The Minstrel & The Campaign

by Lila K Bell

  There was always the option of barging in and being blunt about things, but Veronica had no reason to answer me. She was a gossip, and gossips loved to be teased.

  So if I couldn’t go get my face made up, maybe a decoy would suffice.

  I checked the time. The high schoolers would probably be at lunch right now, which meant their phones would be at hand.

  Taking the chance, I dialled Sybil’s number. She answered on the first ring.

  “What have you found out?” she asked.

  I started. “Excuse me?”

  “With the case. The woman under the courtyard. What have you learned?”

  “How do you know I’ve learned anything?”

  I could practically hear Sybil’s eyes rolling at the other end of the line. “Sam told me you’ve gone to the police station. Twice. What other reason would you have for going back if you hadn’t learned anything? Look, you can tell my brother whatever you want, but I know you’re making progress.”

  “Fine, all right, you caught me. I might have picked up a few details.” What would be the point in lying when I was calling to ask for her help? I was already breaking my own promise to myself to leave her out of this, but I needed her help. I trusted her to keep my secret and, hopefully, Sam never needed to find out. “You free this afternoon?”

  “For this? Uh, yeah.”

  “Excellent. I’ll pick you up at three. Try to look a bit dishevelled, will you? I’m taking you for a makeover.”

  I hung up without giving her a chance to ask anything else, then took myself to the gym to kill some time. With all this knocking on doors and asking questions, my routine had been royally thrown off, but it wouldn’t do to get too out of shape. No matter where my path took me next, I wouldn’t always be grounded by my concerns about Gramps. I never knew when I’d have to scale another building or climb down a balcony, and I wanted to be ready when the time came.

  From the gym I headed to the smoothie bar, picked up two chocolate-banana smoothies, then drove to the school to wait for Sybil.

  I don’t think I’d ever seen the girl run so quickly to the car. And was that a friend walking with her? I didn’t think Sybil did friends. Aside from me, that is. I was proud of her.

  The guy’s shaggy hair bounced as he walked, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his size-too-big jeans. He was cute in a gangly kind of way, but the skulls all over his backpack told me what had really drawn Sybil to him. It matched perfectly with her bat-print leggings and long Nirvana tee.

  She waved at him when she reached the car, and he slouched off toward the bus as she got in.

  “Wasn’t that the guy who was watching you from the doorway the other day?” I asked. “The one you said was nothing?”

  “Yeah. Nigel,” said Sybil, brushing her black and red hair over her ears. “He likes the same music I do, so we were exchanging album recs.”

  “Recs are good,” I said, and pressed my lips together to avoid pushing the issue.

  “Oh come on, just because he’s a guy we’re suddenly dating?”

  “I said nothing!”

  “Just drive and tell me where we’re going.”

  This time I didn’t bother to repress a grin as I pulled away from the curb.

  As we drove, I filled Sybil in on everything I’d learned, including every single piece of evidence that pointed to John Kingslake.

  “You mean, all of it. Every single thing you just said points to the guy.”

  “That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

  “Tells me he was bad at covering his tracks.”

  “Okay, answer me this — you’ve just killed the woman you love. At your place of business. Where other people are still working. You panic, obviously, but are still thinking clearly enough to realize the cement truck is due tomorrow morning, so you drag her body to the conveniently located hole in the ground, dump it, and bury her enough that she’s not visible before the truck comes in. If you have time to do all this, likely you’re not too worried about someone walking in on you, and yet you still decide to throw the murder weapon in with the body and leave your jacket on her.”

  “If you think the body’s never going to be found, you don’t care about burying things with her, right?”

  “Maybe, but why take the chance? Anything could have gone wrong. It could have rained before the cement went in, revealing the body. The truck could have been delayed, leaving her open to the world for a few extra hours. Someone could have decided they wanted to play in the sandpit before it got turned into a courtyard.”

  “Really?”

  “Work with me here. My point is, why not take the trophy, clean it up and put it back on the shelf with the rest of them? Why not take your jacket back? It matches your suit, no doubt.”

  “What does Kingslake say about the jacket?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask him yet. Even when I do, I’m sure he’ll offer some vague story about how he thought she ran off with it or something. That’s why we’re going to go speak with his old admin assistant first. If I’m going to confront John again, I want my ammunition fully stocked.”

  I pulled up in front of Beauty Tips and stopped the car. Sybil grimaced at the sign.

  “Why are we here?”

  “This is where Veronica Moore works. She’s a makeup artist.”

  “Okay…?”

  “I was here the other day for an impromptu appointment. It doesn’t make sense for me to make use of her services again so soon.”

  Sybil’s eyes widened with fear. “No. No way. Nuh-uh. When you said makeover, I thought you meant shopping. For, like, clothes.”

  “Come on,” I said, unclipping my seatbelt. “Do it for the cause.”

  “Not a chance.” She crossed her arms and settled herself more deeply into the seat. “The only makeup I allow on my face is the stuff I put on myself. Not in a million years. Not if you paid me a million zillion dollars.”

  “What about a double scoop from Nathan’s Thirty-Two?”

  Sybil stiffened and cast me a deep scowl. “Make it a triple. Chocolate dipped.”

  ***

  “I didn’t expect to see you back again so soon,” Veronica said as we made our way to her station. Today her makeup was done a la Cleopatra, with a thick kohl liner and bright turquoise shadow. Again, it should have looked cheap, but somehow came off as though she were set for the stage.

  “Your work really impressed me the other day,” I said. It took forty-eight hours to get all the layers off. “So when Sybil here told me she has an event tonight, I knew just where to take her.”

  “Oh, lovely,” Veronica grinned. “Is this your daughter?”

  Okay. Ouch, much? There were only nine years between us.

  Sybil cast me a look, but I ignored her. It wouldn’t do to get offended. Smile, ask my questions, then order two triple scoop chocolate dips.

  “Friend’s little sister,” I corrected.

  “Oh, lovely. So you’re babysitting then.”

  Not it was my turn to smirk and Sybil’s expression to go bland.

  “Well, sit right down and let’s see what we can do for you,” she said, and gestured to the big chair. “You clearly have your own… style. I think a change would do you good, though, don’t you?”

  I pulled up a smaller seat beside Sybil where I could get a good look at what Veronica was doing to her. I hoped it wasn’t too awful; otherwise, I’d be in debt for an ice cream every single day for a month.

  “Was it as busy in here yesterday as you expected?” I asked, as Veronica got to work removing Sybil’s makeup.

  “Oh goodness, yes,” she said. “If you’d tried to come in here for a walk-in any time in the afternoon, you would have been disappointed. What do you think, dear, a pink palette?”

  She directed the last to Sybil, and I looked away to avoid laughing at Sybil’s attempts to repress her horrified expression.

  “If you feel it’s best,” she managed to say, but the daggers of her eyes pierced
my soul, and I knew I was done for.

  “Hmm, maybe not. A bit too babyish on you.”

  At least there was that.

  “I was actually thinking about our conversation the other day,” I said. “We were talking about Amelia, and you mentioned an argument you’d overheard. Isn’t it strange that later the same afternoon, I was speaking with my grandfather — an old friend of John’s — and John had just finished telling him they never fought. That not once in their relationship had they raised their voices at one another.” I shook my head at the absurdities of the world. “Isn’t it funny the way people remember things differently?”

  Veronica threw back her head and laughed, a melodic ring that would have fit well from an animated villain. “Of course he would say that, wouldn’t he? It wouldn’t look good for him if he admitted to having a blowout with his girlfriend the night before she died. But they argued all right. And it was definitely him. Hard not to recognize those bright red argyle socks of his. I saw them when he walked past my office.”

  “Silly of him to try to deny it if you were there as a witness,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I guess he’s not as smart as everyone makes him out to be.”

  Veronica’s hand stiffened, the brush between her fingers hovering mere inches over Sybil’s face, and she looked down her nose at me. “John Kingslake is a very intelligent man. He might have made a few mistakes, but he had a lot to offer this city. He could have offered more if that hussy hadn’t been there to distract him.” She sniffed and returned to her work. “You know, I don’t think she even cared that much about him.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” My thoughts went to Robert Carlson. “Do you think there was someone else?”

  Veronica shrugged. “What do I know? I was only John’s general secretary. But if there had been, I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

  “What about someone else in the office?” I asked. “Didn’t John have an aide?”

  Her hand twitched, and a streak of blush ran up the side of Sybil’s face.

  “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry, dear,” she said, and reached for her makeup remover.

  Sybil glowered at me over Veronica shoulder, and I mouthed Sorry with an apologetic grimace. She raised an eyebrow and held up four fingers, then flashed Veronica a bright smile as the woman settled back in her chair.

  “Don’t even worry about it,” she said cheerfully. “My face is your canvas.”

  Yeah, a quadruple scoop canvas. The girl was going to bankrupt me.

  For a while Veronica focused solely on turning Sybil from her usual punk-goth self into a socialite dream, and I worried I’d lost my chance to find out what I wanted to know. How could I direct the conversation back to the case for a third time without it being incredibly obvious that my questions were pointed?

  Eventually, however, Sybil reminded me that I’d brought her along to be more than a dress-up doll when she asked, “Argyle socks?”

  “Hm?” Veronica asked. She was working on the eyes now, which I hoped would be a safe area for Sybil if she startled her again.

  “You mentioned red argyle socks before. Those are the criss-crossy ones, right? The ones that are making a comeback all over sweaters and stuff?”

  Veronica grimaced. “That would be argyle.” She glanced at me. “As to your other question, yes, John did have an aide, named Carlson.” She frowned. “It’s always struck me as strange that his name never came up in the original investigation. He was definitely there that night. I heard him talking to someone earlier in the evening. No idea when he left, though. I headed home shortly after I heard the argument. I didn’t see him.”

  I gave Sybil a thumbs-up behind Veronica’s back. The question of whether anything existed between Robert and Amelia remained open, but at least now I’d confirmed he’d been there for part of the evening. It was one step closer.

  “There,” Veronica said, sitting back and giving Sybil a once-over. “What do you think?”

  I stood up to give her a good look and started.

  She was gorgeous.

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved Sybil’s style. It was all her own and suited her.

  But without the heavy eye-liner, with colours chosen to bring out the flecks of green in her blue eyes and blush to highlight her high cheekbones, she was stunning.

  “What?” she asked, and I spotted the trace of worry in her eyes.

  “You look great,” I said. “Actually actually.”

  “Of course she does. With skin like hers, anything would work well.”

  Veronica packed up her brushes, and Sybil pushed herself out of the chair.

  “Well, thanks,” she said to her. “I’m all ready for that party tonight.”

  “And you’re going to be smashing.”

  We started walking away, when Sybil surprised me by stopping. She turned around and said, “I’m sorry about Mr. Kingslake.”

  Veronica frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  Sybil shrugged. “The way you talked about him. It sounds like you liked the guy.”

  The woman’s cheeks flushed, and she raised her chin. “As it happens I did. He was a handsome man with a rising political career. He would have been a great catch.” She flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But I was better off without him. In the end, I found someone much richer who helped me open my wonderful salon. Have a nice day.”

  Without any further hesitation, she bustled herself off to the staff room, leaving me and Sybil to exchange a glance.

  Maybe that was how she felt now — hindsight is twenty-twenty — but had she realized it before or after Amelia died?

  14

  As we walked out of the salon, Sybil dabbed her fingers against her face.

  “Is it really not bad?”

  “I would tell you if it were. Why didn’t you take a look in the mirror before we left?”

  “Because this isn’t… me. I don’t do the whole fancy makeup thing. It feels like it’s caked on.”

  “Okay, she might have gone a bit heavy with the foundation, but that’s not what people will notice. Here.”

  I pulled down her sun visor as she got into the car, flipped open the mirror, and let her get a good look at herself.

  She leaned in close and her eyes widened. A trace of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, then disappeared as a blush took over her cheeks. She reached for her hair, the ultimate symptom of self-consciousness, but checked herself halfway there and sat back in her seat.

  “I’m impressed,” she said.

  “Right? You look awesome.”

  “So who’s Robert Carlson?”

  I raised my eyebrows at the sudden change of subject. Here she was, a teenage bombshell, and she really wanted to jump back into the case?

  “He’s running for mayor. I went to talk to him this morning, but he didn’t really tell me much.”

  “Sam mentioned him, I think.”

  “Oh yeah?” I hated asking, but when the opportunity was right in front of me, I could hardly pass it up. “Did he say anything in particular?”

  Sybil shot me a grin. “Nah. Just that he hates dealing with politicians. I don’t think he learned anything from him either. He says he can’t tell whether the guy was telling the truth or feeding him a sound bite.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “I’ll keep an ear out, though.” She looked out the window. “Where are we going now?”

  “I’m going to go talk with John again. I think it’s time I brought some of these recent accusations to his attention. Want me to drop you off at home?”

  “Heck no. I want to come with you.”

  “Fine. You can distract your brother while I have my chat with the ex-mayor.”

  ***

  Not a surprise that Sam recognized me as soon as I walked into the police station, but he did a double take on seeing Sybil beside me.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask what you two got up to today,” he said. A fellow officer bumped into him, his eyes glued
on Sybil, and Sam gave him a wallop with his elbow. “Get your eyes back in your head. That’s my sister. My sixteen-year-old sister.”

  The officer grumbled and walked away, though not without giving me an up-down as well before he left.

  I rolled my eyes and dragged Sybil to her brother’s desk. “We thought it was a good time for a change. Getting close to the holidays and what have you. You know how it goes. Sometimes a girl just needs to primp.”

  “I’ll say,” he said. Then his eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze to me. “And what are you doing here?”

  “My daily check-in for Gramps,” I said with a smile. “Would you care to escort me?”

  “Deeks,” he called to the officer who’d just walked by. “Can you take Miss Gates to the cells? I want to have a word with my sister.”

  I joined Deeks on his way to the back of the station and did my best not to encourage his interest. With things so up in the air with Ryan, I didn’t want to add another layer of confusion to the mix.

  He left me with John, and I stood with my feet planted and arms crossed.

  “Back again,” he said, taking his place on the edge of his cot.

  “Trust me, I don’t enjoy spending any more time here than I have to,” I said. “And I wouldn’t be here nearly as often if you would tell me the truth for a change. Why is it that if I want to learn any part of what happened that night, I need to speak to a million people just to find out what you could have told me yourself? You do realize I’m trying to help you, right?”

  He said nothing, just cast his gaze down the corridor.

  “You told me you didn’t remember anyone else being there that night. Veronica Moore and Robert Carlson both were. They both claim they heard an argument, they both claim to have left early, and there’s been some mention of you coming to work the next day with a black eye. How much of that is true?”

  “Look, Miss Gates, I understand your intentions are sound, but my situation is unpleasant enough. I don’t want to drag anyone else into this who shouldn’t be.”