The Case of the Vanishing Unicorns

by James Blakey

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Excerpt

“Fifty unicorns stolen!” Don Fenska’s high-pitched whining filled the air.

“Heard you the first time, Don.” I was washing goblin vomit off my coat, but the effort was wasted. The discharge had hardened and now brown leather was spotted with a sickly yellow. I laid it in the sun to dry. “Why don’t we go inside?”

The Sparta town fathers didn’t give me much of a budget, and the jail, which doubled as my office, was sparsely decorated. The rancher parked himself on the only choice: an unpainted bench.

“It’s my whole herd. And I know who did it.” His dark eyes darted in rhythm with his flailing arms. “That Jenny Carpenter. She’s the one responsible.”

Jenny Carpenter. Curly blonde hair and the scent of fresh strawberries. We danced too close at the town social and endured plenty of angry stares. She got the message. Been cool to me since.

“That’s a pretty serious accusation. Do you have any proof?”

“Don’t need any. She’s the only one who could.” His voice grew smaller, arms dropped to his side. “She’s, uh, never been, you know, with a…” His face turned bright red.

“She’s a virgin?” That explained plenty.

“Sheriff, please.” Fenska grimaced. “We’re both gentlemen. No need to use that kind of language. But yes, because of her— condition. It must be her.”

“Virgins,” I deliberately emphasized the word, “are rare. But she’s the only one?”

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