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THIS BUSINESS OF FAMILY, 1

Author's Note: This is a story I'm writing by the seat of my pants for NaNoWriMo 2005. The challenge is to finish 50,000 words by the end of November. Each chapter will be quite short but with any luck, they'll be frequent! Since 'this' Percy and Oliver are quite different than what I usually write, and since the point of the challenge is to write without editing, this will be a backdated post. When the story is finished I'll link to the whole thing. That said, if you have any ideas or suggestions, or anything you want to say, please do! It's a long road ahead.

THIS BUSINESS OF FAMILY
A Percy and Oliver Mystery

Chapter 1 (Word Count: 2248, Total: 2248)
Posted November 12th



My name is John Oliver Wood. For the past year I’ve been partnered in business with Percival Ignatius Weasley, and in that brief time together we’ve taken on some of the region’s more complex crimes. Our growing enterprise in private investigation began from our neighboring apartments in Boston, our payroll steadily increasing so that we could afford the more spacious and quiet quarters from where I now write this journal. It was my esteemed colleague that first brought to my attention that such a record should be kept. A tangible recording of our adventures together to document case history and present a balanced, accurate…

This is stupid. Can’t do it, Perce. Not when the opening paragraph takes an hour to write. Not when it sounds like a robotic dictation of what happened to be one of the most remarkable, most memorable, cases we’d ever worked upon. You want a detailed summary of our work together? This won’t be it.

My writing, my methods, end of story. Red will have to get his editing jollies elsewhere, because if I’m going to sit down and try to put memory to keyboard, a real good effort to document what happened to be the one mystery we ever truly enjoyed working together on, then it’s on my terms. Not like there’s been anything better to do lately, sitting around here and waiting for the next client to come around.

Actually I suspect Percy’s recommended this little exercise just to keep me busy while he tries to finish the New York Times crossword in the evenings. Maine is a cold, unforgiving place in December, and even colder when the household is budgeted to the hilt and there’s no sign of money forthcoming. Private detectives can’t rely on a steady income. Can’t assume that there will be one good case after another. Unless the case is solved and the money’s in our hands, we’re nickel-and-diming it everyday.

Already it’s been awhile since we solved our most infamous case, and while we can rely on our reputation from the press to keep us afloat for another few months, the hard truth of this line of work is starting to become apparent. Not in words so much. Just the look Percy gives me every time I burn dinner or he accidentally sets the place on fire when adding another log on the fire. There’s not a high margin for error where expenses are concerned.

But we chose this career, freely and enthusiastically. We only met each other a year ago but both grew up reading about Hercule Poirot and Perry Mason, and of course our combined collection of Sherlock Holmes stories probably rivals those of any collection this side of the Atlantic. Don’t think this little write-up of our tale is a cheap knock-off of Sir Arthur’s Conan Doyle’s fictional mysteries (though obviously from my beginning, that was certainly on Percy’s mind as a format). Percy is no more a Sherlock than I am a modern-day Watson; on the contrary we’re about as far removed from the characteristics of either man, and as much as we love the mysteries, that doesn’t bother us one bit. But I’m sure that’ll be plain as day as I move along in this log of sorts.

After much consideration on my part followed by lots of arguing on Percy’s (and ask me if I’ll be foolish enough to include him on story decisions a second time…), we decided to call this adventure This Business of Family. I suspect that an everyday journal of our lives could be called as such in some way or another. It took five minutes of meeting Red before discovering just how important family was to him, whether they were around or not. Most traveled and phoned regularly so we’re spared awkward visits with relatives wondering how we make ends meet, the sole exception being his older brother Charlie back in Boston.

(To be far in this recount, my family’s also a frequent topic of conversation, almost always brought up by Percy rather than myself. He doesn’t understand how a man of twenty-eight years could go for months at a time without a passing thought to his parents or older brother. When he starts puzzling on this I’ve learned to just smile and shrug. And thank God it’s not my mother that sends out weekly emails with the subject line: Family Bulletin.)

I’ve often thought it’s an East Coast thing, this business of family. This tale, in fact, concerns another close-knit family that operates real estate out of New England. You’d be hard pressed to find a local who never heard of the Malfoys, of their hundred-year old investments and company offshoots that continue to turn a high profit. And though it was estimated that one in every hundred Americans worked for the Malfoys in some manner (according to Percy, the statistic phenom), I doubt even he thought much about the family until that hot day in August.

We’d been in our home in Maine for one month to the day, and that morning when the knock sounded we were still unpacking boxes, lazy buggers that we are. Our gazes met over the box we’d been using as a table and only just decided to unpack, mirroring each other’s surprised expressions. And anticipation. If all went well, this could very well be our first customer. And considering the next month’s mortgage payment was due on the 6th of September…

I hopped over the box, momentarily grateful for my sports training, and jerked the door open. The disappointment at seeing the round face of Charlie Weasley must have been evident as the first thing he said to me was:

“Love you too, Wood. Now push aside, unless you’re doing business lemonade stand-style.” He brushed passed me quickly and I stood there stunned.

Now you have to understand Charlie Weasley. If Percy was the exception to the jovial, come-day go-day Weasleys, then Charlie was the perfect representation of them. His face was always red with joy, a natural happy outlook on life, and he wore a constant cheery smile. To see him frowning was unusual, to say the least. Almost as strange was to see him wearing plainclothes rather than his uniform.

Percy spoke up first. “Char?” He asked, moving quickly to him and holding out a hand in his customary brotherly handshake. This isn’t done by anyone else except Percy but they humor him, as much as I do at times. Charlie returned the gesture and motioned for the sofa, and before long we were all sitting, sharing a pot of too old coffee at ten o’clock in the morning.

“I’ve got a job for you guys, if you’re interested,” Charlie said, not meeting our eyes. He held his coffee mug tightly, looking around the room as though he wanted to be anywhere but here. This wasn’t like Charlie at all. “There’s a family just outside of Boston dealing with a recent murder. They’re looking to hire private investigators to continue the investigation, and I recommended you two. If you wouldn’t mind going back to Massachusetts for a bit.”

Percy’s face flushed at the compliment. “Well that’s quite… Quite generous of you. Considering all of your contacts and…” He trailed off as Charlie looked down and examined the inside of his mug. “That’s not everything?”

Charlie scoffed (at the situation or Percy or himself, I’ve wondered), and threw the mug with fierce intensity at the fireplace. I jumped at the gesture and stared at the hearth, seeing a ceramic mug, fully intact, spin circles on the ground. The unexpected result of his anger seemed to lighten the mood, and when he spoke next, he was calm. “It’s the Malfoys. They’re son, Draco… He’s dead.”

Percy let out a low whistle and I took this opportunity to assert myself into the conversation. The Malfoys meant nothing to a West Coast man like myself. “Who’s Draco? Who are these Malfits?”

“Malfoys,” Percy corrected beside me, keeping one eye on his brother as he spoke. “Our distant relations, though I doubt they’re inclined to admit to that. Lucius Malfoy inherited HW Malfoy Investments after his father’s death about… Oh, I’d say twenty-five years ago. That was the first and only time I’d ever seen them, at the funeral. I was too young to know at the time but his wife must have been pregnant with Draco.”

“Draco?” I questioned.

Percy shrugged. “I never met him. He was in Ron’s year at school. Gave him a bit of trouble every now and then, but considering whose son he was…”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Charlie muttered. “Busiest, bossiest little turd you’d ever--”

“Charlie!” Percy chastised. I turned to Mr. Prim-n-Proper with an arched eyebrow and he flushed, nodding a bit, “Well, yes. Draco isn’t well liked in most circles. And with his death… Well. Can’t imagine how Lucius Malfoy is holding up with his only child gone.”

“Only heir gone. It’s more a matter of pride with him, you see. It’s the way it all went down. The reason I’m here to see you and Oliver.” The older Weasley leaned back in his chair and rolled his neck, rubbing the back with his free hand. Wasn’t hard to see he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was obvious in his tone, expression, gestures, and I wasn’t in a hurry to take some of that burden. “You’re right on with your dates. It’s just over twenty-five years ago to the date that Lucius took over Malfoy Investments. Decided to celebrate with a company dinner and dance celebration about a week and a half ago. Hundreds of employees were in attendance. Billed as the party of the century.” He shook his head. “Draco was found dead later that night. Strangled in the coat closet.”

I shivered involuntarily at the coldness of this news.

“I didn’t hear anything on the news,” Percy mused, always one to put logic over his emotions.

Charlie nodded. “You wouldn’t. Lucius has managed to keep the details of Draco’s death quiet. Not only how things happened but the fact it was death by murder. As flamboyant as he could be, not too many knew Lucius’ son worked the business, albeit in a poster role. And considering Draco’s lack of work experience, it’s unlikely the board was even considering appointing him to anything more. The elder Malfoy built up an impressive empire but it was Lucius that expanded the business ten-fold. Things are a lot different now than they were twenty-five years ago.”

“Meaning if Lucius died instead of Draco…” Percy started.

“Draco would have inherited his father’s assets, including his shares in Malfoy Investments. Which are significant, yeah, but not enough to give him majority control of the company. It wouldn’t be the same situation as Hiram Malfoy's death.”

“This is still a police matter,” I said practically, easing back in my seat. Percy leaned closer to me and the scent of used books, honey and butter shortbreads – of Percy – drew me closer to him, and I wrapped a casual arm around his shoulders. “Less than two weeks since he died, you say? By strangulation? This case is still being investigated then. Right?”

When no answer was forthcoming for some time, Percy prompted his brother with a “Well?”

Charlie bit his bottom lip, obviously agitated, and his eyes darted around the room before resting on ours. “Malfoy’s exercised his influence with my Captain. Had us officially close the file yesterday. This gets out, we’re going to look like…” He pursed his lips, turning his head away from us. “I’m the officer in charge. It was my case. And just before I was leaving the Malfoy Estate yesterday Lucius comes to me, asks me to hire a private investigator to solve his son’s murder.”

“Why would he…” Percy stopped.

A year working with Red was more than enough time to know exactly how his body tensed when he was confused. I felt him still and stop breathing just as his heartbeat increased. I watched his eyes focus on his brother unblinkingly and his lips part slightly, poised to ask questions. His puzzlement was shared on my part but my mind was also playing with the underlying message of what Charlie was saying. The Malfoys need help in solving their son’s murder, and Percy and I were to be the ones to do it. The more silent Charlie was the more I anticipated his next words, feeling a sudden endearment to the man who had recommended us above the dozens of other private investigators he worked with on a regular basis. That showed real faith.

The more time passed in silence, though, Charlie was looking worse. He started to turn even redder and sweat, and his eyes were drawn to the floor. It took awhile before his found his breath, before he confessed, “Malfoy isn’t interested in having the case solved. He’s only hiring private investigators for his image. If this leaks to the public - when this leaks, it’ll make the police look incompetent while making him look like he has an interest in finding the killer. He’s not...,” he took a deep breath, his eyes still cast down. “He’s asked me to find him someone who’d do some piss-poor work. Ones who couldn’t find their way out of a hole in the ground.”

Charlie finally looked up, meeting our eyes again. “I’ve recommended you two.”


--Onwards to Chapter 2