Mr. Poole stood with his arms crossed, as if waiting for them to challenge his story. Marci glanced between her two companions, unsure of how to respond. Vieve, as usual, was inscrutable. Grey, less so.
     "Let me get this clear. You want us to hunt the ghost of a man who spontaneously combusted?"
Mr. Poole nodded. "Yes."
"But you refuse to give us any other background information."
Mr. Poole nodded again.
Grey sighed. "Fine. We'll take the job. With one caveat. If we see anything suspicious, we get involved."
Mr. Poole hesitated, then shrugged. "Very well. I have no part in the matter." He then turned around and left.
    The second he left the docking ground, Marci spun around. "We are getting involved."
     Grey looked at her curiously. "Why?"
     Marci rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way. "Oh, not this again. Like I told you, Sir William Rivers discovered beyond a shadow of a doubt that spontaneous combustion is not real at all EVER in 1883. Two years ago. Two whole years! And everyone keeps going around thinking it's real when it's not! Does nobody pay attention to science!?"
     Grey laughed. "This is why you're on the team."
     Marci proceeded to mime a slow death in a fashion any dilettante of Shakespeare would admire. "Why? Why must you do this to me!?"
Grey just laughed. "Half an hour till we go."
~*~
     Marci was keeping her eyes open. She was honest with herself- Vieve was really the one who handled ghosts. Marci and Grey were just backup. So she felt the pair would be more than capable when she snuck off.
     Marci reexamined the testimony of the dead man's wife, Juliet Blandamoore. She had just gotten back from her job at the morgue. When she walked into their tiny little decrepit apartment, her husband, Maxim, was polishing their old rifle they kept above the mantle. Unloaded, of course. He barely had time to say hello before he went up in flames before her very eyes! *exaggerated sobbing* No, no, she was fine. Anyway, her husband was dead and that's all there was to it. She hadn't been around for hours, being so busy with Robin- er, Mr. Vardens, and all, so there really was no need for this inquiry. Oh, her poor Maxim!
    Marci found the whole thing highly questionable. And overdone. Morticians don't swoon. She was beginning to piece together an idea, but it all depended on one crucial piece.
     Marci gave a last sweeping look around the room. A charred area smelling of smoke was roped off. An antique gun hung over the mantle. Her eyes caught on a nightgown, carelessly strewn across the floor. Odd in such a tidy place. Not to mention with all the policemen coming in and out. Most decent men have an aversion to a lady's nightclothes. Something clicked in the back of Marci's mind. Mrs. Blandamoore didn't want her looking underneath. She lifted up the gown.
     A dark stain covered the floor. The bottom of the white gown was dark red. Marci dropped the garment and resisted the urge to scream.
  Almost against her will, she lifted it up again, slowly, spurred by a morbid curiosity. A glint caught her attention. Marci took hold of the handle, slick with blood, and pulled a knife out of the floor.
     Vieve and Grey had exhausted their patience with waiting around in an empty room, waiting for the promised ghost to appear. Grey glanced over at Marci, probably to tell her it was time to go, then screamed.
     "Be quiet! We can't let her know we know!"
          Vieve's eyes went from the bloody knife, to Marci, and back again. "What do we do?"
     Marci didn't have to think. "Keep looking. I've got an idea. You two see if you can fake a mission. Try to draw it out. I'll tell you when it's time to go."
     Grey looked at Vieve and shrugged. Vieve grabbed the gun and threw it down. "Come on!"
     Grey panicked. "Vieve! What are you doing!?"
     "Making a mess."
     Grey picked up the gun. "You can't toss down a gun! They explode! Remember how they doubled as bombs back in the war?"
     That caught Marci's attention. "Let me see that gun."
     Grey carefully, obligingly handed her the gun. Marci opened the bullet chamber. Empty shells fell out.
     Vieve scooped up a handful and examined them closely. "Someone pried these open."
      Marci handed the gun back to Grey. "Change of plan. Grey, you go to the roped off area. See if the fire was caused by gunpowder. Vieve and I will look for a letter box."
     Grey headed towards the charred corner. Marci turned to Vieve. "Look for places where you might hide something."
     Marci began pulling up the old floorboards in the quietist way possible. Vieve disappeared. Moments later, she rematerialized at Marci's side and handed her a rusted tin. "Here. It was behind the water closet."
    Marci took the tin. "That's...wow. That's intense. Thanks, Vieve."
    Vieve shrugged. "Don't mention it."
    Marci pried the lid off with her pocket knife. Vieve watched her intently. "How'd you know it would be there?"
     Marci glanced up. "Huh? Oh. Well. The spouse is almost always guilty. Since this apartment is so dilapidated, I assumed it wasn't for money. Another motivator is a secret lover. And since we have a secret correspondence..."
     Vieve nodded. "Ah."
     Marci unfolded the top letter. "'My dear Juliet, How long has it been, darling, since we could talk as we really feel, not simply as business partners?' romance, romance, et cetera, et cetera. Oh! Here: 'Faithfully yours, Robin Vardens.' He's the other mortician, right?"
     Vieve examined the letter. "I believe so."
     Marci closed the tin. "Then there's no time to waste. Hide this tin again, but somewhere else. Somewhere she wouldn't dare look."
     Vieve slid the tin into her pocket.
     Marci grinned. "Works." She ran up to Grey. "Hey Grey!"
     Grey stood. "Definitely started with gunpowder."
     Marci nodded. "Can you get us into a morgue?"
     Grey stared at her, trying to decide if she was serious. "A morgue?"
     Marci waved aside the question. "I'll explain on the way."
     Grey headed towards the door. "I dunno. I'm not that good with lock picks. We almost got caught the last time we broke into somewhere upper class like that."
     Vieve spoke up. "Mrs. Blandamoore works there. It can't be that amazing."
     Grey hesitated, then shrugged. "Fine."
~*~
     Grey tied his biplane to a gargoyle on top of the mausoleum. Marci jumped to the ground and landed in a small patch of muddy grass. She dusted herself off and greeted the policeman they'd arranged to meet there. "Hello, Officer Parker."
    Officer Parker scowled. "You'd better have a good reason for calling me out here so late, Wilde."
     Marci flashed her sweetest smile. "You needn't worry about that, Officer."
     Officer Parker reviewed the case thus far with Marci while Grey instructed Vieve on how to break open a locked window while dangling upside down from the roof.
     Marci immediately launched into a garrulous, yet informative, monologue. "Maximillian Blandamoore either spontaneously combusted or was murdered. And since spontaneous combustion was debunked years ago-"
     Officer Parker jumped in. "He must have been murdered!"
     Marci nodded. "Exactly. Now. The easiest place for a mortician to hide a body would be the morgue. And since Mrs. Blandamoore is a mortician, I came here."
      Officer Parker shook his head. “This is ridiculous. She had no reason for murder."
     Marci laughed and wagged her finger. "Not so fast." Marci handed him the letter tin they'd found earlier. "If you're unchaste, then you don't want to be married. Murder is often the easiest way to be freed from marriage. Therefore, it stands to reason that unchastity is a motivating factor for murder. Also, she hates that apartment. If she married Mr. Vardens, she'd be living elsewhere."
     Marci turned to her accomplices. "How's the window coming?"
     Vieve grunted. "If I snap and smash the glass, would that be bad?"
     Grey crossed his arms."Well, it would trigger an alarm system that would trigger response automatons that would recognize the crowbar as a weapon and open fire on all of us so yes, it would be bad."
     Vieve rolled her eyes. "Okay, Shakespeare. Geez!"
     Grey railed while Vieve employed a new tactic. "Get off your high horse, Jack London! Taciturnity isn't any more of an art form!"
      Vieve stuck out her tongue. "Taciturn!? Who said I was taciturn?! I can be very talkative! Watch as I narrate my thought process!"
     Marci shuddered. "Oh no." Officer Parker couldn't stop laughing.
     Vieve yanked on the crowbar. "More pressure equals more effect. I should jump on the crowbar."
     That got Grey's attention. "Wait! Vieve, stop!"
    Vieve was a woman of action. She stomped on the handle. The window gave way and she fell to the ground.
     Any charge against Vieve of conciseness was immediately abandoned. The drop from the third story window was enough to spawn a full five minuets of effluent cursing. The party then enjoyed a climb up an adjacent rotting birch and a three foot jump to the windowpane. The plan, Marci reflected, had not been thought through terribly well.
Once inside, they proceeded to unzip all of the body bags and search for a man matching Mr. Blandamoore's photograph. It was not a pleasant occupation.
     A squeal escaped Marci's lips as she happened upon a woman who had- the tag claimed- died in a dirigible accident. Marci had a hard time distinguishing it from salami she had once dropped on a propellor.
     Officer Parker gave up a whoop of victory. "This is it, boys!"
     Grey forced a smile. "Yay!"
      Officer Parker stayed behind to take photographs, but Marci was out of the building like a shot.
~*~
     Mr. Poole handed Marci the keys to the Blandamoore's former apartment. "I can't thank you kids enough. If word of a murder here had gotten out..."
     Marci grinned. "Not a problem, sir. Discretion is a necessary attribute in our line of work."
     Grey dropped a box full of spare parts inside the door. "Officer Parker said the pair were convicted in court yesterday. She slit his throat the night before, then hid him in the mortuary with her partner's help. Gosh, this place is a lot bigger than the biplane."
     Vieve inspected the mess to make sure Grey hadn't broken anything. Mr. Poole stared at her in shock. "What happened to you?"
     Vieve gingerly touched the bruises running along her bare arms and shrugged. "Occupational hazard."
Mr. Poole nodded. “Ah, of course. Which reminds me. There’s been a minor disturbance down the hall, and I was wondering if you children would mind investigating…”
     Grey shook his head. “No, nope, sorry. We’re really busy right now with jobs and stuff, so-“
But Marci cut him off. “Sure, Mr. Poole. We’d be happy to help.”
Grey threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine.”
Mr. Poole led the way down the hall. “Really interesting case. Daughter claims spontaneous combustion…”