“You certainly seem to know a lot about it,” Imani remarked.
“Oh, well we have the same bank manager, Mistress Bittlebum and I. And you wouldn’t believe what a terrible gossip she is—the bank manager, I mean.” Mistress Yank’doodle widened her eyes. “It’s just scandalous what she lets slip out.”
“I’m sure,” Imani murmured, nodding.
“Oh, there’s Mistress Bittlebum now! Will you excuse me, Mistress Williams? I have to go pay my respects,” Lady Yank’doodle said.
“Of course. It was, uh, nice talking to you.” Imani nodded her head.
“Nice chatting with you, too, my dear!” The pink-haired Mistress gave her a bright smile and then hurried over to where Mistress Bittlebum was standing in the middle of a crowd of other Mistresses, all talking at once.
There were more than just Mistresses around her, however, Imani saw. There were also seven or eight of the huge pink morphids in a ring around their Mistress.
As she watched, Imani saw something strange going on. Though Mistress Bittlebum was mostly talking to her friends, she often addressed a comment to a particular morphid as well—or maybe it was an order. Because when she spoke to them and pointed, they went bounding off, presumably to do her bidding.
“Look at her—holding court where my mother used to drink her evening tea.” J’are’s deep voice was bitter but he kept it low, for Imani’s ears alone.
“I’m sorry, J’are.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it comfortingly.
“Mother Hownow would never have allowed those filthy morphids in her house,” he growled, still looking at Mistress Bittlebum. “Look at the way she has them going all over the place!”
“She certainly does.” Imani frowned as she watched Mistress Bittlebum’s interaction with her alien servants more closely. How was she controlling them? She and J’are had both said they had a hive mind and only obeyed their queen—or the person they acknowledged as their queen, anyway. Was that how they saw Mistress Bittlebum?
“Look,” she murmured to J’are. “Every time she gives one of them an order, she touches them. Look—she did it again.”
As they watched, Mistress Bittlebum ran a hand over her lemon-yellow hair. Then, as she leaned forward to give an order to one of the morphids, she passed her hand over its antae as she spoke. It was a barely-there touch, but to Imani, it seemed to have some significance. Was she using the touch to direct them somehow? She knew that honeybees and ants used scent to give each other directions. Maybe Mistress Bittlebum was doing the same thing somehow.
“She’s definitely acting as their queen,” she murmured to J’are. “Look at the way she orders them around. Did you hear everything that Mistress Yank’doodle was telling me just now?”
“Caught some of it. Why?” He raised his eyebrows at her.
“Because I’d like to see if we can’t do a little digging, now that we’re here. It’s clear from what Mistress Yank’doodle told me, Mistress Bittlebum did have a motive to kill Lady Zangelo.”
J’are’s eyebrows went higher.
“So we’re back to thinking Bittlebum is the one who killed Mistress Zangelo?”
“She has the morphids,” Imani pointed out. “And the motive. She tried to use you as her weapon but when you didn’t cooperate, she had to find another way. Maybe we could find something to prove that.”
“Maybe…” J’are frowned. “If anyone would be arrogant enough to keep evidence of a crime in her domicile, it would be Mistress Bittlebum.”
“Do you think you could stand to stay here longer than we originally planned?” Imani asked him softly. “It would be poetic justice if we could pin Lady Zangelo’s murder on the woman who stole your inheritance.”
His eyes flashed.
“I wouldn’t mind that a bit. Yes, I think I can hang on.” He shifted uncomfortably. “If we can just get out of this crowd. My feral half doesn’t like crowded environments—makes him feel trapped.”
“Let’s go say hello to Judge Thoughtgood, like we intended to in the first place. Then I can ask someone where the bathroom is and we can slip away,” Imani suggested.
He nodded.
“Lead the way, Mistress. I’ll be perfectly well behaved.”
“Excellent. Come on.” Imani took his leash and they threaded their way through the crowd until she came to Judge Thoughtgood, who was wearing all purple tonight.
“Ah, Councilor Williams,” she said, inclining her head to Imani, which made her tower of purple hair bend forward alarmingly. “And how are you and the Nightwalker enjoying the party?”
“Very much, your Honor,” Imani said, smiling as naturally as she could. “As you can see, J’are is having no trouble at all here, even though it’s very crowded.”
“It is crowded.” Judge Thoughtgood fanned herself with one hand. “I don’t know when I’ve been so warm! I thought Mistress Bittlebum said she was only inviting fifty or sixty guests but it seems like all of Opulex is here!”
She seemed much looser and more relaxed than she had in court, Imani thought, eyeing the judge. Maybe the fizzing pink drink in her hand had something to do with it. If it was anything near as strong as the one she had tasted, a little bit of it would go a long way towards lowering inhibitions.
“Mistress, your ribbon has become untied. May I fix it for you?” J’are murmured.
Looking down, Imani saw that one of the little black slippers she was wearing—which did, in fact have long satin ribbons which laced around her ankles—had become untied.
“Why thank you, J’are—of course you may,” she said, smiling at him.
Gracefully, the big Kindred dropped to his knees and began to retie her ribbon. When he
