“Seb was about to turn the Kinetoscope on,” Max said, almost like he’d caught my it’s-not-blue anxiety and changed the subject. “Want to stay for the big unveiling?”
Beth clapped her hands together. “Oh yes! Let’s see what you have.”
I stepped back to the cabinet and gave the Kinetoscope a final once-over before daring to power it on for what might have been the first time in over a hundred years. But against all odds, the machine came to life, the wheels inside making sound as the film was set into a continuous loop. I moved around to the front and glanced in the peephole. The bulb illuminating the projected stills was bright, and I had to squint as I watched.
It turned out the mystery footage wasn’t Victorian porn or cats, but instead, a boxing match. And one I recognized, at that.
The Leonard-Cushing fight of 1894. It was sold by Edison as an authentic fight, but the truth was, it was staged and filmed at his studio, Black Maria, in Jersey. Regardless, it was the first boxing match to be recorded, and of the six reels that were once for sale to the Kinetoscope parlors, less than a full round still existed today. The knockout footage—naturally the most popular round with customers—hadn’t survived.
At least, it hadn’t thirty seconds ago.
Because I was watching it now.
Leonard won. I knew he would, but no one in modern times had everseenit.
I opened my mouth to say…something, but there was a weird blip in the film, some distortion, and then the scene was different. It was outdoors, the image dark and grainy. Some odd lighting, just above two figures in the scene, illuminated a street that otherwise would have been engulfed in nighttime. The figures appeared to be men—neither from the prior boxing scene. One had very distinctive muttonchops and a bit of a gut. The second man was pretty nondescript. They seemed to be arguing, but the frame rate the movie had been shot at was different from what was used today, making their motions quick and dramatic-looking, so it was hard to tell.
Without warning, Muttonchops pulled something from inside his coat, and the motion blurred as he lunged. Nondescript Man held his neck and then crumpled to the ground. Muttonchops stared down at him for a few seconds, dropped whatever he had been holding, and ran.
The scene looped and brought me back to the fight.
“So?” Max asked excitedly.
I raised my head, looking at him and Beth. “I… think I just witnessed a murder.”
Chapter Two
“THE INFANTfeeding bottle was all the rage in the late Victorian era,” I told my customer as she crouched in front of a display case to inspect an item. “It was often a glass bottle that came with a rubber tube and nipple, allowing a child to feed themselves.”
“I imagine that was beneficial when women wore corsets,” she replied, looking up at me.
“Yes, exactly,” I said. “That was the major selling point for mothers at the time. Unfortunately, by the turn of the century, it had earned the moniker ‘murder bottle.’”
She made a face and looked at the bottle, situated beside its original packaging. “Murder?”
Was it just me, or were the murders of bygone days making themselves a bit too known today?
I’d called Calvin after watching the boxing match turned death show. I didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t like the perpetrator could be arrested, what with being unbelievably dead by now, but there was no statute of limitations on murder. Andthathad been a real killing. So I called the cops, like any good citizen would. It was just convenient thatmycop was fairly accustomed to the outrageous at this point.
The customer—shit, what had she said her name was? Nancy? Nancy.—Nancy was staring up at me expectantly.
“Er—yeah, sorry. The rubber tubing was very difficult to clean,” I hastily said, tapping the glass case. “Which made it an ideal breeding ground for bacteria. Coupled with the famous Martha Stewart of the time—Isabella Beeton—advising it wasn’t necessary to clean the nipple for several weeks….” I waved my hand. “It became the murder bottle.”
“That’s awful,” Nancy said. “And the infant mortality rate was already so high then.”
“Oh yes. The feeding bottle exacerbated the problem.”
Nancy stood, still eyeing the item.
“Not too sure this will be a suitable birthday present for your coworker, though,” I stated.
“We all have that one friend who’s super interested in weird and morbid things,” Nancy said with a laugh.
Don’t judge me, Nancy.
I moved around the backside of the case, opened the sliding glass door, and removed the bottle and packaging. “Would you like this gift wrapped?”
“That’d be wonderful,” Nancy answered.
