We walked up to the front door and rang the bell. I half-expected a shifter in a tuxedo to show us in, but instead we were greeted by the man himself.
Vernon Montgomery was one of the richest people in town, and he also had a sense of fashion that could be charitably described as ‘colorful.’ His pants were zebra print which he combined with a blue and black argyle sweater along with an oversized wool scarf and sunglasses, despite the fact that it was overcast out and he was indoors anyway.
“Yes?” he greeted us.
“Mr. Montgomery?” Andy asked.
“Oh you must be new in town. Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Enforcer Fischer. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the death of Rudoldir the elf.”
“Of course, of course. I’ve been waiting for you. Please, come in.” Vernon stepped back and swept the door open dramatically, leaning into a bow and inviting us inside.
Andy and I walked into a foyer so huge the sound of my footsteps on the marble floor seemed to echo through the room. A grand staircase directly in front of us led to the second floor – I was fairly certain it was wider than the entire shed I lived in – with gilded railings and a velvet red runner.
The rest of the space was open and sparse with furniture. Instead, Greek and Roman statues and busts decorated the corners. There was only a banquette against one wall where I supposed one could put their shoes on if they had to.
“Follow me,” Vernon said. While I looked around, gaping openly at the inside of this house, Andy didn’t seem the least bit affected by the lavish interior of the home and walked ahead, his eyes firmly on Vernon.
He led us into a room in the right wing of the house that was what? A parlor? A formal living room? A waiting room? I really wasn’t sure what things were called in a house this big. Whatever the room was called, the twenty-foot ceilings were decorated with hand-painted frescoes and red and gold wallpaper lined all four walls, which held a number of paintings that I assumed cost more than my mother’s house.
Vernon Montgomery was all about extravagance.
Four comfortable-looking couches, all creamy white, formed a large rectangle in the middle of the room with a steel and glass coffee table in the center that looked frankly out of place given the rest of the décor. Vernon motioned for Andy and I to take a seat, and we each chose one end of a couch while Vernon sat across from us in the other, leaning casually back against the pillows.
“Such a tragedy, Rudoldir’s death,” Vernon said. “I expected that you would come and speak with me about it. But I didn’t kill him.”
“Where were you last night between the hours of eight and ten?” Andy asked.
“Oh, that’s an easy one. I was at Saloons and Swingers, one of the clubs in Desert Plains. I went down there at around seven-thirty, and I didn’t come back until three this morning.”
“Can anyone confirm you were there?”
“The bartender, I’m sure. And probably a waitress or two. I don’t see it, personally, but I’ve been told I stand out in a crowd.” With that, Vernon dramatically swept his scarf over his shoulder, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. He was definitely a character, and it sounded like a character who wasn’t guilty of this crime. “You could also ask the shifter that guards the portal. He saw me leave, and come back. I’m afraid I didn’t catch his name, but he was a very fit-looking wolf shifter. If you do find out his name, please let me know. And I wouldn’t say no to his phone number, either.”
“Alright, we’ll look into that to confirm,” Andy replied. Before he had a chance to ask his next question though, Vernon asked one of his own.
“And where is that lovely accent from? Australia?”
“Er, yes,” Andy said, and as a blush crawled up his face, I grinned. Vernon wasn’t the least bit worried about openly flirting with Andy. “But I’m afraid we’re not here to talk about my personal history. We’ve been told you had a bit of an interaction with Rudoldir not long ago.”
“The word interaction makes it sound so vile,” Vernon replied. “We had words, yes, but it was perfectly professional. And it certainly wasn’t over a situation I would kill the elf over.”
“Why don’t you tell us about what happened?” I suggested, and Vernon leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers together.
“Well, of course I can tell you that. It was a couple of weeks ago. I need a permit to convert an old factory into condos. You know how that’s all the rage these days in the big cities? Well, I thought it would work very nicely here in Mt. Rheanier, too. After all, this is a trendy little part of the world, the Pacific Northwest. So I bought up the old building where the witches and wizards used to turn the lumber into furniture. But of course, you’re too young – and you’re too new to town – to remember the days when that factory was working.”
“My grandma told me about it,” I replied. “It used to be one of the bigger employers in town.”
“That’s right,” Vernon said, nodding. “But unfortunately, the owner was an oaf with no sense for business. He was a vampire, and he fell into the same trap that immortals always do: never being able to tell when the tastes of a population change, especially when a large portion of that population are shifters and witches and wizards who aren’t immortal and who don’t want furniture that looks like what their parents have from thirty years ago.”
“So his furniture wasn’t trendy?”
“That’s right. It was old in style but not so old that it was considered
