“So this is the jackpot—this ought to tell us how the first Kuzniak killed Crane.”
I’m not sure, she murmured with a distracted air.
Cormac’s eyes needed a break, even if Amelia didn’t. He got a beer from the fridge and sat back to think.
I don’t need to think, I need to read.
“Well, I need to think.”
She kept talking, thinking out loud. If she’d had a body, she’d be pacing back and forth in front of him, her long skirt brushing the floor, her hands gesturing absently. He could almost see it. If they went to his imaginary meadow, he would.
There are several items I’ve not encountered before. The alchemical spell meant to draw gold out of the earth—the stories were right about that, the first Kuzniak did seem to be pursuing some kind of magical gold mining, though I can’t say we’ve seen any evidence that such a method would actually work. It’s the old alchemist riddle, turning lead into gold. Such a nice idea, but can you imagine? It would hardly be worth it because if you could transform base metal into gold, even with a great deal of difficulty, you’d risk debasing the value of gold to such an extent the process wouldn’t be worthwhile after all—you’d transform lead into gold and in so doing make gold just as valueless as lead.
“You’re rambling,” Cormac stated.
Ah yes. Anyhow, I’d be curious to review his findings and perhaps experiment, see if such a thing could be accomplished.
Now that would be interesting. They wouldn’t have to produce enough to debase gold. Just enough to keep from having to find another job, right?
I’ve just had a thought—what if this is really the magic Judi and Frida are looking for, and they’re not interested at all in how Kuzniak killed Crane?
And the two old ladies weren’t about to try to go after Kuzniak and Layne and that pack of thugs. But Cormac shows up on their doorstep, and suddenly they have a way in. “And they’d trust that we would just hand something like that over?”
Perhaps not. Oh, and look at this—he mentions another curious item—an amulet with protective properties. Something he must have inherited from his great-grandfather, along with scraps of other magical knowledge. It’s noteworthy because he says he isn’t sure how it works. Obviously I can’t tell anything about it because it isn’t here. He must have stored it somewhere else. We should have examined him more thoroughly—
“Rifled through the pockets of a dead man, you mean?”
That’s putting it rather crudely.
“It’s all odds and ends. I thought we were trying to solve a hundred-year-old murder.”
Well, now we’re also trying to mine for gold—
His phone rang from inside the pocket of his jacket where he’d left it. Setting the beer aside, hauling himself to where he’d hung the jacket over a chair, he retrieved the phone, checked caller ID—Anderson Layne. He supposed that was only a matter of time.
You probably shouldn’t answer—
He clicked the answer button. “Yeah?”
“You must think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?” The guy was trying hard to sound casual, amused, but the edge to his voice revealed anger. Maybe even fear. So Mollie told Layne. Cormac couldn’t get too upset at her—she didn’t owe him anything. Or maybe Layne just figured it out.
“Kuzniak’s protection spells didn’t outlast him, did they?” he replied conversationally.
“I’m starting to think you’re the one who killed Kuzniak, if you wanted his book that bad.”
That didn’t make any sense. “You want to know who killed him, look at your own gang. You’re the ones messing with all this magic without knowing what the hell you’re doing. What did Kuzniak tell you, that he knew how to suck gold out of those rocks? You think just because vampires are real, something like that’ll work?”
The pause lasted long enough Cormac wondered what kind of nerve he hit with that one. What was it statistics said, most murders were committed by someone the victim knew? Crimes of passion? Maybe Kuzniak had been killed by his own magic backfiring.…
Intriguing, Amelia observed. But not so simple. Why would such a thing happen? How?
Layne was feigning calm. “Why don’t we talk about this, Bennett? Come back down, we’ll have a civilized conv
ersation.”
“Not likely.”
“Then I’ll meet you somewhere. Pick a spot. Anywhere.”