m watching,” I said.
The crystal ball had no audio, so we couldn’t hear the gremlin’s greetings, or the customer’s response, the loud arguments, the shouted accusations, the escalating violence. The murder had happened some time ago, but it was real and immediate for us to witness it now.
I watched in horror as the poor, greedy gremlin was attacked and strangled, his furry paws clutching at his neck, beating at his assailant, kicking his little furry feet, all to no avail, until his strangled and broken body was tossed unceremoniously on the floor.
Irwyn Goodfellow looked annoyed, but not unduly disturbed, by what he had done. He used Snazz’s own polishing rag to wipe his fingerprints from any surface he had touched, then he departed from the dark and silent pawnshop.
“Looks like Irwyn’s not such a good fellow after all,” I said.
Chapter 50
Murder is never a cause for celebration, but McGoo was thrilled when I told him we had found the killer. “I promised I’d solve the case, but I’ll let you take the credit. Another gold star on your record, another major crime solved, another reason for your chief to be proud of you.”
I let him know we were heading to the Final Repose storage unit so we could retrieve Jerry’s heart and soul. Mrs. Saldana was already on her way over, and I wanted to be sure her zombie assistant got what he needed before the Mason jars were confiscated as evidence. Since the Goodfellows could afford the best lawyers, the trial was sure to get tangled in a nightmare of appeals and delays.
I also knew, however, that the Smile Syndicate might soon be short on funds, thanks to other legal troubles. And Missy had damn well asked for it!
I smiled when I thought of the wheels I had already set in motion. I was still pissed off—not to mention sore—that Missy Goodfellow had sent her thug demons to rough me up and threaten Robin.
While Sheyenne and the Wannovich sisters arranged to turn over the crystal-ball security-cam footage, Robin accompanied me out to the storage unit. Maximilian Grubb was already intimidated, but I wanted her along in case we needed to do a little legal bluffing so Jerry could be restored. She agreed. “As long as it’s legal bluffing.”
When the solution to a case is humming along and building momentum, I always get optimistic, but I should know better by now. We arrived at the Final Repose, hoping that Max had locked the storage unit and kept the hearts and souls safe—only to find the former necromancer murdered in the front office.
Very murdered.
He had been shot multiple times with silver bullets, including one through the third eye painted in the middle of his forehead. A wooden stake had been pounded through his heart, and a scribbled deanimation spell had been safety-pinned to his shirt.
I had seen this sort of thing before. As Robin stood there aghast, I said, “The murderer looked up how to kill a necromancer online and got conflicting information.”
McGoo drove up in his patrol car and whistled a cheerful tune as he pulled open the office door and stepped inside, said hello to Robin and me, then stared at the body of the thoroughly murdered necromancer. He looked at me and said, “Damn, Shamble, why is it always complicated with you?”