just made me want my job back even more.”
Robin was feisty, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not good enough. We can still go after them for punitive damages. The Smile Syndicate caused you emotional distress, and there’s the few days of lost wages. And tips! Discrimination against humans by humans is just as bad as people who are prejudiced against unnaturals. We can set a precedent.”
Francine finished her cigarette with a long drag. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Ms. Deyer. Your passion makes me short of breath!” She coughed twice and looked around for an ashtray. “But I’ve got what I want, I really do. Stu offered me a raise, covered my back wages, called the whole misunderstanding a ‘paid leave of absence.’ I’ll be back behind the bar tonight. He does want me to wear a new outfit, a black dress and a cobwebby hat, so I fit in better. He’s trying for some sort of Elvira look. Maybe the customers will believe I’m a zombie after all.”
“But we can fight this further!” Robin said.
Francine continued to look uncomfortable, but Robin was blinded by moral outrage, so I had to intervene. “We have a satisfied client, Robin. Our efforts got Francine her job back. She doesn’t want to change the whole world. It’s okay to take the win and do a victory dance.”
Robin drew a deep breath, calmed herself. “I’m sorry, Francine. I’ve just spent the past two days reading that heinous Unnatural Acts Act, and it makes my blood boil. I’ll have plenty of fights coming up.” Her expression softened. “I’m very happy for you, Francine. Congratulations on getting your job back.”
“McGoo and I will see you tonight, Francine,” I said. “I promise.”
“The first round is on the house!”
Robin went back to her office to keep working on multiple challenges to Senator Balfour’s Act. She had been up all night reading through the mountain of obtuse legal language, writing new notes for every offensive paragraph she found. Without too much trouble, she had tracked down unnaturals willing to serve as examples of specific individuals who would be harmed by certain provisions in the Unnatural Acts Act, so that she had legal standing in her efforts. She had already filed eleven separate suits, and she’d only just finished going through the preamble.
Robin did secure an injunction that allowed the Pattersons to stay in their suburban house, pending the outcome of her challenge to the charges filed against the couple for “living together in a conjugal manner.” By extension, Robin was also demanding the right of her client Harvey Jekyll to move into the neighborhood of his choosing. Fortunately for Jekyll—in a legal sense at least—he was not involved in any sort of romantic relationship, natural or unnatural.
Sheyenne, meanwhile, reviewed the new black ledger book from Timeworn Treasures. Using a wooden ruler, she went down the columns of entries, sales figures, and names. McGoo hadn’t found any relevant listing in the “public” copy of the accounts, but I felt the right information might be in this book.
When Sheyenne looked up, she wore a strange expression on her translucent face. “You’ll want to see this, Beaux. Just found the notation for the Shakespeare theatrical props.”
“Maybe we can wrap up that case,” I said. “Who’s the thief?”
“We can’t guarantee he’s a ‘thief,’ ” Sheyenne said, “but he is the person who pawned all the props.” She touched the line. I leaned over to see the printed entry:
Wm. Shakespeare (Ghost)
“He pawned his own props?” I said. “Well, that raises a few suspicions.”
“Look at the date. Not only did he pawn the masks, wardrobe, and props—he did it the day after the fire.”
Since other cases had been popping lately, I hadn’t been giving Shakespeare daily progress reports, but he wasn’t exactly pestering me for results, either. In fact, he’d dodged my last attempts to contact him. I had assumed the troupe was busy preparing for the Tempest production.
The ghostly actors rehearsed their lines daily, and Shakespeare had advertised widely for an unnatural guest actor to play the part of Caliban. From what I’d heard, he had plenty of auditions—too many—but he finally settled on an appropriately large thespian ogre. Thanks to publicity generated by the fire that burned down their stage, the troupe would have a large crowd for their comeback performance, including many supportive ghosts.
Now, however, I knew Shakespeare had been far from honest with me, and that pissed me off. Being a private investigator was enough of a challenge under