“I don’t,” I said. “I have no idea what the right thing is to do in this case.” And with that, I headed to my office, deep in thought. Both Give A Hand Up and the Tetrachordian Temple had ended up with missing persons cases. While I knew they didn’t have a connection, I desperately wanted a basic old fashion monster case that we could take care of by a hunt-and-destroy session.
When I arrived home, Penn was waiting. She looked a far cry from her usual self. She had changed her goth rockabilly look for a sad beige sweater, and an olive green corduroy skirt. She was wearing flats, and had braided her hair back. She also toned down her makeup so she looked like she could fade into any wallpaper.
I stared at her for a moment then blurted out, “I can’t believe that’s you. You look… Sad.”
“Yeah. This look works for some women, but I don’t feel at all like myself,” she said. “But if we are looking to blend in, we can’t look too self-assured.”
“I understand that. What do you think I should wear?”
She looked me up and down. “No matter what you wear, you look statuesque, but what about that floral caftan in the back of your closet? You wore it when we had that retro Three’s Company party. Remember? You dressed up as Mrs. Roper? Or is that a little too on the nose?”
“I think they’d shove me out of the temple rather than try to recruit me,” I said with a laugh. “What about if I wear that tan skirt — you know the one. I bought it when I was trying to blend in at the Micro Technia party. I went undercover as one of their HR people?” It had been an odd case, and I hadn’t thought of it in years. But I still owned the linen skirt and a pale pink shirt to go with it.
“That works,” she said. “Brush your hair back into a loose ponytail, and tone down your makeup like I toned down mine. If you have a pair of flats, wear them. The last thing you want to do is intimidate the guys with your height.”
“Should we eat first? You know I’m apt to spill anything messy on myself.” I scooped up Jangles and nuzzled her fur with my nose. She smelled good, dusty and warm, like comfort incarnate. Murdoch wove in and out around my legs, mewing.
“That’s a good idea. Dinner’s ready. I made beef enchiladas, and for dessert I decide to make a chocolate cake. It just seemed like a good day for chocolate.” She led the way into the kitchen, and I followed. I set Jangles down on a chair and helped Penn set the table. She brought over the casserole dish filled with enchiladas, and the chocolate cake was on a stand already, on the table. Penn was practicing cake decorating, and she was doing a good job, the cake actually looked pretty and vintage. Everything smelled like heaven.
We settled in a our chairs, and talked about the day.
“You wouldn’t believe what I found out about Give A Hand Up,” I said.
“Do tell?” She scooped extra sauce over enchiladas and then handed me the spoon.
I told her about their slavery operations in the past and, apparently, in the present. “I really want to take care of James Appleberry. He’s a fucking waste of space.”
“What can we do to him? And does he have any children to pass the company onto?” Penn asked.
“I don’t know, to be honest. I suppose we should consider handing the whole case over to the FBSI. We have enough evidence.”
The Federal Bureau of Supernatural Investigations was an offshoot of the regular FBI, but it was uniquely situated to take care of both national and international supernatural crimes. They got involved when the case was too big for the locals, or too dangerous.
I wasn’t sure how much I trusted them—I didn’t particularly trust any government agency—but they did a better job than the local police. I tended to prefer working with agencies created within the Supe community, rather than those who were formed primarily from human standards.
For one thing, there were some criminal activities that deserved a whole lot more than a few years in prison. Those of us who were of supernatural lineage—whether half or full—tended to live by harsher rules than the humans. In fact, if you lived on sovereign land, all bets were off and rule was by the council of elders.
“In this case, I’d think about involving them,” Penn said. “For one thing, a number of humans have been victimized as well as Supes. I believe James Appleberry happens to be human as well, isn’t he?”
“You make a good point,” I said, forking a bite of enchilada into my mouth. The warmth of the tomato sauce and beef against the buttery tortilla wrap made me stop, close my eyes, and welcome the break in a rough day. “You’re probably right.”
“Well I’ve got some news,” Penn said. “It looks like were getting new neighbors. The Klaxons sold their house, and I saw a moving truck pulling up today.”
“I hope they’re not a bunch of idiots. Or party hearty types. That’s the last thing I want to deal with.”
“Better that than a bunch of right-wing nutjobs. I don’t want someone picketing outside our front gate.” Penn held out her hand for my plate and carried our dishes over to the counter.
I picked up the knife and began to cut the chocolate cake, sliding the pieces onto dessert plates.
“I don’t think we have to worry though,” she said. “They look a little punk, but they waved to me and came over to introduce themselves. Her name is Lena and his name is George. She’s an artist and he’s a musician, but he promised that they have soundproofed the garage so we won’t hear him practicing.”
“What does he play?” I asked.
“Retro grunge, a little psychedelia. Apparently he’s a classically trained pianist, but he traded it in for a keyboard and leather jacket. She’s a sculptor, and she’s had several shows around town. I saw a couple of the larger pieces they were moving into their house and honestly, she’s talented.” Penn accepted her cake.
“Do they have any kids?” I asked.
Penn shook her head. “No, and they are of an age that I think if they were going to have children, they would by now. They didn’t say anything about kids. They do have a dog, a goofy golden retriever. Her name is Schnauzer, which I found odd. But I didn’t question it.”
