A SLAP DASH MYSTERY: CONCLUSION

"This is you, isn't it?" I asked her, tossing the doll onto the table.

She stared at it in a mixture of revulsion and morbid fascination, then nervously glanced around the restaurant. I wasn't sure what she was looking for, but I looked, too, just so I didn't miss anything. The Cafe Bistro, an original name if ever I heard one, was sparsely patronized. There were a few writers there, sipping coffee and pretentiously working on their latest masterpiece, but other than them, we three were the only ones there. It seemed that the Cafe Bistro suffered that syndrome shared by just about every other hotel restaurant and outlet, a severe case of people-just-don't-think-of-going-there-to-eat-out. And that was sad, because the food was fairly decent.

When she returned to our conversation, she leveled a lethal glare my way. She didn't like me or my observation, and she wasn't shy about letting me know. Sneering she said, "Don't be absurd! That's a doll!"

"'I want you to find out who killed me'," I quoted her in return. "A queer choice of words, wouldn't you say? Almost as if you knew there had already been a murder!"

"A murder?" she scoffed a little too vehemantly. "Don't be ridiculous! I just misspoke, that's all!"

"No, you didn't," I countered. "You were very exact about it. Which means you knew there was a murder, which means you know more about this case than you're letting on."

"You're mad!" she protested.

"No one uses that word like that," I pointed out, just to rub it in a little. "Not anymore. And you're not eccentric enough to get away with using it like that. So, you aren't from around here, are you?"

Pretty-boy elbowed me under the table. I gave him an instinctive glance, and he took that to mean I was interested in what he had to say. He asked, "What are you talking about?"

"He's calling me old!" the woman pouted for Pretty-boy's sake. Pretty-boy shifted uneasily, and I didn't blame him. Even I saw what was coming next. "Would you care to comfort me?"

My eyes rolled on their own. Even now, she was still trying. But I wasn't going to let it distract me. Staring fixedly at her, I reminded her, "You haven't answered my question."

She looked away in a huff, so I answered it for her. "No, you aren't. You're from a world where people change each other into dolls all the time."

That brought back her attention. She glared at me and demanded, "What are you babbling about?"

"It's pretty simple, really," I told her, staring right into her eyes. "That doll is you, or rather, you from another reality, who was murdered and then the body was transformed to hide the crime!"

"Are you on that kick again?" Pretty-boy muttered softly and confidentially in my ear.

I ignored him and kept my focus on the woman. Her icy glare would have been withering if I wasn't right about everything. She kept silent, and since she wasn't going to say anything about it, I decided to tell her the story.

"There were two people in that room, the night of the murder," I told her. "Two people playing a high-stakes game of poker, or a form of it, with cards of the realm they were from. The stakes were high, I say, but they weren't playing for money. They were playing for charms. That's why some of them were missing from the doll's bracelets and necklace. They might have had some monetary value in their realm, or perhaps they had some sort of power stored in them, I can't say for sure since they don't have any power here. It was a 'gentleman's game', no cheating with magic. But the other player didn't recon on you, or rather your doppleganger, using a more conventional means to cheat, maybe sleight-of-hand, like a magician. You're a magician, aren't you?" I asked pointedly. She didn't answer me, so I resumed my narrative. "The other one found out about it, and things escalated from there, culminating in your double's death by stabbing. Panicked, the murderer transformed the body to throw off the authorities for a time, and then fled with what he or she thought was rightfully theirs, the winnings from the previous hands. Sound about right?"

The woman stared blankly at me for a while, as if I had made no sense at all. Then, she burst out laughing in that condescending way the guilty have of mocking the hero when they fail to see the entire picture. Still chuckling, she said, "That is some story! But tell me this: if they played this on some other world, as you suggest, then how did they get here? How did they end up in that room?"

"Easy," I confidently told her. "The murderer underestimated the power of his or her transformative spell. They may have used one or more of the trinkets of power to bolster their spell, probably to make it harder to break or harder to detect. But for whatever reason, they inadvertantly opened up a portal to this world, transposing the contents of the room here with that of the corresponding room in their world. Thus, the missing furniture, and the change in the room that no one either saw or heard."

She stared blankly at me again, but there was something sinister smoldering in her eyes. She was silent for a while before she said through a tightly clenched jaw, "And, your proof?"

"The room itself is proof enough," I told her. "The carpet, for one, doesn't all match. There is a circle of carpeting right beneath the table that is a slightly different shade from the rest of the room. Not a lot of proof, I'll admit, but by the concierge's own admission, the carpet hasn't been replaced recently, not in one large circular piece, anyway. And, the circle is too perfect. Supernaturally perfect. And, the blood splatter ends exactly at the line of the circle. That would be hard to fake.

"As for the doll, it has an entry wound, but no exit wound," I told her, anticipating what she might ask next, "Even though the knife used was more than long enough to pierce right through."

"That's not proof!" the woman interrupted sharply. "That could happen a lot of different ways!"

"True," I replied. "But it wouldn't explain the blood in the wound and not all over the doll. If someone was holding the doll when they were stabbed, there would be an exit wound, and if someone used the doll to staunch the flow of blood, it would be spread all over the doll, rather than being concentrated around the area of the wound. It would be difficult to impossible to replicate the condition the doll was found in in any other way."

"Then," the woman snarled, "If this is all true, then who did it? Who murdered me...I mean, the doll?"

"That's a good question," I was big enough to admit. "That's why I took some prints off the knife and -!"

"You got prints off the knife?" Pretty-boy interrupted, sounding impressed. "How did you do that?"

"Remember in 'Beverly Hills Cop' when Eddie Murphy had to get prints off that gun and -!" I excitedly began, then realized that, in my excitement to reveal the trick, I was getting distracted from the main goal. I had to drag myself back on track, but before that, I told him, "I'll tell you later!"

The woman just glared at the both of us, now. She must have gotten bored with Pretty-boy, because she was now giving him the same stink-eye she was giving me. Flatly, she asked, "So, who did it?"

I met her eyes and, leaning forward, confidentially told her, "You did! You played a game against yourself, or rather your parallel world doppleganger, and you lost. So, you killed her, and -!""

Two things happened at once. The woman tipped backwards and tried to kick the table over, but since we were in a booth and the table was anchored to the floor, all she ended up doing was banging her knee pretty badly on the underside, and probably hitting one of those thick bolts that invariably jut downward for just that purpose. And, Pretty-boy shot her a surprised glare while exclaiming, "You?"

The woman let out a yowl of pain and slammed her fist against the table as if to take it out on the poor thing. I slid underneath to the floor even as a bolt of some elderich force shot through the tabletop, melting it aside as it passed, and burned through where my head used to be. Safe on the floor, I saw the wand that she gripped, tilted at an angle perfectly matched to the course of the energy. I snatched the weapon out of her fingers and rolled out into the aisle, where I jumped to my feet, bumping my head solidly on the edge of the table. As I staggered back, clutching the throbbing lump rising on that spot, the woman must have moved, because I felt someone pluck the wand out of my grip as I was stumbling about.

I opened my eyes despite the pain, and saw her pointing that thing my way again. I felt the need to hastily explain my position.

"You hired me!" I urgently told her through clenched teeth. "To find the truth!"

Pretty-boy was either AWOL, or too dumbfounded to do anything, because he certainly didn't. It was all up to me to save my own life! I wasn't built for this, though! I'd never had to fight for my life in my life! I'm not even sure what possessed me to pull that stunt at the table! Probably saw Star Wars too many times, I don't know! All I was sure of was, if I survived this, I was going to feel that tuck and roll tomorrow morning!

"Were you rival wizards in another world?" I hurriedly asked to keep her distracted. "Was it worth it, killing her?"

She glared at me hard and steadily, but at least she didn't fire again. People were staring at us, but no one was doing anything like calling the police or intervening. I guess it must have looked to them like a spat or a performance of some sort, because most just gave us a curious glance before returning to their manuscript. Didn't any of them see the smoking hole in the bench where a person's head would rest? Or the one in the table? Two kept their eyes on us, though; they were probably seeking inspiration for their next best-seller. You're welcome!

"Look," I added when she didn't lower the wand. "I don't kow what the laws are like in your world, but here -!" Then, it occurred to me and I had to ask, "Why did your wand work?"

"None of your business!" she snapped, and I knew then I wasn't going to get an explanation. She seemed nervous, though, as if she was out of bullets or something. I wasn't going to take any chances. I kept my hands up and left a good running start between us. And, I kept my voice calm and even.

"You're probably beyond the laws of your world" I told her soothingly. "There certainly isn't any extradition from here. No one would even believe your world exists. So, why not take the win and go? We won't tell anyone."

Even though you nearly took my head off, I added to myself.

"How am I supposed to believe you?" she finally asked, glaring at me for what felt like an hour. "You don't look smart enough to keep your trap shut!"

"Because," I said, and I was suddenly at a loss for words. But andrenaline didn't allow that to last for long, and I blurted out, "Because you can't afford to kill me!"

"What?" she demanded, squinting at me intensely.

"If you use that thing on me," I desperately told her, pointing at the wand, "You'll draw attention to yourself in a way you don't want! You went to too much trouble to find someone that couldn't solve your riddle properly, who would eventually give up and call it all a hoax, and reassure you that no one's out to kill you! You don't want to mess it up, now!"

I looked around for Pretty-boy, and for his help, but I didn't see him right away, and I couldn't spare a second off that woman for fear of what she might do, so I gave up on the moron and continued my attempt to save my skin.

"But if you just let me go," I added as calmly as I could, "All you have is one crackpot that might accuse you of something that's impossible to do. A crackpot, I might add, that doesn't have much evidence to go on!"

I wasn't sure I should have admitted that, but it was out there, now, and no taking it back. I studied her for any indication of how she might react. I'd gotten pretty good at predicting what people would say and finishing their sentences for them. It was a pretty efficient time-saver, although most people didn't seem to appreciate my talent in the same way, so I've made an effort, lately, to sit through the banality of their droning until it was my turn to speak. I must have been more nervous than I thought, facing my imminent demise as I was, because I didn't get anything off of the woman, not even a hint as to which way she was going to go. Maybe she didn't know, either, because she just stared at me for a while. Together, we were locked in indecision.

Then, she lowered the wand slightly, and relaxed her stance. I breathed a sigh of relief, and at that moment a hulking figure rushed in from the side and tackled her to the floor. They hit hard enough to do damage, and before I knew it, I was looking at Pretty-boy pinning the woman to the floor. She didn't seem entirely put out about it, though.

"I got her!" he crowed in triumph. "I got the killer!"

"Great!" I told him, relaxing the rest of the way. "And, now, you can let her up, again!"

"Huh?" he grunted in confusion.

"We're not the police," I told him. "And, as far as the police would be concerned, she hasn't broken any laws. We can't prove that she killed a doll, nor that the doll had once been a living person. We have no case, and if we did, it would be laughed out of court. So, just let her go. There's nothing we can do about it!"

Pretty-boy glared at me as if I'd hurt his feelings, then reluctantly lifted himself off her. The woman took a moment to recover before sitting up, favoring the man with a stern glare.

"I won't forget that!" she threatened him, then turned the same sentiment my way. I held up my hands to tell her I had nothing to do with Pretty-boy's attack, but she obviously didn't want to believe me.

"You should," I advised her. "If I'm not mistaken, you used up what power you had left in that one blast. You're now powerless, and trapped in a world that isn't your own. And, probably a pretty strange one to you, at that. So, if you want my advice, I would just leave now, and try to have a good life."

She glared at me, but put the wand away. Then, she turned to go, hesitated, and turned back to ask, "How did you even get my fingerprints?"

"I lifted the glass you used at the reception you performed at," I told her.

"Why, though?" she asked. "Why did you want my prints?"

I shrugged and said, "Just being thorough. I got his, too," I added, nodding at Pretty-boy, who exclaimed, in response, "What?"

The woman shook her head at me and sternly said, "See you around, then!"

"Wait!" I called to her before she could go. She turned back, and I quickly asked, "I have to know. What were you playing for?"

"The stakes, you mean?" she asked me, and I nodded. She said, "You guessed it. The totems she wore. They have power."

"Why, though?" I asked, hoping I wasn't pressing my luck in asking so many questions. "Was it worth killing over?"

"If you knew what they could do," she told me, "Then you'd think so."

"But, they aren't going to be of any use to you here," I pointed out.

She shrugged, then said, "Then, I'll have to find a way home."

I gave her a hard stare, trying to figure out if she was actually being civil, or if she had something up her sleeve. Unable to tell which, all I could think of then was getting her out of my sight as fast as possible before her mood shifted suddenly and I discovered if there was another shot in that wand or not. Dismissively, I told her, "Good luck!"

She gave me a suspicious glance before heading out of the bistro. The few remaining onlookers returned to what they were working on, finding the conclusion of the melodrama too mellow for their further interest. I was still shaking inside. There was no telling what that wand might have done if it had hit me, or if it still had any juice left in it after that! I was lucky to still be alive! It took a huge effort to calm myself down after that realization.

"Does this mean we aren't getting paid?" Pretty-boy asked, suddenly standing next to me.

"No," I told him, watching the woman's swiftly receding back through the bistro's enormous window. Then, my brows knit together and, turning to him, I said, "You never mentioned getting paid for this!"

Pretty-boy gave me a weak smile. I wasn't going to make it easy for him to explain himself!