DOVE
DOVE
WHEN OLIVER AND THOMAS moved into their new home, they only moved a few streets away, but at a distance far enough that when it rained Hetty was inclined to wait out the downpour. Although the pair had lived there for a very short time, they had settled in so quickly that it felt like they had always been there. The size probably helped. It was smaller than the house on Juniper Street, with fewer rooms. Only two bedrooms were on the second floor: their room and a guest room. The kitchen was a generous size, which was a good thing, because the rest of the house had been taken over by Thomas’s fledgling mail-order business.
That morning Oliver sat on his front steps reading a newspaper with an unlit pipe clenched between his teeth. Next to him, in an old picnic basket and chewing on a wooden block, was Lorene.
The baby’s eyes darted right to Hetty and Benjy, and she gurgled in delight, causing the block to fall into her lap.
“I wouldn’t go inside if I were you,” Oliver said as he turned a page. “There’s a storm brewing.”
“You mean he’s hard at work?” Hetty asked. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“It is for me. We’re supposed to be watching the baby together. I don’t like doing it on my own.”
“You’re doing well,” Benjy remarked.
Oliver snorted and continued his overblown grumbling. “I have plenty of practice looking after this little one. With George now working at Olmstead and Darlene at her fancy painting job, Lorene ends up here quite often.”
“Why not with Darlene’s mother?” Hetty asked.
“Not anymore.” Oliver laughed. “Darlene’s mother arranged for someone from an asylum to take a look at Lorene. It was quite shocking. I always knew Darlene’s mother was a bit disappointed to learn that Lorene was Deaf, not that she would try to get rid of— Ah.” Oliver lowered the newspaper, and looked at them with surprise. “You haven’t heard about this?”
“No.” Hetty got that word out as calmly as possible. How she managed, she hadn’t a clue. “Nobody told me a thing.”
Oliver shrugged. “Probably didn’t want to worry about you.”
“Did it happen back in May?” Hetty asked testily. “Lately I’ve been finding out all sorts of things happened that month that I wasn’t aware of.”
“A few weeks ago. Don’t get mad at me—I’m not the one keeping secrets from you.” He folded his newspaper. “You didn’t come here to chat, did you? Did someone die last night?”
“Valentine Duval,” Benjy said.
“Funeral or murder investigation?”
“We’re not sure yet.”
“And you need my help?”
“Your assistance would be greatly appreciated,” Hetty said.
Oliver lifted his eyes to the sky. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? But I have nothing to do other than play babysitter, so I might as well help you.”
“You’re right about that,” Benjy said in a deceptively generous tone. “You’ll be with us as my assistant.”
“Your assistant!” Oliver cried.
“Having one more pair of eyes will be helpful, although we’re hoping to have one less.” Hetty pointed to the baby, who had been watching their conversation with rapt interest. “We can’t bring her with us.”
“Thomas will be happy to look after Lorene. If not, he’ll have something to truly complain about.”
Oliver picked up the picnic basket and opened the door.
Last month this room had been a sitting room, with slightly uncomfortable chairs and an unsteady table where they played cards. All traces of the room were gone, and in their place was the business that had engulfed Thomas’s life. There were boxes everywhere, all ready to either be shipped, packed, or put aside.
“Careful,” Thomas called as he guided another box across the room, Leo and Leo Minor shimmering in the air next to him. Hetty took a generous step out of the way as the boxes flew past.
“What’s all this for? This can’t be the things you’re sending out,” Benjy said.
“If only,” Thomas replied quite cheerfully. “There was a fire in the building that prints the Weekly Sentinel.”
“Never heard of it,” Hetty said.
“And no one else will. They’re ruined!”
“Don’t sound so cheerful,” Hetty remarked.
“Can’t help it.” The last of the crates moved onto the shelf. Thomas dropped his hands, his spellwork fading as he did. “What survived was given to me, so I have the opportunity to sell what I can. That was a stroke of luck.”
“I’ve told more believable stories spun out of whimsy and whispers!”
“But haven’t you always said, ‘In every story is a bit of truth’?”
Oliver stuck out the basket for Thomas to hold. “Since you have all this to sort through, can you spare a moment to look after the baby while we go collect a dead body?”
“I can spare a bit more than that.” Thomas took the basket automatically, and looked on in dismay at the baby sitting up in it. “Why did you put Lorene in my picnic basket!”
“It’s the old one. I got you a new one.”
Thomas clicked his tongue. “I like this one! I can get four sandwiches, a soup canteen, assorted side dishes, and a bottle of wine in it! And you stuck the baby in here!”
“If it can carry your precious soufflés in it,” Oliver retorted, “why not something equally dear?”
“I don’t see what’s the problem,” Hetty said. “The last time we watched Lorene we left her in one of the coffins.”
Oliver and Thomas both stared at her.
“That’s terrible,” Oliver said. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“It was a new one, so it was just on display,” Benjy added.
“At least it’s cushioned,” Thomas groused.
As Oliver turned to him, Benjy interjected, “Can we borrow the wagon from your neighbor? We’ll need it.”
Thomas nodded. “Go ahead. Just don’t tell Joseph you’re using it to carry a dead body.”
“For some reason it bothers him,” Oliver said. “People are so strange.”