37

  It was another miserable summer day in Valderia. Storm clouds had rolled back in over night, bringing a relentless deluge of rain. Thick stone-sized raindrops hammered straight down on the airless city. Creatures sweltered under raincoats, and the streets had formed a canopy of umbrellas and hastily erected awnings in front of shops. The gutters had overrun and the river had swollen so much it was threatening to burst its banks and drown everything within a mile. But the city marched on. Still shops opened, business was done, crimes were committed, and Ridley and Nairo plugged on with their case.

  After Manny Litteragi had proved to be a dead end, they had gone back to the drawing board, in this case, it was a literal drawing board. They had stared at the barebones of their case for hours. Drinking, arguing, eating, and sleeping in between. Finally, they had decided to look at Friedrich Shumacker, the Owner and former boyfriend of Lana LaRue. Fingers kept getting pointed back at him, and he was a man of means and power. If anyone could have staged two murders to look like overdoses, it would be him.

  “I managed to run down those names,” Nairo said as she shook rainwater from her hair and closed the door behind her.

  Ridley was sitting by the window, staring out into the rain and chain smoking. He was becoming increasingly reticent as the case grew colder.

  “Shumacker’s mistresses?” he said after a long pause.

  “Yes. We have Stacey Alibaster, Gwen Fortuna, and Cecilia Brown. All former employees of the Umbry Troupe. I’ve sent their names to Conway. He should be able to get us addresses, but it sounds like he’s pretty busy up there.”

  “That big drug bust?” Ridley asked, not looking away from the window.

  “You heard about that?”

  “Everyone has. Cameron Haney got caught with forty kilos of Burn. Apparently, the city has gone dry.”

  “At least the OD’s have stopped.” Nairo sat down at her desk and rubbed her aching neck. “Could be a day or two before we hear from Conway again.”

  “And in the meantime, we just sit here and twiddle our thumbs?” Ridley said, stubbing out his smoke and lighting another.

  “You got another idea?” Nairo asked.

  “The wife.”

  “What?”

  “Shumacker’s wife.”

  “What about her?”

  “What’s the one thing we’ve heard from damn near every person we’ve interviewed about LaRue?”

  “Why would anyone want to hurt Lana?” Nairo repeated it wearily.

  “Exactly. We thought Manny had motive. We thought Shumacker had motive. Turned out we were wrong. The only person left who might bear some sort of ill will towards Lana LaRue would be…”

  “Shumacker’s wife,” Nairo finished. “But he said she didn’t even know about LaRue.”

  “According to him,” Ridley said. “How many cheating husbands do you think there are that think their wives are completely clueless?”

  “Fair point. But from the sound of it, Schumacker’s been doing this for decades, long before he met his wife. She must have known what he was about before they ever got married.”

  “Doesn’t mean she’s happy about it now,” Ridley said.

  “I suppose it’s as good a motive as any of the others we’ve investigated.”

  “Better than sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.”

  “Agreed," Nairo said. "How do we find her?”

  “At home, I’m guessing.”

  “And you know where that is?”

  Ridley clamped his smoke between his teeth, stalked across the office, and pulled a sheaf of paper from his top drawer.

  “I found it when we first started investigating him. Fancy taking a ride out to the Forest?”

  Nairo sighed and pulled her coat back on.

  “Let’s go.”

  *

  The Shumacker manor was located in the Wormdown Grove about ten miles from the outskirts of the city. Wormdown was an old Hamlet that the Owners had swallowed up when the workers migrated to the city. Now it was a sprawling series of estates, each owned by various offshoot branches of the richest, and most secretive, elites of the city. They were colloquially known as the Owners. An apt name since they owned the very land and a majority of the buildings within the city. They had been humble small landowners many generations ago, but they had been smart. They had seen the great changes coming and knew that little villages and hamlets would give way to megacities like Valderia. They kept hold of their land and leased it out. Then brought more and leased that. Until, eventually, they were rumoured to own three out of every five buildings and streets in Valderia. There were only five families originally, but through generations of promiscuity, marriage, bastards, and divorces, the five families had splintered into dozens of lesser families, each owning scraps of the actual empire, but that was enough to make them exceedingly wealthy. The original five families, it was rumoured, were almost as wealthy as the Elves. The Shumackers were one of these lesser branches. They had married into one of the five families generations ago and had managed to maintain their position and wealth through further marriage and offspring. Their estate was one of the smaller ones, but it was well kept and just ostentatious enough to be fashionable. Nairo and Ridley pulled up to the large iron wrought gate, the manor house a small, white blob in the distance. A footman approached them, hiding under a large black umbrella.

  “May I help you?” he drawled in an accent that was so uptight it wouldn’t be able to pass wind if it tried.

  “We’re here to speak with the lady of the house regarding an ongoing investigation,” Nairo said, holding up a hand to keep the rain out of her face. “Is Lady Shumacker home?”

  “Of course, do you have an appointment?” the footman asked. He was shorter than Nairo but still managed to look down his nose at her.

  “Listen mate, we’re here about a murder. The Lady will want to talk to us before she has to be summoned by the police.” Ridley snapped at the footman.

  “You’re police?”

  “She said we’re here investigating a murder, didn’t she?” Ridley said.

  Nairo shot him a dark look. She had told Ridley, under no circumstances, would she impersonate a police officer in the course of their investigations. Despite this, Ridley kept coming up with creative ways to let people assume they were police.

  The footman looked from Nairo to Ridley.

  “This is what is called obstructing the course of justice,” Ridley said to the footman.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He hesitated, then unlocked the gate and stood aside for them.

  “I shall announce your arrival,” the footman said. “What are your names?”

  “Edgewater and this is Washbottom,” Ridley said as he strode past the footman. “Our boss is Lieutenant Conway.”

  Nairo rolled her eyes and crunched her way up the long gravel path to the house. The manor was beautifully kept. The whole perimeter was lined with Fortress hedges, standing at least twelve feet high and trimmed to precise symmetry. There were fountains, potted plants, emerald green lawns, and even a swinging bench hanging from a tree. It looked like the idyllic grounds for a stately home. They were led to the enormous main doors and asked to wait in the foyer.

  Ridley looked around and whistled.

  "I've never been in a house with a foyer,” he said.

  “I don’t think you can describe this place as a house,” Nairo said. “You could build a dozen homes just on the lawn back in the city.”

  “How much evil shit do you gotta do to get a house like this?” Ridley said.

  "Depends on what you consider evil,” a voice said from down the hall.

  A tall, elegant woman walked towards them. She wore a figure hugging dark green dress. Her auburn hair was tied in a bun, showing off her long neck, with a choker of glittering green diamonds around it. She had hazel coloured eyes and perfectly white teeth. Her face was smooth and wrinkle free but her eyes were weathered, exuding surety that belied her age. On her hip was a small child, perhaps a toddler, smiling and gurgling. Over her shoulder came the hulking butler they had seen at the theatre for Lana LaRue’s memorial show. It was hard to imagine Lady Shumacker as that fierce woman who stormed out of the show that night. The butler looked the same, however. Tall and dark with a hard jaw and suspicious eyes.

  “Mrs. Shumacker?” Nairo asked.

  “Call me Leanne. And you are?”

  “Edgewater and Washbottom.” Ridley said without missing a beat.

  “But you can call me Sally, and this is Ridley,” Nairo said, trying to hide her annoyance.

  “I understand you’ve come to question me regarding a murder." Leanne said, a playful smile on her face. “Who is it I have murdered?”

  “Not you,” Nairo said. “There has been a murder, and we were hoping you might be able to help our investigation.”

  “Fascincating. Please, do come this way.”

  The butler stepped in front of them and pushed open a set of double doors and into the lounge, and then a set of french doors that led to a glass conservatory. There was already tea placed on the table.

  “I do love watching the rain,” Leanne said as she walked towards her seat, the butler jumping to pull it out for her. She gently sat herself down and then gave her son to the butler. He whisked the child off to the other side of the conservatory to play on a rocking horse. “Please sit.”

  Nairo and Ridley sat opposite Leanne and the butler reappeared to pour the tea. He kept his eyes low while Ridley watched him curiously.

  “Milk? Sugar?” the butler asked. His voice sounded like he went to an all boys school where everyone had double-barreled names, but Nairo couldn’t miss the slight gutter twang of Valderia’s harder corners buried underneath.

  “Four sugars,” Ridley said.

  The butler continued to pour the teas, handing them out, before stepping away from the table.

  “So what can I help you with, detectives?” Leanne asked, blowing on her tea, which accentuated her gorgeous cheekbones and luscious lips.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about the death of Lana LaRue, the actress?” Nairo began.

  Leanne looked at her and sipped her tea.

  “I have, yes. Tragic really, but the stage is a harsh place for young girls. I should know.” Leanne gave them a glittering smile.

  “You were an actress?” Ridley asked.

  “And a singer. And a dancer. But that was all a lifetime ago,” Leanne said, that twinkle reappearing in her eyes.

  “Is that where you met your husband, Friedrich?” Nairo asked.

  Leanne gave a small smile and then nodded.

  “Yes. He saw me on stage and had to have me, and my husband usually gets what he wants. I was barely seventeen when I met Fred.”

  “Your husband likes his starlets?” Ridley asked, and the smile faded from Leanne’s face.

  “He has a… type,” she said, smiling again, but this time it did not reach her eyes.

  “How long have you and Mr. Shumacker been married?” Nairo said.

  “It feels like a lifetime.” Leanne laughed and stirred her tea, a curious look in her eyes. “But officially it will be nine years next month.”

  “Congrats,” Ridley said as he slurped his tea. “How old’s the kid?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your son,” Ridley said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the boy on the rocking horse.

  “Teddy? He’s just turned two,” Leanne said, beaming brightly at her child.

  “He your first?” Ridley said.

  “My only child, yes.”

  “Just I saw those names on the fireplace,” Ridley said, pointing over her shoulder at the grand fireplace, on which were seven names on white parchment, being held by small teddy bears with black ribbons tied around them.

  Leanne looked over her shoulder and then blanched. The colour drained from her face, and she looked away from them, her eyes bright, and her slender neck bobbing as she swallowed. The butler shifted beside them.

  “Those are… my babies that didn’t make it.” Leanne’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We tried many times before we were blessed with Teddy.”

  “Oh I’m so sorry,” Nairo said, looking at Ridley, who gave a small shrug as if to say, ‘How was I supposed to know?’

  “It’s quite alright,” Leanne said, taking a steadying breath and flicking a finger under her eye to wipe away a tear. “My first, Annabele, was the reason Fred and I even got married. Accidents do happen, and Fred, to his credit, made an honest woman of me as soon as he found out I was pregnant.”

  Ridley exchanged a look with Nairo: Fred was certainly a creature of habit.

  “But what does any of this have to do with a murder?” Leanne asked them. “From what I understand, Lana LaRue’s death was an accident?”

  “We believe it may not have been,” Nairo replied. “Did you ever meet Ms. LaRue?”

  “No. Like I said, I retired from the stage a decade ago when I fell pregnant, Fred insisted on it. I’m afraid I haven’t been back to Valderia much since.”

  “You don’t go to the city much?” Ridley asked.

  “No. I don’t go anywhere really.” Leanne laughed. “I’m afraid motherhood has made me rather boring! I spend most of my days here or at one of our villas on the lakefront.”

  “Mr. Shumacker doesn’t like you going out?” Nairo said.

  "Oh, Fred doesn’t mind very much either way. But with running this place, being a mother, and being a Shumacker, there just isn’t much time for anything else. Plus, I had my fill of Valderia. I’m much happier out here. Things are slow and consistent.” Leanne looked wistfully out of the window.

  “And were you aware of any relationship Fred may have had with Ms. LaRue?” Nairo asked, picking her words carefully.

  Leanne sipped her tea and shrugged her slender shoulders.

  “Fred is a patron of the Umbrey theatre, I’m sure they must have known each other in some capacity.” Leanne said, looking into her tea cup.

  “Mr. Schumacker never spoke about her to you?” Nairo asked. “Surely you’re not suggesting my Fred had anything to do with Ms. LaRue’s unfortunate passing?”

  “No, we don’t think so,” Nairo said as Ridley began opening his mouth. “We’re just eliminating people from our investigations.”

  “I hope so,” Leanna said, her voice hardening. “Because my husband is a very powerful man, and I would hate to think what would happen if you were going around accusing him of something so ridiculous.”

  Nairo locked eyes with Leanne. Her bright hazel eyes were suddenly dark and icy. A child’s cry from behind them broke the moment. Little Teddy had fallen off of his horse. Leanne was out of her seat in an instant, but the butler was quicker. He crossed the conservatory in three massive strides and scooped up the fallen boy tenderly. Leanne raced to his side, and together they calmed the child, kissing his scraped knee and stroking his dark hair.

  “I’m afraid that is all I have time for today,” Leanne said to them as she took her child from the butler. “Show these people out,” she said to the butler before walking away.

  The butler turned to them imperiously and held his hand up for them to leave. Nairo wanted to ask more questions, but Leanne was already gone. Ridley looked at the butler’s hand and then up to his face before smiling.

  “No problem, Jeeves,” he said, downing the rest of his tea and standing up.

  “That isn’t my name,” the butler said as he opened the doors and led them back to the main entrance.

  “What is your name?”

  The butler hesitated.

  “Reginald,” he said curtly.

  “Reginald… got a last name?” Ridley asked.

  “Not one that I need to divulge to you.” The butler pushed open the main doors and signalled for the footman to escort them to the end of the lane. “I’ve already arranged a carriage to take you back to the city.” Without another word, he slammed the doors shut behind them.

  Nairo and Ridley battled back through the rain to the waiting cab.

  “Spectre Lane in Little Kang?” the driver confirmed with them as they got in.

  “Yes please,” Nairo said as Ridley looked back up at the manor house.

  “Something ain’t right there,” he said.

  “We’ll talk when we get back to the office,” Nairo said, her eyes flicking to the driver, and Ridley nodded before settling back into his coat and brooding.

  “Something…” Ridley muttered again.