Today was filled with reminders of the past.
Miranda Jekyll wasn’t exactly an old friend, but she was a former client and a satisfied one at that. Robin had successfully broken the strictures of her prenuptial agreement with Harvey Jekyll, and we had seen to it that her evil husband was convicted of numerous horrendous crimes (which satisfied Miranda even more). The scandal had rocked Jekyll Lifestyle Products and Necroceuticals, while still leaving a fortune and a half for her.
When Miranda came for a visit, she didn’t just “stop by”; rather, she arrived. Her hair was dyed a striking and potent cinnamon color, styled, swirled, massaged, and moussed into a precise sculpture that would have surpassed Rova Halsted’s wildest dreams as a stylist. Miranda wore lacquered nails, layers of expensive necklaces, too much makeup, and too much pheromone-laced perfume, and the whole package was wrapped up in a tight red dress.
“Why, sweethearts!”—she pronounced it sweet-hots—“So grand to see you again! I just had to say hello, now that I’m visiting the Quarter … temporarily. As temporarily as I can possibly manage. You remember Hirsute, my deliciously masculine companion?”
The large hunk of male that accompanied her looked as if he had gotten carried away ripping bodices and ripped himself right off the cover painting of a romance novel. Flowing dark hair, shirt artfully torn to display his sculpted chest, square jaw, very large hands—and he didn’t talk much. Though they looked human, Miranda and Hirsute had a feral glimmer in their eyes that signaled to a discriminating observer that they were both Monthly werewolves.
“Good to see you again, Mrs. Jekyll,” I said.
“Oh, please, sweetheart, it’s Ms. Jekyll, and I only keep Harvey’s last name because of all the money involved. Besides, I’m sure it annoys the little worm no end. How is he doing by the way, after being executed and all?”
“Getting by,” I said. “He just moved out of the Quarter into a small house in the suburbs.” I didn’t want to reveal that Robin and I had been instrumental in the matter, by filing lawsuits against locals who were trying to keep unnaturals out of their nice normal neighborhood. Even I still had a hard time believing that we had helped the loathsome man.
“I hope Harvey stays far away.” She glided into the offices, holding Hirsute’s muscular arm as if it were an anchor to steady herself. “Ah, I’ve missed the Unnatural Quarter! The seediness of this place reminds me just how wonderful it is to be somewhere else. Most of my time is spent out at the sanctuary up in Montana—that’s my true calling in life. Hirsute makes it so pleasant there.”
Miranda ran her long fingernails across his bare chest. He growled seductively, deep in his throat. As if to compete, Sheyenne brushed up close to me, giving me an unfortunately unfelt ectoplasmic snuggle.
“What brings you here, Ms. Jekyll?” Robin asked.
“I’m back to do my regular check-in at the factory, make sure my minions aren’t ruining things.” She brightened, her eyes twinkling. “And I’ve been invited as a celebrity guest speaker at the Worldwide Horror Convention tomorrow. They begged and begged until I finally had to agree. They’re paying for our room at the Bates Hotel, even told us we could dine in the con suite, whatever that means, but it’s a suite, so it must be fancy.” She batted her eyes—the artificial eyelashes looked like a folded daddy longlegs. “But I see I’m not the only celebrity in town. You, Mr. Chambeaux, are quite the famous detective.”
We had received plenty of publicity in the wake of the JLPN scandal and our recent cases against Senator Balfour’s Unnatural Acts Act, the Smile Syndicate, and solving the murder of the gremlin pawnbroker Snazz. But I feared Miranda was talking about something else.
“I saw the advertisement for your novel, sweetheart. If it’s about the true adventures of a zombie detective, I wonder if I might be in there? A small cameo part perhaps? Every book like that needs a femme fatale.”
“I wouldn’t know, Ms. Jekyll. I haven’t read the novel myself.” After a brief pause, I saw an opportunity and took it—you never know where information might lead. “Since you’re here, maybe you’d like to help out in another case? Recently a werewolf was attacked in the Quarter, stunned unconscious and then scalped.”
“Scalped? Oh, my! But it wasn’t even a full moon.”
“The victim was one of the full-time werewolves,” I said.
“Oh.” Her alarm turned to distaste. “I have little to do with the Hairballs, if I can help it.”
I pressed on. “The victim hired me to look into who attacked him. Not many leads so far, though he’s suspicious of two troublemaker Monthly werewolves, Scratch and Sniff. They mentioned they’ve been to your sanctuary?”
“There was a time when ‘troublemaker werewolves’ was a redundant statement,” Miranda said with a sniff. “I know those two. Rowdy, unruly boys, but they can’t help it. They’re just hot-blooded. At least they’re real werewolves, the ones that transform under a full moon, not those other types.”
“I don’t understand,” Robin said. “You don’t consider the full-timers to be real werewolves?”
“Sweetheart, a werewolf transforms. Human during the day, majestic beast under the light of the full moon. If you’re covered with hair all the time, there’s no transformation, is there? Hairballs are just like trained talking dogs.”
Hirsute surprised us by speaking up. “They look like Wile E. Coyote.”
“I’ve noticed friction between the two types of werewolves,” I said. “Does it go beyond rivalry? Maybe to the point of gang warfare? A blood feud? If you could tell us anything about the long-standing grievances, that might help us solve the case.”
Miranda waved her colored nails in the air. “Sweethearts, do I look like I get involved in politics? Of course not. It’s none of my concern. Hirsute, escort me back out onto the street. I want to walk up and down the boulevard and show you off.”
“I would be most honored to do so.” He took Miranda’s hand and nibbled on her knuckles, much to her delight.
“I’ll see you at the convention, Mr. Chambeaux. Perhaps you can dine with us as my guest in the con suite?”
“I doubt I’ll be going to the Worldwide Horror Convention,” I said, wondering what I would do there.
But Miranda just laughed as she walked out the door. “Of course you will, Mr. Chambeaux. Of course you will.”