Sibylline Greetings (Book 2, the LiteraTours Cozy Mystery Series)

Chapter 7 - A Detective for Dinner

One chicken carcass, plenty of greasy plates and some rather incoherent recollections of the state of play later, Adrian swigged the last of his beer. "So, you don't know what exactly happened, you don't know who exactly is dead, where exactly your colleague is now and why exactly the cops have taken her in. And you want me to find out what is going on. Does that about sum it up?"

Lorna peeped over her rhinestone glasses, chocolate eyes blinking with merriment. "You forget the historical body, detective."

"Nagini," Adrian said and bared his teeth.

"Pardon?" Aline wiped her mouth with a napkin, then sipped her wine. Not the bottle Adrian had dragged in. The good stuff from Gary's wine cabinet.

"They call me Detective Nagini. Because of my snake-skin boots. But Adrian is fine."

Lorna looked confused.

"Lord Voldemort's pet," Gary explained. "You know who."

"Shh," said Aline with a twinkle in her large grey eyes.

Lorna's forehead cleared. "Ah. I loved those books. Even if I'm the archetypal Muggle, I would so love to see some magic in this world. Real magic, not just in a story. Well, it won't happen. Are they not a protected species?"

Gary sensed a twinge of concern; that female mental ramble was precisely what had made him hesitate to invite his old school friend in the first place. Adrian cared only about facts and logical deductions.

Some rapid-fire deducing must have taken place, to judge by Adrian's response. "My boots are fake. Well, made of real leather, of course, but not from snakes. It's just not pc."

Lorna and Aline nodded their approval.

The smartphone in Gary's pocket made strangled buzzing sounds, and he hastily fished for it.

"Ike?"

"Hello, Dad." Jon's voice carried a faint tremor that betrayed anxiety and the tingle he had experienced earlier again tugged at Gary's scalp. He looked up, mouthed his son's name and forced a light tone into his response.

"Oh, hi there. Everything all right your end? How was school?"

"Boring."

"Well, given what happened two weeks ago I suppose that counts as good news."

"Mh," said Jon. "Dad, what does 'requiring leave of the court to apply' mean?"

"Come again? Apply for what? Leave of the court? What sort of weird stuff do they teach in Amersham?"

Adrian's eyebrow climbed on his forehead, a pale caterpillar.

"Nothing to do with school. Gramps was on the phone earlier when I came down the stairs. He mentioned my name and yours and spoke in a funny hushed tone. But I heard him anyway. Dad, and he's confiscated my laptop and smartphone, I couldn't even check!"

A million ants swarmed down Gary's spine, their feet so cold as if they nested in the godforsaken fridge. Dad-in-law was up to no good.

"He says, I spend too much time on the Internet when I should be reading books. I mean, come on: books! No point in reading when there's films, right?"

Amusement briefly surfaced, then sank again under the weight of the ants. "We'll always disagree over that one. Anyway, thank you for calling me. That was clever of you. I'll have a word with your grandfather, don't you worry."

"Dad, I don't like it here. Can I come home? I'll be okay with bussing it."

That was a real sacrifice. Warmth spread from Gary's core, melting the icy feet of the imaginary insects. His phone buzzed twice. Another incoming call. Gary checked.