Monsters Under the Bed (11 page)

Giulia was enraged, but she held her fury in check far better than I would have given her credit for. “What is plausible isn’t always the truth.” I admitted that with a bow, and she cooled off. “I see you must have heard the rumors, then.” I said nothing, and she inhaled deeply. “There was vile spewing of malicious talk going around. That I had slept with a young charge of mine.”

“And since you’ve worked as a nanny only for the Chance twins….”

“Who else could I have seduced?” she finished for me, her disdain plain. “I did not have sex with either Mo or Haydn. Not ever. They were like my children. I could not have…. The mere thought is repulsive.” Disgust and anger radiated from her, and I was inclined to believe her.

“You are a celebrity, so there are bound to be all kinds of rumors about you.”

Giulia smirked. “And a grain of truth in all of them, is that it?” I shrugged. “You have a remarkable tendency for understatement, Mr. Garrett. So, I shall be direct. Is there any particular piece of innuendo you would have me affirm or disprove?”

You sleeping with mythical beings?
I wondered if I should ask.

She chose for me. “Please, ask away. Don’t be shy. You haven’t been thus far.”

“There’s talk about you and a mythical being.”

Giulia’s eyes widened. Then she burst out laughing. “Oh my! Now that is new!” This was obviously hilarious news to her, and her mirth sure sounded genuine. But I had learned some people had a gift for deflection through sincere displays of emotions. Soon, Giulia gathered herself, suppressing the last few chuckles as she calmed. “Well, to be perfectly blunt, yes, that
is
true. I did have a relationship with a mythical being. Yes, he was wonderful. Tempting him to the pleasures of the flesh was almost as rewarding and sublime as it might be to seduce
you
. Though… I doubt my powers of persuasion would work on you as easily. And no, I will not disclose his identity to you. Not now, or ever.”

Well, her lips were sealed on that matter. Guess I just had to find out for myself.

“Thank you for being so forthcoming, Ms. Capello. None of what you have told me will leave this house.” But I still had one thing to ask. “You may not be able to see it from looking at me, but I was ambushed in an alley yesterday.” She quirked her eyebrows, curious. “Did you by any chance send any goons out to dissuade me from pursuing this case?”

Giulia’s eyes narrowed. “I wish to know who killed Mo. Even more than you, I dare say. Yes, I did give you the runaround yesterday, since I didn’t want to talk to you without learning more about you. But I categorically refute any such allegations. I did
not
hire anyone to harm you or warn you off this case. If Mo was indeed murdered….” Her face twisted in a snarl. “I want to know who killed Mo.”

“Thank you, Ms. Capello.” I was satisfied with the answer. If she was lying, it would come out in due course. “Now I will take my leave of you.” I stood up, preparing to leave. “Unless, of course, you’re the killer. In which case we will meet again, and next time I shan’t be as courteous. My apologies in advance.”

Giulia rose as well, her long legs nimble as her slender yet curvaceous figure came to stand. “Well, Mr. Garrett. I thank you for your candor. Such a rare quality these days. I wish you all the best in your investigation.”

With that said, she shook my hand in farewell and vanished into the dimness of the house with smooth, fluid sashays of her hips, like a runway model.

After our talk, I had to admit Giulia Capello sure was a once-in-a-lifetime experience one wouldn’t want to miss. But apart from Mo’s last day spent here with Giulia, what had I learned?

In a word, plenty.

The stunning redhead escorted me to the door, and once again I felt the powerful magnetic pull of her charms. I wondered how many men had succumbed to the beauties this place seemed to be swarming with. I also puzzled over that craving for them and the cause for it. There was something almost magical about it all.

As I walked out the door, the hairs on my nape stood up. I glanced over my shoulder, and I saw a figure standing by a window, the curtain pulled aside. Even though the curtain quickly fell back in place and clouded my view, I had already recognized the impressive form of Luther Lovell.

I
RETURNED
to Mo’s mansion since it was close, and I had business there.

I stayed parked in the driveway for a moment and did some googling. I had a hunch about what was going on, but I wasn’t sure. There were inconsistencies between what people were saying to me and who they were. Incongruities always annoyed me, and I had to learn more while the thoughts in my head were fresh. And after mere minutes of web and Wikipedia searches, I do believe I hit the jackpot.

Parkinson let me into the manor, and he even offered me a hint of a smile. We may not have been or ever would be friends, but we shared a sort of kinship. We both worked for higher powers, so to speak: I for the police, back in the day, and for influential clients these days, and he for a child genius for a particularly long stretch of time. We were servants, and yet privy to the best life had to offer. There was reward in service itself, it was true.

“Good morning, Mr. Garrett. How may I help you?”

“Is Cecil around?”

“Mr. Chance is in his study. Please, follow me.”

Parkinson led me down a familiar hallway to Cecil’s study. I knocked, and once asked to enter, I did.

Cecil sat behind his desk full of stacks of papers and ledgers. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration as he used his calculator to check numbers. “You can put it down on the desk, Parkinson.”

“I’m afraid I don’t come with servings of tea.”

Startled, Cecil all but jumped in his chair, staring at me wide-eyed. “Mr. Garrett. God, you scared me. I didn’t realize we were supposed to meet today.”

“I apologize for disturbing you in the middle of your work, Mr. Chance, but I have a few follow-up questions. And the sooner we’re done….”

Cecil didn’t even bother to hide his displeased look. Sighing, he shoved his work aside and asked with feigned politeness, “What is it you wish to know?”

I sat down in the chair opposite him. “Why did your business arrangement with Luther Lovell end?”

If Cecil had been chagrined before, he was downright vexed now. “And why is that any of your business? That working relationship ended long before Mo’s death, so I do not see how the two topics could be related.”

Cecil’s snobbery was beginning to irk me, but rich folk often thought they were better than everyone else, especially those who had come into money through their families, so I didn’t let it show. “Whether they are or aren’t remains to be seen. Though I’m not obligated to go to the police if I learn of any criminal activities while on the job, it is not a breach of PI-client privilege to do so, especially since
you
are
not
my client.”

Cecil’s face paled, and he gritted his teeth. I could hear the gears of his brain working from a distance, and I waited for him to reach the inevitable conclusion that he had to speak to me. And predictably, I prevailed. “We had a monetary disagreement. It had nothing to do with Mo.” He lifted his chin in defiance, expecting me to attack him verbally. I waited, while he steamed. “To be frank, I took some of Mr. Lovell’s money, purely to invest, you understand. The investments didn’t pan out, and I was left with a shortage I couldn’t repay.”

“You’re an accountant, not an investment banker.”

He harrumphed loudly, scornful. “One has to be multitalented these days. However, and I mean to emphasize this point, I did
not
embezzle from Mr. Lovell’s business.”

It was possible there was a simple misunderstanding here, but I had other notions in mind. “You’re telling me this was nothing more than a potato, potahto enunciation mistake?”

“Yes.” Cecil seemed relieved I had understood, and he leaned back in his chair, at ease again. Well, I was going to shake that tree of calm for all it was worth.

“That’s your version of events. Now let me tell you another. You did, in fact, embezzle money from Mr. Lovell’s business accounts for whatever reason, investing or no. He caught you. When he threatened to go to the police, you blackmailed him into silence.”

From the tiny breathless gasp Cecil uttered, and the way his eyes widened with fear, I knew my hunch had been dead on. “B-but…. D-did he tell…? I-I didn’t…,” he sputtered, and for a moment I thought he was going to have a full-fledged panic attack. White-collar criminals weren’t always good with confrontation. Then he seemed to collect himself, just a little bit. “Just what did I have over Lovell, in your opinion?” His voice quivered and nearly cracked as he spoke, trying to reassert self-confidence into his words.

“When I met Lovell earlier, he told me about the disagreement you’d had. The story he gave me about forgive and forget didn’t ring true to me, no matter how serene he seemed. That tiny discrepancy between his character and his statement led me to the truth. I imagine you, as a smart man, did the same.” Cecil swallowed hard but kept his lips tightly sealed to prevent any spillage of information, so I continued. “You found out Lovell is a mythical being.”

The way Cecil was panting now told me I was right. Out in the alley, Lovell had made a mistake, a minor slip of the tongue that had led me toward the truth. He’d spoken of a quality of humanity from the point of view of an outsider, and he surely hadn’t intended to say that amid his frustrations at the time.

“I… I….” Cecil’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, I admit it. It’s true. Lovell’s not human.”

“What is he?” From my web searches I had an inkling, but Cecil was in a position to confirm it for me.

“His true name is Kōjin. He’s an ancient Japanese deity, a
kami
of fire, and hearth and home are his specialties. He might seem like a kitten, but he’s a tiger on the prowl, dangerous, with a hot temper. And yes, I know how silly that sounds, but it’s true.”

A
kami
of fire? That explained not only the flickering candles at Lovell’s workplace, but his character and his quest for order, calm, and serenity. If his powers of fire were as destructive as Cecil implied, his need for control would be paramount. That accounted for the meditation and Zen practices the man engaged in. And, not coincidentally, this had also been my hypothesis.

“Why the secrecy? A lot of mythical beings are out to the world since the Veil lifted.”

Cecil shrugged, exasperated. “How would I know? Ask him yourself. I honestly don’t know why. But he seemed very keen to keep his true nature a secret. And since I repaid the money I emb—um, borrowed, we came to an agreement of mutual confidentiality. He and I have no more dealings, business or otherwise, and to be honest, given who he is, I prefer it that way.”

From all I had seen of Cecil, he wasn’t a man of confrontation in the slightest. What he said made sense to me, given his character. The audacity with which he had dared to extort silence from a god must have been a fluke, driven by pure self-preservation after his embezzlement came to light.

In any case, my dream last night started to feel all too real now. Recalling the image of the giant by the hearth giving me sake, his hair aflame, I had to conclude angelic-Mo had been right when he said I had all I needed.

Well, in a dream anyway. In reality, I still had a ways to go.

“You mentioned before that Mo conducted scientific experiments of all kinds here in the mansion.” Cecil, if perplexed by my change of subject, merely nodded. “He had a lab here?”

“Mo had three laboratories in the building. One on the roof, an astronomical lab. Then a chemical lab near his playroom, and a third, geological, one in the basement, although he mixed these two a lot. Oh, and he had a fourth, outside in the garden, a botanical lab.”

“May I see them?”

Obviously relieved I was dropping the matter of his misappropriating funds, Cecil rushed to say eagerly, “Yes, yes, of course. Parkinson will help you find the right rooms. I’m afraid I have to get back to work, and….” His voice faded, and he looked uncertain, even uncomfortable. “I don’t much like going into Mo’s rooms. They are just too….” He swallowed and bowed his head, obscuring his features.

I left him alone with his glum thoughts.

I found Parkinson dusting in one of the many sitting rooms on the ground floor. This one had a grand piano and several bookcases. “How may I be of assistance, Mr. Garrett?”

“I’d like to see Mo’s chemical lab.”

Parkinson’s schooled face betrayed no emotions or surprise at my request. Quietly, he led me upstairs, past Mo’s so-called playroom, and down the hallway until we came to a green door. There, Parkinson left me with an almost imperceptible nod.

I entered through a white airlock and then walked alone into a wet laboratory any science university would have been proud of. Pipes of all sizes ran about the room, and I could see the ventilation system was separate from that of the rest of the house. Stainless steel countertops dominated the large environment, and cabinets were situated between, above, and beneath them in varying sizes. Computer terminals and posters of periodic tables were accompanied by laboratory equipment like Bunsen burners, microscopes, test tubes, and various apparatuses for casting and refining metals. Safety equipment of all kinds, from simple hand wash to counteragents for poisons, littered the walls. I did notice they were all locked and secured. Nothing was out of place.

This was clearly a place of mixed scientific experiments, and yet every precaution had been taken. Mo was a professional, and he’d had an eye for detail, to be sure.

I looked around carefully but without touching anything. I found stacks of chemistry, metallurgy, and biology volumes scattered throughout the space.

I also spotted notebooks filled with neat, tiny handwriting. They were Mo’s. He outlined his projects to the tee, depicted every step he had made with detail and precision, and his conclusions were well drawn out. And on the final page of each notebook was a simple line: “I was right” or “I was wrong.” With every test proved right—and most of them were—Mo had added a smiley face, and if he was wrong, a sad face.