not much fun anymore at all—as Ms. Deyer so pointedly reminded me. And now you’re telling me I can’t even spend the money I stole.” He lifted himself out of the chair and tipped his hat to Robin. “Thanks for your help, pretty lady—even though I wish you had offered counsel that was more favorable to me.”
“Come back if you need further assistance,” Robin called, and the ghost left through the door without bothering to open it.
I went back to my office to review outstanding cases. I made a call to Tiffany to check on Bill. Now that all of the golems had been freed, he had no reason to remain in hiding, but the buff vamp seemed satisfied with her houseguest. “He’s going to stay with me for a while. He’s pleasant enough company, and useful around the house. He insists on cooking and cleaning and doing housework and yard work, says he owes it to me, even though I told him that’s nonsense. He doesn’t leave any chores for me to do.”
“Glad to hear it. Want to hire a hundred more golems?”
“No, thanks, Chambeaux. That exceeds my needs at this time.”
Bill had been ecstatic that his people were liberated, although it left them jobless and homeless for the moment. I tried to think of some way I could help all those liberated golems, and then I had an excellent idea (yes, I do have excellent ideas occasionally).
I pulled on my stitched-up jacket, took my fedora, and told Sheyenne, “I’m going to the mission. I’ve got a favor to ask Mrs. Saldana.” I could have used the phone, but I wanted to stretch my legs to keep the stiffness from setting in. Besides, I preferred face-to-face meetings.
Mrs. Hope Saldana, a kindly old woman with unmatched generosity for downtrodden people (or former people), had established the Unnatural Quarter’s first soup kitchen and shelter in an effort to improve the lives of unfortunate souls, and even those who didn’t have souls. Even though the Hope & Salvation Mission had always operated on a shoestring budget, most of the Quarter’s denizens applauded the good work she was doing. I had been her friend, both as a human detective and now as a zombie.
“Mr. Chambeaux, always a pleasure to see you!” She made me think of grandmothers every time she smiled. She offered me a cookie, which I accepted, because one does not turn down gifts from Mrs. Saldana. “What brings you here?”
“Somebody needs help,” I said. “In fact, a lot of somebodies.”
“Why, that’s exactly the reason I’m here—to help.”
Rescuing a hundred golems would strain the limits of Hope & Salvation’s resources, however. “This is bigger than the usual hard-luck case.”
As I described the plight of Bill’s friends, Mrs. Saldana’s zombie assistant, Jerry, shuffled into the room, leaning on the handle of a push broom that he nudged around the floor. He was a shambler, one of the zombies less fortunate than me—an addict with a taste for brains. Mrs. Saldana had rescued Jerry, and he was a recovering brain-eater, one of her greatest success stories. He had stayed by her side for years, working in the shelter.
Jerry seemed more listless and sluggish than I had ever seen him, however. Without even looking at us, he pushed the broom over to the wobbly old piano Mrs. Saldana used for her church services; she had tried to train Jerry to be her pianist, but he didn’t have the aptitude or dexterity to play more than a dirge. Now, seeming mournful, Jerry began a slow and painstaking tapping of the keys. At first, it sounded like random notes, but I managed to identify the melody, “Heart and Soul.” At least he had graduated from “Chopsticks.”
Before I could ask if Jerry was sick—I had no idea whether zombies could get sick, although I hadn’t had so much as a sniffle in the months since I returned to life—Mrs. Saldana held up an extended finger like a schoolteacher. “Oh, I have just the thing for those poor golems! Would you and Ms. Deyer be my guests tomorrow night at a charity banquet? I’m presenting a Humanitarian of the Year award to Irwyn Goodfellow for all the marvelous work he’s done in the Unnatural Quarter. It’s an evening to benefit MLDW.”
While I had heard of the philanthropist Irwyn Goodfellow, the organization was new to me. “What’s Mildew?”
“MLDW—Monster Legal Defense Workers. I’m acting director and member of the board. We might have just the thing for those poor golems.”
“Robin