Deadly Quicksilver Lies Page 2

  “You’re staring, Mr. Garrett. I thought that was impolite.”

  “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Excuse me.”

  The Goddamn Parrot started muttering in his sleep. Something about interspecies necrophilia. That got me back to the real world. “What can I do for you, madam?” Other than the obvious, if you’re looking for volunteers. Hoo.

  I was amazed. Yeah, female of the species is my soft spot, my blind side, but the mature type didn’t usually get me. Whatever, something about this one totally distracted me. And she knew it.

  Businesslike, Garrett. Businesslike.

  “Ma’am, Mr. Garrett? Am I that far past it?”

  I sputtered. I stumbled around and tripped over my tongue till it was black with footprints. She finally had mercy and smiled. “Can we get in out of the weather?”

  “Sure.” I stepped aside, held the door. What was wrong with the weather? It couldn’t have been nicer. There were barely enough clouds to keep you from falling into a sky as blue as you will ever hope to see.

  She brushed past without tricks, just close because she had to. I shut my eyes. I ground my teeth. I babbled, “My office is the second door on the left. I can’t offer much but beer or brandy. My man Dean is away.” The woman had to be a witch. Or I was out of practice. Bad.

  “Brandy would be perfect, Mr. Garrett.”

  Of course. Pure class. “Coming right up. Make yourself at home.” I dove into the kitchen. Dig dig dig till I found some brandy. A bit of a tippler, Dean hides the stuff all over so I won’t know how much he has bought. I poured from a bottle that I hoped contained good stuff. What did I know about brandy? Beer is my favorite food. I zipped to the office. The seasoned redhead had set up camp in the client’s chair. She frowned as she studied Eleanor. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you. An interesting painting. There’s a lot there if you look long enough.”

  I glanced at my honey as I settled. She was a lovely blonde, terrified, fleeing something only hinted at in the painting’s background. If you looked at that painting right, though, you could read the whole evil story. There was magic in it, though much of that had gone once I got the man who murdered Eleanor.

  I told the story. My visitor was a good listener. I managed to avoid getting totally lost in my own chemistry. I observed carefully. I suggested, “You might introduce yourself before we go any further. I’m never comfortable calling a woman ‘Hey You’.”

  Her smile softened the enamel on my teeth. “My name is Maggie Jenn. Margat Jenn, actually, but I’ve never been called anything but Maggie.”

  Ah, the monster of the prophecy. Winger’s old crone. Must have lost her walker. I blurted, “Maggie doesn’t sound like a redhead.”

  Her smile warmed up. Incredible! “Surely you’re not that naive, Mr. Garrett.”

  “Garrett is fine. Mr. Garrett was my grandpop. No. It hasn’t escaped me that some women miraculously transform overnight.”

  “This is just a tint, really. A little more red than my natural shade. Just vanity. One more rearguard skirmish in my war against time.”

  Yeah. The poor toothless hag. “Looks to me like you’ve got it on the run.”

  “You’re sweet.” She smiled again, turning up the heat. She leaned forward...

  3

  Maggie Jenn caught my left hand, squeezed. “Some women enjoy being looked at that way, Garrett. Sometimes they want to look back.” She tickled my palm. I stifled an urge to pant. She was working me and I didn’t care. “But I’m here on business and it’s important, so we’d better get to it.” She took her hand back.

  I was supposed to melt, going through withdrawal.

  I went through withdrawal.

  “I like this room, Garrett. Tells me a lot. Confirms what I’ve heard about you.”

  I waited. Clients go through this. They’re desperate when they arrive. They wouldn’t come to me if they weren’t. But they stall around before admitting that their lives have gone out of control. Most end up telling me how they chose me. Maggie Jenn did that.

  Some change their minds before they get to the point. Maggie Jenn did not.

  “I didn’t realize I was so well known. That’s scary.” Apparently my name was common coin among the ruling class, to which Maggie Jenn clearly belonged, though she had not revealed where she fit. I should avoid the flashy cases. I don’t like being noticed.

  “You’re on everyone’s list of specialists, Garrett. If you want a coach built, you go to Linden Atwood. You want unique flatware, you commission Rickman Plax and Sons. You want the best shoes, you buy Tate. You need prying and spying, you hire Garrett.”

  “Speaking of prying and spying.”

  “You want me to get to the point.”

  “I’m used to people circling in on their troubles.”

  She reflected a moment. “I see where they might. It’s hard. All right. To the point. I need you to find my daughter.”

  “Huh?” She blindsided me. I was all tensed for her to ask me to kill somebody and all she wanted was the basic Garrett service.

  “I need you to find my daughter. She’s been missing for six days. I’m worried. What’s the matter? You have the funniest look.”

  “I get like this when I think about working.”

  “You have that reputation. What will it take to get you out of the house?”

  “More information. And the fee settled.” There. I could be proud of me. I was taking command, being businesslike, handling my weakness.

  So how come I was practically agreeing to take a case blind?

  Actually, despite my reputation and past habit of laziness, I had been working steady, minor stuff, grabbing a few marks while I avoided the house and Dean, the Dead Man and the Goddamn Parrot. The former suffer from the delusion that it will be a better world if I work myself to death. T. G. P. just nags.

  “Her name is Justina, Garrett. She’s an adult, though just barely. I don’t hang over her shoulder.”

  “An adult? What were you, ten years old?...”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere. I was eighteen. She turned eighteen three months ago. Never mind the math.”

  “Hell, you’re a spring chicken. Twenty-one with a few years’ experience. You don’t need to stop counting yet. I bet plenty of people take you for Justina’s sister.”

  “Aren’t you the sweet talker.”

  “Actually, I’m only being honest. I’m way too distracted to...”

  “I’ll bet the girls love you, Garrett.”

  “Yeah. You hear them chanting in the street. You saw them climbing the walls so they can get in through a second-story window.” TunFaire being TunFaire, my house has only one ground floor window, in the kitchen. Iron bars cover it.

  Maggie Jenn’s eyes sparkled. “I have a feeling I’m going to wish I’d met you sooner, Garrett.” Those eyes promised. Maybe I was going to wish that, too.

  A redhead will knock me for a loop every time.

  She continued. “To the point. Again. Justina’s been running with bad companions. Nothing I can put my finger on, no. Just youngsters I don’t like. I got the feeling they were up to something wicked. No, I never saw anything to confirm that.”

  One thing you notice about parents who are looking for strayed children. They never liked anyone the kid liked. The kid is gone because he or she fell in with evil companions. Even when they strain to be non-judgmental, there’s this basic assumption that the friends are no good. If any of the friends are of another sex, boy, howdy!

  “I expect you’ll want to know all about her before you start, right?”

  We had us a built-in assumption I’d be working for Momma Jenn. Momma Jenn was used to getting her own way. “Best way to do it. I knew a guy in my line whose whole thing was to get right inside the head of whoever he was hunting. He’d ignore everything but the character of that one guy. He’d almost become that guy.’Course, lots of times he could’ve got his man quicker by looking at the big picture.”

  “You’ll have t
o tell me about some of your cases. It’s not a side of life I see. Must be exciting. Suppose you come to my house for an early supper? You can examine Justina’s room and her things and ask your questions. Then you can decide whether or not you want the case.” She smiled a smile that put her earlier efforts to shame. She was confident. I was getting roasted, toasted, manipulated, and I loved every second of it.

  I said, “It happens I’m free tonight.”

  “Perfect.” She rose, began donning flesh-colored gloves I hadn’t noticed before. She considered Eleanor. Her face darkened. She shuddered. Eleanor can have that effect. “Fifth hour?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ll be there. But you’ll have to tell me where.”

  Her face did darken then. Big mistake, Garrett. I was supposed to know without being told. Unfortunately, I knew so little about Maggie Jenn I didn’t know that she would be irked because I didn’t know who she was or where she lived.

  The lady was a trooper. She carried on. She dallied only a moment before offering an address.

  I got real nervous real sudden.

  We were talking way up the Hill, where the richest and most powerful of the rich and powerful live, up where the altitude itself is the best indicator of wealth and might. Blue Crescent Street was in the realm of fairy tale as far as I was concerned.

  Maggie Jenn was a lady with big connections, but I still could not recall why I thought I should know her name.

  It would come when it was really inconvenient.

  I escorted the lovely lady to my front door. The lovely lady continued to smolder and invite. Would the evening have anything to do with a missing daughter?

  4

  I stood bemused by Maggie Jenn swaying toward her litter. She knew I was watching. She made it a good show.

  That killer stump Mugwump watched me watch. I didn’t get the impression that he wished me well.

  “You never stop foaming at the mouth, do you?”

  I realized that I had settled down to savor every second of Maggie’s departure. I tore my gaze away, turned to see which of my busybody neighbors was going to permit me to bask in the chill of her disapproval. I discovered, instead, a very attractive little brunette. She had approached from the other direction.

  “Linda Lee!” This was my friend from the Royal Library, about whom I’d been thinking while holding Espinosa’s book instead. “This is the nicest surprise I’ve had in a while.” I went down to meet her. “I’m glad you changed your mind.” Linda Lee, barely five feet tall, with beautiful big brown puppy eyes, was just about the cutest bit of a librarian I could imagine.

  “Down, boy. This is a public place.”

  “Come into my parlor.”

  “If I do that, I’ll forget all about why I came here.” She plopped herself down on a step sideways. She locked her ankles together, pulled her knees up under her chin, wrapped her arms around them, and looked at me with a little girl innocence she knew would turn me into a love zombie.

  It was my day to be a plaything.

  I could handle it. I’d been born for that role.

  Linda Lee Luther was no innocent, whatever impression you got at first glance. But she did try hard to be the icemaiden some folks thought a librarian should be. She tried but failed. Real ice wasn’t in her nature. I just stood there, wearing my winningest grin, confident that she would talk herself into leaving the public eye.

  “Stop that!”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Looking at me like that. I know what you’re thinking...”

  “I can’t help that.”

  “Yes, well, you’re going to make me forget why I came here.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second, but I’m a good guy. I can go along with a gag. “All right. Tell me about it.”

  “Huh?”

  “What brought you here if not my irresistable charm?”

  “I need your help. Professionally.”

  Why me?

  I didn’t believe it. Librarians don’t get into fixes where they need guys like me to get them unfixed. Not cute little bits like Linda Lee Luther.

  I’d begun moving toward my door. Preoccupied, Linda Lee rose and followed. I had her inside. I had the front door closed and bolted. I tried sneaking her past the open door of the small front room. The Goddamn Parrot mumbled obscenities in his sleep. Lovely Linda Lee did not take exception. I began to recall why I was so fond of this girl. I asked her, “What’s got you so distracted?”

  This was her big chance to come back with something clever and suggestive, an opportunity she wouldn’t have wasted usually. But she just moaned, “I’m going to get fired. I just know it.”

  “That doesn’t seem likely.” Really.

  “You don’t understand. I lost a book, Garrett. A rare book. One that can’t be replaced. It may have been stolen.”

  I eased into my office. Linda Lee followed me. Where was this attraction when I wanted to use it most?

  “I have to get it back before they find out,” Linda Lee continued. “There’s no excuse for me having let this happen.”

  I told her, “Calm down. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Then tell me all about it, from the beginning. I’m already tied up in a job that’s going to keep me busy for a while, but there’s still a chance I can suggest something.”

  I took her by the shoulders, maneuvered her over to the client’s seat. She settled.

  “Tell me from the beginning,” I reminded.

  Aargh! The best laid plans, and so forth. Instead of spinning her sad tale of woe, she started sputtering and gesturing, original mission completely forgotten.

  Uh-oh.

  The Espinosa. Right there on my desk.

  I hadn’t quite observed all the formalities when I’d borrowed it. The library powers that be don’t trust ordinary folks with books, anyway. Books might give us ideas.

  I gobbled something placatory that got lost in the uproar, totally failed to steer her back to that matter of the loss that had brought her to me. “How could you do this to me, Garrett? I’m already in trouble... If they miss this book too, I’m dead. How could you?”

  Well, the how had been easy. It wasn’t a very big book and the old veteran guarding the door had been napping. He’d had only one leg, anyway.

  Words continued to vomit from my lovely Linda Lee. An awesome performance. She got a grip on the Espinosa like it was her firstborn about to be repoed by a dwarf with a polysyllabic name.

  How do you argue with panic? I didn’t.

  Linda Lee suddenly made a run for it. I didn’t get around the desk fast enough. She squawked every step to the front door.

  Wa-hoo! said the Goddamn Parrot. What a great excuse for raising hell. He went to work.

  A moment later, I was watching Linda Lee scamper up Macunado, her anger so palpable eight-foot ogres scooted out of her way.

  Her visit lasted so briefly I caught a last glimpse of Maggie Jenn’s litter before it, too, got lost in traffic. Mugwump sent me a scowl to remember him by.

  What a day. What next?

  One thing seemed certain. There were no more lovelies headed my way. Sigh.

  Time to take a minute to see what Eleanor thought about Maggie Jenn.

  5

  I settled behind my desk, stared at Eleanor. “What did you think of Maggie, darling? Should I be your basic opportunist? Go for it even if she is older than me?”

  Eleanor doesn’t say much but I manage by putting words in her mouth. “Yeah, I know. I went for you. A ghost.” Picture that. I’ve been infatuated a few thousand times but hopelessly in love only twice, most recently with a woman who died when I was four. “So what’s the big deal she’s a few years older, eh?”

  Weird things happen to me. Vampires. Dead gods trying to resurrect themselves. Killer zombies. Serial murderers who keep right on killing after you find them and send them off to the happy hunting ground. So why consider a love affair with a ghost outrageous?

  “Yeah. I know. It would be cynical of me.
What? Sure, she plans to use me, too. I know. But what a way to be used.”

  From the hall, I heard, “Yo, Garrett. I’m getting gray hairs hanging around up here.”

  Winger. Damn! I can’t remember everything, can I? I rose slowly, still distracted. Maggie Jenn had cast a spell on me, no doubt about it. I’d almost forgotten my disappointment over Linda Lee.

  I found Winger sitting on the stairs. “What are you doing, Garrett? The old broad left fifteen minutes ago.” She didn’t mention Linda Lee’s hollering.

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s dangerous for a guy in your condition.”

  “Huh?” I didn’t have a comeback. For only about the ten thousandth time in my life. The perfect response would spawn sometime as I lay tossing and turning an hour before dawn.

  Winger strode to the Dead Man’s door, stuck her nose in. His room takes up half the ground floor. I looked over her shoulder. All 450 pounds of him remained planted in his chair, still as death. The Loghyr’s elephantlike snout dangled down a foot to his chest. Dust had begun to collect on him, but the vermin hadn’t found him yet. No point cleaning until they did. Maybe Dean would come home first and save me the trouble.

  Winger backed out of there, grabbed my elbow. “He’s out of it.” She knew because he hadn’t reacted to her. He has no use for females in general and less use for Winger. Once, I threatened to boot Dean out and move her in.

  “What did she say?” Winger asked as we headed upstairs. “Who’s the target?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t know squat. All I know is I’m getting paid a shitpot full to find out.”

  Money was important to Winger. It is to all of us, in a palsy sort of way: nice to have around, fun to be with. But for Winger, it was like a patron saint.

  “She wants me to find her daughter. The girl’s been missing for six days.”

  “Say what? I’ll be damned. I was sure it was going to be a hit.”

  “Why?”

  “No special reason. I guess I added the cues up wrong. Looking for her kid? You take the job?”

  “I’m thinking about it. I’m supposed to go up to her place, check out the kid’s stuff, before I decide.”