Chapter Eight #3
The corners of Maximilian’s mouth quirked. “Leave that part to me. It’ll be something salacious.” He winked. “I’m rather good at that, you know. In fact, once, at an after-hours party, I made a bet involving some rope, a jar of marmalade, and—”
“I do not want to know the rest of that story.”
Maximilian smirked. “Suit yourself.”
Vesper watched while he downed the rest of his tea. “If you’re making amendments to our deal, then I am too,” she said. “A courtship is going to require extra work on my end, so my fee will need to be adjusted accordingly.”
Maximilian traded his teacup for another iced pumpkin bar. “Name your price, love.”
Vesper ignored the pet name and tried to think quickly.
Twenty thousand gild would get the Globe through the end of the year and pay off its debts, but a bit of cushion money to help them with the start of the following year couldn’t hurt.
She studied her new gloves a moment, then met the sorcerer’s gaze. “I want forty thousand gild.”
Maximilian leaned forward. “Twenty-five.”
“Thirty-five,” Vesper countered.
“Twenty-six.”
“Thirty.”
Maximilian considered, then nodded. “Fine. Thirty thousand gild to be paid in cash, in one lump sum, upon the successful completion of your assignment.”
Vesper bowed her head and hid her smirk. In truth, she’d have settled for twenty-five thousand gild, but she was proud of her successful negotiation.
“Now that we’ve addressed the practicalities, I’d like to focus on the investigation.” She withdrew her notebook and a pen from her bag, feeling much better now that they were discussing something in her natural element.
“Very well.” Maximilian leaned in. “What’s our approach? Where do we begin?”
“The most critical time in an investigation is within its first forty-eight hours, when everything’s fresh,” said Vesper. “Francis was killed Friday night, and today’s Sunday, so we’ll need to move quickly.” She opened her notebook and wrote down the word facts. “Let’s start with what we know.”
“The exhibition began at eight o’clock,” said Maximilian. “It was over by half past. You found me in the maze and told me that Francis had collapsed around nine thirty—I remember, because I checked my watch. By the time we got to him ten minutes later at approximately nine forty, he was dead.”
Vesper frowned. “That leaves us with a little over an hour of Francis’s time unaccounted for.” She set her notebook down and started to pace up and down the parlor. Movement always helped when she was trying to think. “Let’s focus on the museum’s maze for a moment. How well do you know it?”
“Not well,” said Maximilian. “Before last night, I’d only been in it once, a few months ago after it was renovated by the Heritage Society. They hosted a big celebration and a tour to celebrate.”
“There were four entries in its center,” Vesper recalled.
“So it stands to reason that there were four different paths into the maze. We both went through one, but that still leaves three other paths that Mr. Gladwell—and his murderer—might have used to get in and out.” She stopped pacing for a second.
“Is there any way we could get our hands on a blueprint of the maze?”
“I’ll ask Mrs. Oelrich,” Maximilian offered. “She’s the president of the museum’s Heritage Society, and I believe she oversaw the maze’s restoration.”
“Good.” Vesper nodded. “Now, what do we know about the guests who attended the exhibition?”
“It was an invitation-only event, about sixty guests,” said Maximilian. “Security is a standard at a gathering with that many high society people, so everyone—waitstaff included—had to be on a master list.”
“Any chance someone could have snuck onto the grounds?”
“Possible, but not likely,” said Maximilian. “Security was stationed at every entrance, and also patrolling the exterior.”
“If that’s true, then there’s a chance that the murderer’s name is on that master list,” said Vesper. “We’ll need a copy.”
“Done.”
Vesper resumed her pacing. “While we wait on the blueprint and guest list, we’ll also need to build out Mr. Gladwell’s FAN club.”
“Sorry?” Maximilian’s brows pinched. “His what?”
“His FAN club. It’s an acronym,” Vesper clarified. “Family, Associates, and Neighbors. Once we know the people Mr. Gladwell was close to, we can cross-reference that with the guests who attended the exhibition and see if any of them might have had a reason to want him dead.”
“Finding Francis’s family may prove difficult,” said Maximilian. “I believe he was from West Victerra, and didn’t have any relations locally that I know of.”
“What about associates and neighbors?” Vesper pressed. “Who did he socialize with?”
“Everyone.” Maximilian shrugged. “That’s part of the problem. Francis was a regular on the high society circuit who rarely missed a social event. Working our way through the people who called themselves his friends will take time and a certain level of delicacy.”
Time we don’t have. Vesper steepled her fingers, then brought them to her lips. “We need an entry point,” she determined. “If not a person, then a place where we can start to gather information about who Francis Gladwell was, and why someone wanted him dead.”
The sorcerer smiled. “I have an idea.”