Chapter 50: Wrinkles

When I arrived at Nico’s there were still some lights on. Hers was one of the few houses that hadn’t been painted or decorated in any way, which ironically made it much more noticeable. I went to knock on the door, but she opened it before my fist could hit it. She had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and a bowl of some kind of soup in her hand. She gave a quick gesture with her head to invite me in, so I walked through the door. Her place was spartan, aside from some stacks of books and a few old pieces of art she’d looted from a museum that were hanging crooked on the walls.

“Glad to see you’re still here in Pott’s, guess they decided not to exile you.”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. I was pleading my case, answering questions, but we got interrupted. There’s been a murder.”

The cigarette in Nico’s mouth drooped. “A murder? I’d have expected that kind of thing out in some regular human settlement, but not here. Who died?”

“A woman named Lydia. She was ripped to shreds, partially eaten.”

“An animal?”

I shook my head. “Teeth marks were distinctly those of a deadman.”

She nodded, understanding without me needing to elaborate. “They put you on the case or did you do that yourself?”

“A bit of both.”

“You broken anyone’s bones during your investigation yet?”

I sighed. “No. As a matter of fact I’ve just had a few interviews. I don’t need to use violence as much in a place like this.”

“Despite the fact that you’d want to.”

I opened my mouth for a harsh response, but shut it. I had been tempted to use a bit more force. It had certainly made things easier in all my other investigations, but this wasn’t the place. Especially if I wanted to keep working for the good of deadmen and Pott’s in particular. I opened my mouth to speak, but this time had a more measured thing to say. “Got any more soup?”

She nodded, and pointed to the kitchen where I saw a small pot letting off steam. I approached it, and dumped the sliced pig heart I’d received from Pete into the pot. I stirred it for a few minutes, letting it all heat, then poured some into a bowl. I didn’t bother getting a spoon, instead I just drank it straight from the bowl.

Nico raised an eyebrow as I did. “Mama would be furious if she saw you eating like that.”

“I don’t know about that. Mama’s pretty on my side lately.”

“Did she side with you at your meeting with the Honored Dead?”

“Yes, very strongly. I think I had three of them firmly on my team by the end of it.”

Nico let out a breath, and I saw some of the tension in her face ease. “Good. You belong at Pott’s as much as I do. Methods aside.”

I nodded, deciding to hold my disagreement back. Sure I wanted to support Pott’s and its people, but the idea that I belonged there as much as Nico was just wrong to me. Though I appreciated what she was trying to say.

I stood up from her couch and looked around at her stacks of books. Still nothing remotely interesting. For some reason she liked to collect books that were heavily about the old world, or were considered classics of it. I’d given a few of the things in her collection a try in the past and had found all of it incredibly dry and uninteresting. There was one I almost enjoyed about a man hunting a whale, but even that was a bore in comparison to what I preferred to read. I didn’t understand reading about people and their normal old world problems, when I could read about a Lich King slaying a dragon, or a mad bowhunter blessed by a snake god. Still, I looked anyway. Just seeing piles of books was pleasant. It reminded me of my own setup on my boat, though with fewer maps. Nico didn’t write a lot down like I did, preferred to keep it all in her head.

When we were done eating, she rolled out an old military cot I was fairly certain she only kept for when I was in Pott’s. She tossed me a blanket Mama had sewn, and went to her own room to sleep. I laid down and closed my eyes. It took me quite some time to fall asleep, the murder, the discussion with the Honored Dead, and my own recent bloody experiences all played in my mind dozens of times in every order I could think of. In spite of that though, eventually I was granted a mercifully dreamless sleep, oddly free of my usual nightmares.

I woke up just as the sun was peeking through the colored glass of Nico’s windows. I sat up in the cot and did a quick mental check of everything on my person. It wasn’t like I expected anything to be gone, it was just a force of habit at this point. Even when I slept in ‘safe’ places, I couldn’t ever fully turn off the idea that danger and violence could happen at any time.

I stood up, went to the restroom, then got some water. I didn’t bother waiting for Nico to wake up to say goodbye. I was certain she didn’t get as much sleep in her house as she wanted. She was a Postman, so only spent maybe a week every few months here, but she made that time a priority. I had asked her why she even bothered having a house here if she didn’t spend much time in Pott’s, and I remember the question had made her sad. Like I should’ve already had the answer.

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and slung my pack over my shoulder before making my way out onto the street. It was already busy, with multiple deadmen out and about. I exchanged nods with a few as I walked, they were being polite, but it felt even more forced than usual. Things were tense. Pott’s wasn’t used to murder, and everyone was being forced to deal with a break in their illusion of safety.

I made my way to the city’s center where ‘The Last Meal’ was located. My long stride carried me there quickly. The restaurant was painted slate gray, and given a false texture to make it look like rock. The names of frequent customers were carved into the outside walls as if it was a massive gravestone.The restaurant was closed, but I could see several people starting the process of preparing food, and getting it ready for people. There was no money in Pott’s, so I couldn’t call the people that ate there ‘customers’, but multiple restaurants still ‘competed’ for deadmen to eat at them. Pride and bragging rights were all the motivation they needed to do so.

I went to the front door and gave it a knock. I saw a few people looking at the door confused, before one of them, a younger man in an apron and small hat, came to the door.

“Sorry man, we’re closed.”

“I know. I’m Donovan, I’m investigating Lydia’s death.”

His eyes widened. “Do-Donovan, the marshall?”

I gave a slight nod.

“Come in.” He opened the door, and I stepped through it.

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“Whose in charge?” I asked.

“That’ll be Mel. I’ll grab him.”

I nodded, and the boy ran toward the sounds and smells of the kitchen. I waited for a few moments, looking around. The place was clean, and seemed as orderly as everywhere else in Pott’s. I was surprised to find myself missing the grime of the watering holes I’d encountered in the wastes. I wistfully ran a finger across the nearest table and let out a sigh when not even a bit of dust came off on it.

“Marshall Donovan?”

I turned toward the new voice and saw a portly deadman, with a surprisingly full beard standing in front of me, the boy who let me in stood just a few feet behind him. “You run this place?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Mel.”

I nodded. “I have some questions, Mel.”

“Well, We’re in the middle of prep-”

“Now.”

He nodded. “Alrighty then.” He gestured to the nearest two seat table and we sat across from one another.

We sat in silence for a few moments and I just looked at him and sized him up. He seemed nervous, and uncomfortable. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, but I took note of it, and decided on an approach. I’d wait for him to speak.

He squirmed a bit. “This is about Lydia?”

“Yes. Unless there’s something else I should know about.”

He shook his head. “No sir. Uh, what do you need to know?”

“Tell me about her.”

He swallowed. “Well, um, she was a good worker. She knew her way around both the people that came in, and the kitchen.”

“She get along well with everyone?”

“Yeah, yeah, I mean, you might even say she got along with everyone a little too well.”

I started tapping the table with my fingers. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, um, she just had a lot of…friends. That’s all.”

I tilted my head. “I met Delilah, are you saying she was seeing someone else?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “Well… not just one person. I-I don’t want to speak ill of her.”

I stopped drumming on the table. “She doesn’t care. She’s dead. And if she did care, I’m sure she’d want whoever killed her to be taken care of.”

“Uh well… there was Percy and Jean. Though those were all I know of.”

“And she was seeing them both at the same time? Along with Deliliah?”

He nodded. “From what I could tell, yes sir.”

I picked at my teeth. That was a fresh layer. I let Mel get back to work after getting all the details on the rest of them. Then I interviewed everyone else one by one. I didn’t get any more information than what he’d told me, but it was best to be thorough. When I was done I left and made my way to the Mausoleum, and headed for the Undertaker’s section. I was done going from person to person, it was time to start rounding people up.

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