Free Murder by Magic by Rosemary Edghill

I could see Emma fighting the giggles. We’d been through this before, and it always amused her. Why it did was beyond me, but any man who claims to understand a woman, any woman, is either a liar or living in fantasyland. Ever since she bought me that silly movie with the actor and his sillier Hungarian accent . . .
    Harrison explained his situation. Nothing major, but someone had come up with a new twist on an old twist in the computer software arena, and competitors were out to steal it before it could reach the production phase.
    “That is impressive,” Emma said. She had the marvelous ability to focus on someone so totally and completely as to give the person the feeling that her day would not be complete without their having met. She was sincere about it. People fascinated her, and always would. I was a more private type of individual, preferring to stay at home with her, my books, a bit more distrustful of people. The clichés are true: opposites do indeed attract, and it’s a wonderful thing when it works.
    “How long will you need us?” I asked as the dinner was served. Harrison had ordered lobster flambé, Emma and myself steak Diane.
    “A week,” he replied. “One week of your time is all we need.”
    I nodded. “It will be expensive.”
    “As they say, cost is no object.”
    Emma nodded to him, acknowledging the compliment. “As I mentioned, we’ve had some luck.”
    “Luck has little to do with brilliance,” Harrison said. “I had the two of you researched.”
    I kept my face impassive, but felt Emma stiffen just a touch. She always got a little nervous when people started asking too many questions. “What do you mean?”
    Harrison smiled, pleased with the chance to show off for us. “Jonathan and Emma Steele, private investigators. Low-key, quiet, but a one hundred percent success rate. Rumor has it that the FBI uses you as consultants occasionally, and it’s a known fact that Mrs. Steele worked for the CIA at one point.”
    Emma relaxed. Unless you knew her very, very well, it would have been impossible to detect either the sudden tension or its release.
    “I was in Hungary for a time, true. But I was nothing more than a student, out to see the world,” she said with one of her most dazzling smiles.
    Harrison gave her a look that, verbalized, would have been, “Okay, we can play the game if you wish. But I know better.” “Then there was the business with that killer, the serial killer who ate his victims. He escaped from the state hospital he was being held in. Is it true that you left him bound and gagged on the steps of the police station?”
    I shrugged. “You know how rumors are, Mr. Harrison.” I shut my mind to the memories that came rushing back. For the first time in a long time, I had been actually frightened when all that happened.
    “Call me Art, please,” he said with a smile as he forked some more lobster from his plate. “According to the story, whatever happened with that man has left him quite quiet, subdued, with a serious sudden interest in religion. Did you really shave his head and paint it bright orange?”
    I shrugged again, pretending I didn’t see the look in Emma’s eyes. “Who knows what made him do what he did? And who knows what made him change his ways?” I ignored the question about head shaving and orange paint; Emma does have her moments of whimsy.
    “You two are the best there is,” Harrison said after he swallowed his food, “and that’s what we want. The best.”
    “Well, we’ll see what we can do for you,” I told him.
    He reached into his pocket and handed me a check. The zeros on the end made my eyes blink several times. “That’s what it’s worth to us,” he said with a satisfied smile.
    Emma leaned over just enough to see the amount, then turned back to Harrison. “I believe we can accommodate your needs, Mr. Harrison.”
    “Call me Art,” he said again, and looked around for the waiter.
    Alistair came out, discreetly