Read Online Murder by Magic by Rosemary Edghill - Free Book Online Page B

the tinted window to see the city before me. Critics be damned, San Francisco had a magic all its own. We’d been here for many years, and it still struck me that some cities can truly hold you in their spell. The faint streaks of predawn were appearing. I fought a yawn.
    A noise behind me made me turn. Emma came in from the living room, her white fur robe belted tightly around her, auburn hair spilling loosely around her shoulders. “Darling,” she said. “Must you?”
    I smiled at her. “It keeps me human. So to speak.”
    She wrinkled her pretty nose and looked at me with a combination of irritation and fondness. She doesn’t like my smoking, she never did, but as I’ve pointed out to her, I smoked when she married me, so she has no real grounds to complain. It’s a game, an old one, a familiar one, the type that people who have been together forever and a day can play with each other.
    I turned, reached into the cabinet, and got her favorite cup. Precisely one spoon of sugar (raw, imported from Jamaica), mixed well. Her newest fad was heavy cream, delivered every morning. A heaping splash of that, again mixed well until blended into the coffee. When it was ready, I put the cup on a saucer and presented it to her with a flourish. I could see into the living room, the heavy curtains moving as a breeze came in from the open window.
    She took a sip, smiled, and said, “You’ll do. I think I’ll keep you.”
    “I certainly hope so.” I took my own coffee to the table and joined her. If it matters, I like mine black, no sugar, but I’m not fanatical about it. Over the years, I’ve had everything from nectar of the gods to stuff that tasted like it leaked from a broken crankcase in a truck from Kentucky. Coffee is coffee is coffee, and I’ve loved it from the first time I ever had it.
    “Well,” she said in a teasing tone, “there are things you are good for.” Her smile widened. “Such as the other night . . .”
    “That’s enough about ‘the other night,’” I said in reply. Her smile grew even brighter, and it amazed me, as it always does, that she could still take my breath away, to use a cliché.
    She looked over my shoulder at the sun rising. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    “It always is. But then, it’s not the only beautiful thing I see.” I gave her my own version of a sex-crazed leer.
    She fought a blush. “Now, darling . . .”
    “‘Ah, to be young and in love . . .’” I let it trail off.
    A perfect morning. The sun rising, the woman I loved with me, in our home, safe, warm, and secure. It was all perfect.
    Well . . .
    Except for the body in the living room.
    Just a week ago, we’d been working a case.
    We’d met the client at a small restaurant, a favorite of ours called Café Elégant.
    “Mr. and Mrs. Steele, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he stood to greet us.
    “And you, sir,” I replied as we shook hands. It was obvious that he was instantly and forever dazzled by Emma, but she has that effect on most men. We sat down after he asked us to do so.
    Arthur “Call Me Art” Harrison was unremarkable in every physical way—average height, average weight, average hair loss, average glasses—but for some odd reason he reminded me of a weasel. He had the air of someone who had deciphered the meaning of life and the secrets of the cosmos. After spending ten minutes with him, I could almost believe that he had indeed.
    “You come highly recommended,” Art Harrison said. “Your reputation is remarkable.”
    “We’ve had some luck,” Emma said as the wine steward approached. Harrison ordered the single most expensive wine on the list, without even wondering if it would go with our meals. Since Emma and I had been regulars here over the years, the sommelier brought only two glasses, setting one before Emma, the other before Harrison.
    “You don’t drink, Mr. Steele?” Harrison asked.
    “Not wine,” I said with a small smile.
    Out of the corner of my eye,