The Case of the Lost Antrum: the Wolflock Cases, #9 by Rhiannon D. Elton

Author:Rhiannon D. Elton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amteur sleuth, detective, mystery, cozy mystery, gas lamp, steam punk, missing person, fantasy
Publisher: Rhiannon D. Elton
Published: 2022-03-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Mr & Mrs Dalur

WOLFLOCK TOSSED AND turned all night as he slept on the clues before him. What had Officer Tand shown Lija? How did that tie in with her disappearance? Why was Captain Estivan keeping things secret from his own team? Why had Lija’s stepmother come looking for her husband here?

The questions bounced around in his head. Every time he thought he came close to an answer, another question cut across it. He felt grateful to see the dawn light driving the shadows of night away on the other buildings he could see through the window.

He rolled over to see Mothy snoring in his peculiar sleep contortion act. Wolflock sat up and brushed his hair with his fingers. His toiletries were back at the Raven’s Burrow Mountain Tours, and he didn’t want to use anyone else’s brush or comb, even if Gretah had laid them out on the dresser for him and Mothy. He tidied himself up and put his shoes on before clicking his fingers by Mothy’s face. He just kept snoring.

“Mothy. Mothy wake up,” he sang. Mothy snored louder in response.

With a smirk, he clapped his hands by Mothy’s ear.

“Huh wha!?”

And instantly regretted his decision.

Mothy threw out his arms and legs like a scrambling deer, whacking Wolflock in the face twice and landing a heel to his gut, sending him reeling backwards onto his plush bed.

“Lockie?” Mothy slurred as he unwound his limbs from the blankets and sat on the edge of his bed. He scratched his fine, mousy hair and wiped his eyes. “S’wrong?”

“I wanted to tell you what I heard last night,” coughed Wolflock. “Now I’m less inclined...” He rubbed his jaw as he looked daggers at his friend.

“Oh? I was bone tired last night. Couldn’t keep my eyes open. What’dya find out?”

Wolflock told him of Gretah and Tand’s exchange before the sound of a bell called them down to breakfast. Mothy pouted after he heard Wolflock had gone without him, but his mood changed when he saw the beautiful breakfast laid out for them across a dark wood table with individual green cushioned seats that matched the heavy green drapes. Fresh bread, boiled eggs, toasted seed muffins, porridge with dried fruit, and stewed root vegetables with salt and Northern spices tantalised them into their seats. The aromatic cacophony of smells made the boys' bellies rumble as they started piling their plates.

Mothy immediately started shovelling food, but Wolflock looked around to see where their host may be. Gretah pushed a delicate chair into the room with a frail, pale-looking woman who seemed nothing like Ms Vuori.

“Ms Ingur Vuori, I presume. It is a pleasure to finally meet our host.”

He gave Mothy a kick under the table, so he’d display some manners.

“Thanks for letting us stay,” Mothy smiled through a mouth full of bread.

Ms Ingur eyed them from her emaciated sockets. Her thin form was shawled in a dark black wool blanket and her brittle, decorated fingers wrapped around a ceramic cup like a heavily jewelled crow’s foot.

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