Midnight Diner 5.1 by Douglas J. Lane & Max Harris & P.C. Vandall & Maurice Broaddus & Karina Fabian

Author:Douglas J. Lane & Max Harris & P.C. Vandall & Maurice Broaddus & Karina Fabian [Lane, Douglas J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ccPublishing NFP
Published: 2014-01-26T18:30:00+00:00

Good Intentions: From the Case Files of DragonEye, PI

(Part One of Four)

Karina Fabian

Episode One: Of Corpses and Corruption

The late October wind rattled the walls of the warehouse where I made my home and the office of DragonEye Private Investigations, reminding me that one, we were in for a rough Colorado winter; two, we really needed better insulation; and three, the cold was probably going to keep us from getting any new cases.

All that added up to a very unhappy dragon—me. My name’s Vern, and I’m the dragon half of DragonEye, PI. My noble purpose: to find truth through deception, protect the Mundane world from the magical elements they do not understand (but will muck with, anyway), defend the downtrodden of both Faerie and Mundane, and eventually afford a warmer lair.

I had determined to leave the phone calls to my partner, Sister Grace, and had settled down for a well-deserved nap with my space heater when I heard a crash from the office. I rushed in to find Grace crumpled into a chair, her hands to her mouth, the phone on the floor.

“Guster Brody is dead—and the police say it’s suicide!”

We arrived at Brody’s home just as the coroner was bringing in the body bag. Larena Hanna, a rookie and one of the first centaur cops on the Los Lagos force, stood watch on the lawn with a scowl that spoke of more than ire at getting stuck with guard duty. When we asked to enter, she gave me a smile full of sweet malice. “Oh, please do! And give my regards to Mrs. Brody.”

Although modest on the outside, the interior of the Brody home reeked of wealth. I have a high regard for wealth well-invested, and the Brodys knew quality. Antiques, original art, even a Mayan artifact I’d have loved to add to my collection…if I were allowed to collect anymore. Grace smacked my flank, and I put aside art appreciation time and followed her into Brody’s office.

In a leather chair behind a cherry wood executive desk slumped Guster Brody, a gun still in his hand, and his brains splattered all over the civic awards on display behind him. Grace gasped and made the sign of the cross. I wrapped my tail over her shoulder.

Detective Vialpondo looked up from the tablet where he was typing in notes. “What are you two doing here? I didn’t call you.”

“I did.” Father Rich of Little Flowers Parish said from behind us. He stopped short at the site of Brody’s remains, but squared his shoulders and walked the rest of the way in, touching Grace’s arm as he passed. He set his satchel a clean corner of the desk, and pulled out his stole. “And I was called by one of your officers,” he chided lightly as he settled the stole over his shoulders.

Vialpondo huffed through his cheesy mustache. “Ain’t no use in Last Rites, Padre. He’s an obvious suicide.”

“We will not assume his spiritual state at the time of death. You know that, Oren.

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