The Last Laugh - 7. Friday/Saturday, February 21/22, 2025

“Are you going to use a more psychological strategy as a defense?” I asked Upfield as I finally, much later, escorted him through the building to the exit.

“No,” he replied seriously. “If he doesn't ask for an expert opinion himself, I won't start down that path. In my opinion, people like him don't deserve to be coddled with psychological custody.”

I gave him an approving nod; the opinion might seem harsh, but in my line of work you meet enough scum from whom humanity needs to be protected. I was about to say something along those lines when D.A. Cooper came around a corner and lifted a document folder at the sight of us.

“Nice work.” he said with a cheerful grin, even though he'd already mentioned it several times, and then pressed the folder into Upfield's hand as he passed.

“Thanks.” Upfield mumbled uneasily. In my humble opinion, the man was technically on his toes, but the exact opposite when it came to social skills.

“At least with the confession we don't have to deal with an agonizingly long circumstantial trial,” I remarked lightly and he nodded slowly. This time, however, he was prevented from answering because Officer Ingram stepped out of one of the unoccupied offices, where officers could retreat when they needed some peace and quiet for certain cases or conversations, and nodded at us.

“Detective.”

“Officer.”

Ingram smiled grimly. “I put the opened file in your in-tray, ma'am, but Durham asked for a call back. And for advice on a lawyer.” At the last words, he squinted at Upfield, who blushed.

“All right, thank you.” I nodded to Ingram and my vague idea of sacrificing a few hours of my Saturday for reports at the office became a real plan. Suppressing a sigh, I asked, “What's this about anyway?”

“Identity theft.”

“Great.” Now I did sigh, this was gruesome detail work.

“Oh,” it came brightly from Upfield though, “I've been on identity theft a few times.” If the light wasn't deceiving me, his eyes actually lit up with excitement.

“Well, I guess we just found a lawyer for Durham.” I couldn't help but grin and Upfield, whose face had just returned to its normal color, blushed again.

“Ah, and sir, I, uh,” Ingram then began hesitantly, “I wanted to apologize for my rudeness. Two days ago, I mean. It wasn't very professional.”

“Never mind.” Upfield's blush deepened and as if in a shielding gesture, he hugged the folder close.

Quite possibly my lesbian eyes see queer things in places where there aren't any, but I had a feeling there was a spark or two hanging in the air. Trying not to grin too obviously, I nodded to Ingram and led Upfield the rest of the way to the lobby.

“Good evening, Mr. Upfield,” I greeted finally.

“Good evening, Detective,” he greeted back and hurried to the door.

His words had not yet faded when it squeaked: “Violet!”

Puzzled, I turned to the waiting area and even more puzzled, I saw the others sitting there. “What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” Harry said, getting up.

“Why is that?”

“Because I'm buying a round,” Josy explained cheerfully. “My birthday went completely off the radar.” Yeeeeeaaaaaaaah, there had been something. Josy and Harry's wife shared a birthday - the fifteenth of February?

“And we're celebrating the confession,” Jonah added no less cheerfully.

“I'm not celebrating anything there,” Nico said however, pointing accusatory at Jonah. “My brain needs a thorough disinfection.”

Simon giggled.

“Are you in?” Hopefully, Josy looked at me. They weren't big puppy eyes, but I still couldn't say no.

“Sure.” I grinned at her and my stomach fluttered at her soft smile.

“I invited Peggy, too, but she has an important appointment tomorrow morning, and-”

“Hey, Dust,” Simon chimed in.

Josy spun around. “Hey, Dust! Are you coming with us? I'll buy some drinks.”

I was surprised to see the cursebreaker here at this hour, but he seemed no less taken aback by Josy's invitation.

“Oh... uh...” he made caught off guard and then I was even more surprised when Nico stepped up to him, put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a friendly shake.

“Come on, you sit alone in the woods often enough.”

“Idiot.” Grinning, Dust pushed him off, then nodded to Josy. “But just one beer, I have to get home somehow.”

“No cabs heading into the deepest woods,” Nico scoffed, dodging another shove.

“No alcohol in the QFPD lobby,” I said sternly, however, and then we moved off, laughing and chatting.

~

True to his word, Nico disinfected himself very thoroughly, Simon and Jonah followed suit. Harry had already said goodbye after one soft drink and since the cocktail menu didn't appeal to me, I was the one who stuck to Coke after a beer - Dust and Josy giggled tipsily and amused by the other three.

It was a good feeling. I mean, every now and then we'd go out for a burger or a leisurely beer after work, but those were light affairs. This was different. Somehow closer, more intimate, more friends than colleagues. For the first time since I'd come to Quincefield just over two years ago, I felt I'd arrived.

“Hey Vee...” Dust leaned towards me, his gray eyes sparkling, “Is your offer still on?”

“Yes,” I said simply and pushed my empty glass away from me. Upon seeing the cocktail menu and Dust's almost longing glances along the fancy names, I had offered him a lift home. Nico had volunteered his couch, but Dust hadn't been really enthusiastic about it.

“Then,” he interrupted with a burp, “’scuse me, can we go now? Before this stuff really gets into my head.”

A few minutes later, we were walking through the freezing February night back to the QFPD, where my car was still parked. Dust seemed to sober up a bit and after a while of comfortable silence, he asked:

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What's with the rumors about your transfer here being a punishment and not a promotion?”

I snorted a laugh and shook my head. “It was a promotion, if you want to call the few extra dollars a promotion. Otherwise, it was just a matter of all the ass kissers, ass huggers, misogynists and careerist scavengers wanting to clear my spot for one of their favorites.”

“Doesn't sound nice...” Dust remarked slowly.

“No.” I gave him a quick glance, noting his concern mixed with curiosity. “The department in Harding is required to take a certain percentage of rookies because of the police academy there. Plus there's the new female quota - or quotas, plural - in the various divisions. Probably the only reason I became a detective in the first place.” A bitter snort escaped me. “That and the former captain. He was a good guy. My partner was... tolerable, let's put it that way.”

A soft questioning sound from Dust interrupted me.

“Oh, one of those guys who thinks lesbians are just women who haven't found the right man yet.”

“Ah, yeah. One of that kind.” Dust grumbled snidely.

“But other than that, he was okay. We got on professionally. But then the captain retired and his successor was one of those people who loves to have their feet kissed. And he was of the opinion we could generously help Quincefield fulfill the women's quota and send over a female detective.”

“Ah.” Dust shook his head. “Packaged as a promotion with a minimal raise and a bonus, right?”

I nodded, grinning humorlessly.

“I see.” He shook his head again.

“But I'm actually quite happy to be away from there. It's much more pleasant here, the working atmosphere, I mean. Lieutenant Brick is a good man, Cooper is okay and Harry is great. I've got a good team,” I added, trying not to let the mood sink any further.

This time Dust smiled. “That's right.”

We fell silent again and I realized this was the first time I'd ever had a completely casual conversation with Dust. Sure, we'd worked together before and private comments had been made, but a real chat?

The silence lasted until we reached the parking lot and my car.

“Oh God,” sighed Dust, ”a sweet city car.” He looked at me, half amused, half pitying. “You need something bigger around here.”

“My baby has never let me down,” I replied indignantly and had to laugh when Dust winked at me over the roof of the car. “He may eat more motor oil than can be healthy, but hey, we all have our quirks.”

“And I'm just saying, I can mount a snow shovel to my Rover.”

“You better tell me where you live,” I returned with an amused roll of my eyes as I dropped into the driver's seat.

“Head out of town toward Billings, but take the southern route. You know Attville?” Dust slammed the door harder than necessary and I winced.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just before.”

Frowning, I glanced at him, but he just grinned cheekily, so I drove off. And because I couldn't help myself, I asked, “How's your heartache?”

Sighing deeply, he rubbed his face. “I feel like an idiot. Because I didn't realize I was just a distraction. Because I thought this had a future. And I feel bad for the fiancée.”

“I hardly think she's still his fiancée,” I remarked dryly. Not after the drama which had exploded in public in the QFPD parking lot.

“Probably not, no.” Dust sighed again.

“If it's any consolation, none of us could have imagined that the idiot - and really, he's the complete and utter idiot in the story - would conceal a woman in the background.” I gave Dust an encouraging smile. “You know what everyone's been saying? The guy's gay as a goose. You were cute together.”

He snorted a small, sad laugh. “They sent him on to Helena. I hope no one there falls for his charms right away too.”

I hummed in agreement and felt bad for asking. We'd all teased Dust a bit about the affair thing, but none of us had realized how hard it was for him, how deep he'd been invested.

“Is magic common in your family?” Dust suddenly asked curiously.

“No,” I replied, caught off guard. “One great-grandmother was probably a magic-sniffer like Peggy, but there's a lot of rumor about that. Supposedly she denied her talent so she wouldn't be drafted into war service like so many other magic-gifted people. But apart from that, I know nothing. What about you?”

“My mother's father's side has quite a lot of magic to offer,” Dust replied, sounding a little proud. “My grandfather was a cursebreaker and taught me everything. There are several witches among my mom's cousins, and one of my great-grandfather's brothers was a combat mage in World War I.”

“That's not a small number.”

“There are many more, weak mages and passive talents, but my family is huge.” He indicated something very large with his hands. “Huge and complicated. When I was a kid, I thought my parents had lots of friends- nope, they were all relatives.”

That made me chuckle, but I swallowed the joke-question whether his parents were relatives too. My family was very small, my parents really stood out with their three children.

“Okay, Vee, slow down before the big left turn to Attville, okay? You can hardly see the path in the dark,” he said as the last remnants of Quincefield were left behind us.

“Okay...?” I looked at him skeptically, but he just grinned.

“My mom and uncle and some of their cousins were the kids from the forest, but still very popular. Most people here know me first as Anne Parker's boy, and then as the young cursebreaker.”

“Parker? Like Nico?”

“Yupp. His dad is one of my mom's many cousins.”

“Cool. Looked like you guys are close.” For me and my cousins - regardless of gender or age - the forced closeness of family gatherings had somehow never done any good.

“Yeah, very.” Dust interrupted himself. “Slow down, Vee, veeery slow now...”

In the middle of the country road, I slowed down more and more, ahead of us I could see the aforementioned left turn. To the left were fields, to the right fields running up a hill and ending at the forest. Perhaps for the first time, however, I noticed that there was a narrow strip of forest - perhaps a hundred meters wide - sandwiched between the fields at the very peak of the bend.

“Now turn right.”

“What?” Horrified because I couldn't see anything except snow-covered fields and trees, I stopped. Luckily, there was no one else on the road at this time of night.

“Yeah.” Dust laughed. “There on the right, just before the pine tree with the sign nailed to it.”

“Private road,” I read, mumbling, and set my Golf in motion again. When I turned off, I could make out the path, tire tracks were pressed into the snow. “Dude, where the hell do you live?”

“In the woods.” Dust giggled. “Your poor red bug won't find that funny.”

“And you're telling me this now?” I grumbled. “How about you walk?”

“Nah, that would be at least a twenty minute march and it's slippery and cold,” Dust replied cheerfully.

We struggled up the hill. A few times it crunched very unpleasantly under the car, a few times I prayed that I wouldn't need the snow chains, because in some places we were sliding around quite a bit. We passed a large gate, then a second and finally we reached a third.

“And ta-da, this is where I live,” Dust declared proudly, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Apart from a huge metal rolling gate and no less huge brick wall, I didn't see much - other than the seemingly omnipresent forest all around, of course.

“Can you tell me how to get out of here?” I asked skeptically, because going backwards down the path was no more an option for me than trying to turn at the edge of the forest.

“Ah, yes, wait, I'll open the gate.” Giggling, he got out and opened the gate, then came around to the driver's side.

I rolled down the window.

“Thanks, Vee. Nice to have a chat like this.”

“No problem. And yes, it was. Good night, Dust.”

“Get home safe and sound and sleep well!” With a wave, he stepped back and I raised my hand in greeting before turning the car, slipping and sliding and swearing.

And yet: a good closing to an ugly case.

~The Cursebreaker~

I locked the gate when Vee had made her turn and then walked the long winding driveway to the house. Vee was right, I basically lived in Nowhere, Montana. Not even the authorities were sure whether our little family settlement belonged to Thylle - like Attville two kilometers away - or to Quincefield.

With a bit of humor, you could say the discussion was fruitless because we had been here first - according to family lore, my ancestors had been among the first to settle in Montana.

The house I lived in was a monstrosity hidden behind trees. Monstrously big and monstrously ugly. Originally a small farmhouse, it had been constantly extended and rebuilt; many alterations and improvements had been made by my grandfather and uncle and I could even remember a lot of them. But despite all the space the house offered, there were only three of us. In addition to myself in the newest part of the house, my uncle Carl and his husband Fred had set up a kind of apartment in the old part of the house.

Given the time of day, I wasn't surprised that everything was dark, except for the motion detector above the second front door. I hurriedly slipped through the door and reactivated the alarm system, then sighed softly. In this huge house, I felt alone and often enough lonely. The times of family members coming and going had died with my grandfather.

I left my boots by the door and slipped into my thick fluffy winter houseshoes. With every step deeper into the house, the cheerful atmosphere from the bar faded further away. The house was full of childhood memories and although I had lived here for more than ten years and had actively renovated parts of the house, these new developments sometimes came as a shock. I felt like a stranger in my own home.

I fully expected my grandma to poke her head out of their bedroom and ask me why on earth I was so late. I half expected Mom to come halfway down the stairs to ask if everything was okay. Neither happened, of course.

In the kitchen, I stared at the dark green cabinets for a moment before grabbing a glass and sitting down. On the little bench in the corner, squeezed between the window and the fridge. Corners were my favorite place, Nico's too. The weird corner kids of family get-togethers who grew up to be no less weird nerds and misfits.

Slowly, I poured myself some water from the half-empty bottle and sipped it. I could understand Peggy being hard on herself because she had missed out on something that might have been helpful. Murder didn't happen too often around here, so the shock and the desire to give closure to the relatives was high. Even if closing the case wasn't the end of the matter.

My gaze slid to the family photo on the corner shelf, perfectly visible from my position. It was thirteen years old, the last one we'd made, all four of us with forced smiles and rigid backs.

The boy who'd killed Mom and more than fifty people in his killing spree might spend 90% of all his life in prison, but it didn't change the fact that he'd ripped my mom away from me, that her mother had died of a broken heart, that the divorce war had reached a dissonant final chord, and that my little brother Quentin had been forced to live with Dad until he came of age. And the latter had certainly contributed to Quen being an often seen guest in Ashen Ward Jail.

My restlessness was my own problem. Maybe depression was knocking, too. And I should probably be glad I was drinking water and not a stiff drink or two more in this quiet solitude.

The feeling of floating around unsteadily took hold of me once again, but before it could overwhelm and paralyze me, my phone rang. Surprised and relieved for this distraction in equal measure, I pulled it out, but frowned at the caller's name.

“Doctor Epps?”

“Dust, hey...” Doctor Valeria Epps, head of the Magical Incidents Department at the city hospital, and my direct superior, spoke hesitantly. “I didn't think you'd answer.”

Suppressing a sigh, I rubbed my eyes. “What's the problem?”

“If I only knew for sure.” She laughed out, but sounded unsettled.

“Is it an emergency? Because, I'm alcoholized and my car is in town.”

“Oh, no! No, it's not an emergency. I'm just... confused. Overwhelmed? No. Tomorrow morning will do. Thanks.”

“Okay.” She hung up before I could, and for a moment I rested my head on my arm. I couldn't shake the feeling that Epps would have loved to have me on the ward right away, and a guilty conscience wrestled with the undeniable facts that I'd been drinking and would have to wake my uncle either way.

I sighed deeply, my hot breath reflecting off the table and hitting me in the face.

Cursebreakers were rare - I'm the only one in all of Montana - they were always and everywhere needed, and while that would definitely be an ego-stroker for many, it's often enough a burden for me. More of a curse than a blessing.

What an irony.