by Joan Hess
“A terrible thing,” he said, grimacing. “I didn’t know her. As far as I know, none of us did. I’ve been to a few big tournaments, but I can’t remember ever meeting anybody named Angie. There are legions of people at these things, with elaborate tents and RVs in camps that cover several acres. Almost all of the attendees use their ARSE titles instead of their real names. There are usually a thousand lords a-leaping and nine hundred ladies dancing, and the partridge is served at the royal banquet.”
“And the five gold rings?”
“Sovereignty of the kingdom until the next tournament. Whoever scores the most points in sword fights and jousts is coronated King or Queen. Same thing at the county level to become Duke or Duchess. Lanya and Anderson have won numerous times over the years.”
“Women engage in sword fights?” I asked. I didn’t object to the idea, but it seemed as odd as women playing professional football. There was no reason why they shouldn’t, if they had the physical aptitude and the desire. I just couldn’t think of a reason why they would want to engage in such a potentially painful activity.
“There’s no gender bias or age discrimination on the battlefield. Once the armor’s on, everybody’s an equal. Luckily, experience almost always wins over youthful bravado. Lanya is renowned for her ferocity and cunning.” Salvador leaned over and picked up the pitcher. “Ready for a refill?”
“No, thank you. I came by to ask you if you happen to have Edward’s address or phone number.”
Salvador sat forward so abruptly that the martini glass slipped out of his hand. Luckily, it rolled under a chair instead of shattering. Cursing to himself, he went to the bar and refilled a new glass, then sat down. He tried to look at me, but his eyes shifted away as if I’d said something ludicrous. “The jester? Don’t you think he’s a bit young for you?”
“Because I’m old enough to be his mother? Is that your point?”
“I was teasing, since you’ve made it clear that your virtues are beyond corruption. No, I don’t know much of anything about him. Lanya waits until October to put together a directory. After the semester begins, we do a few demonstrations on the campus to recruit new members. For now, you’ll have to ask her about Edward. Do you have an urgent reason to find him today?”
I did, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “No, nothing that can’t wait. So all your houseguests have gone?”
“The Japanese boys are back with their group. Gudgeon will probably show up again before he goes back to Australia. For the moment, I’m on my own. I presume you are, too.”
“Why would you presume that?”
“You were home alone last night.”
“My fiance is still out of town,” I said. “Luanne invited me to go to the biker festival, but I declined. Too noisy for my taste.”
“Mine, too. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
We both gazed at the backyard. Birds were twittering in the oak trees. A cat leaped on the top of the fence, stared at us, and disappeared. No motorcycles roared, not even in the distance. It was a pleasant neighborhood, I thought. If Peter and I couldn’t find anything suitable in the historic district, I might consider the area. A house as large as Salvador’s would unsettle me, but surely there were more reasonable ones. A pool would be nice, as long as someone other than I handled the maintenance. After certain distasteful events earlier in the summer, I had established an amiable relationship with a gentleman who owned a pool service. As long as I would provide him with coffee and listen to stories about his dog, he’d give us a reasonable deal. Peter had made a secret bargain with Caron; it occurred to me that it might include a pool, rather than a Porsche.
“Sorry about the disruption at the cocktail party the other night,” Salvador said, interrupting my meandering thoughts. “Benny’s a good sort, but he can be overly exuberant. He would have been a splendid Viking back when raping and pillaging were acceptable social activities. He’s a well-known structural engineer, so his employers tolerate him. That doesn’t mean I have to. We used to be close friends, but we’ve drifted apart. When I’m not locked in my studio working, I travel. I’m getting older, and he’s getting younger. Strange, isn’t it?”
“Why did Benny call you ‘Lord Zormurd’? That’s a fictional character, isn’t it?” I tried to remember the details my science fiction hippie had been burbling. “He’s out to rescue his bride from dragons and people who reside in swamps.”
Salvador snorted. “Something like that. Benny’s preferences in literature do not include the classics. He tends to get carried away with this knight business, and fancies himself to be an incredibly romantic figure. He has his eye on some of the ladies in our little group. They’re not always as eager as he is to indulge in lustful trysts in the moonlight, although he and Lanya…well, you know what I mean. I don’t know the details, but she broke it off because she was afraid Anderson would find out—or so she said. The three of them met back in college when they joined an ARSE fiefdom. I don’t know who was sleeping with whom during that time, but Anderson and Lanya ended up married.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Lanya told me. She drops by every now and then when Anderson is working late. She suspects that he’s having an affair with his secretary, which is likely to be true. I can’t blame him for not wanting to go home at the end of the day. He told me he’d file for divorce if he weren’t terrified that he’d end up with custody of the kids.” He shook his head, presumably in sympathy for one of the Perus. “I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse to be cast in the role of confidant. Sometimes I feel like a bartender.”
“A disinterested party, so to speak?”
“You’re referring to my call last night, I assume. Please forget about it. I overreacted to an unsettling piece of information. One of those things that’s hard to assimilate, like a punch in the gut when you’re not expecting it.” Salvador held up his hand, then realized it was trembling and quickly put it on the arm of the chair. His eyes were too bright and his voice too hearty as he continued. “Not to imply violence was involved. Nothing like that. In any case, a bottle of chablis washed away my woes. Or maybe it was a case of chablis. The details are fuzzy.”
“You sounded suicidal.”
“Now you’re overreacting, dear Claire. I may have a touch of romanticism in my soul, but I’m far too pragmatic to cause myself physical pain. At midnight I decided to absolve myself of sin through generosity. Luckily, my financial situation is such that I will feel nothing more than pinpricks. I will even give up my misanthropic ways, although that will be painful. However, all’s well that ends well, as the bard opined.”
“He wrote some tragedies, too.”
“I never cared for those.” He held up the pitcher and looked inquiringly at me. When I shook my head, he added a splash to his own glass. “I hear your daughter and her friend scored in the costume department. They’ll be a couple of sexy wenches.”
I didn’t care for his tone. “But they’ll still be less than half your age, and I’ll be there to keep an eye on them. You may think Lanya’s ferocious, but you’ve never seen me with a mace.”
“Do come by the archery stall and say hello. Will you be dressed in garb? Julius could probably find something for you, as well. Lady Clarissa of Farberville. You can waft about the fair, looking down your lovely nose at all the uncouth peasants and ruffians.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. I thanked him for my untouched martini and left. I did not spot Serengeti as I went through the house and out to my car. I peered in the backseat, just in case, and then drove home. The only thing I’d learned was that Salvador was a first-class gossip and had seemingly vanquished his personal devils. In exactly one week, the Renaissance Fair would be over and Peter would be home. If he wasn’t too tired, I would allow him to take me out to dinner. I would not mention Leslie, and if he had any sense, he wouldn’t, either. At least not on his first night home.
Caron and Inez were sprawled in the living room when I arrived at th
e apartment. The remains of a pizza were in a box on the coffee table, along with cans of soda, cartons of dip, chips, and a package of cookies. Sally Fromberger would faint on the spot at their idea of a well-balanced meal.
“How was the dress rehearsal last night?” I asked as I joined them.
“It lasted until two in the morning,” Inez said. “The so-called actors tripped, fell, giggled, sneezed, and forgot their lines. Two of them cried. One of them threw a vase at another one, who stalked off and locked himself in the ladies’ room for an hour.”
Caron rolled her eyes. “And those were the high points. The curtain collapsed. One of the stage lights started smoking. Mr. Valens blew the fuses three times, resulting in total darkness and wild accusations of groping from the wings.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “I hope things go better tonight. What are they performing?”
“A tragedy.”
“Agamemnon? Oedipus Rex?” I suggested. “Something by Eurípedes?”
“The Sound of Music,” Caron said with a groan.
“That’s not a tragedy.”
“It will be. Trust me.”
Inez began to snicker. “The youngest von Trapp child is thirty- five, the oldest about sixty. They wear lederhosen. All of them have hairy legs, including the women. The nun yodels.”
“One performance, and then you’ll have earned your bodices,” I said. “Please stick to modest for Inez’s parents’ sake, if not mine.” When they ignored my remark, I added, “Did you hear about the fire last night?”
“Oh, yes,” Caron said. “We also heard about you. Are you sure you should be lecturing us about modesty? At least we don’t run around the neighborhood in bathrobes and bare feet, not to mention green, scaly faces. What if the news camera crew had shown up? Haven’t you already done enough to Ruin My Reputation?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Was I carted off to the animal shelter in a gorilla suit? Did I serve six weeks in detention for stealing the frozen frogs from the biology department?”
Inez blinked with impressive (if less than convincing) sincerity. “But none of that was our fault, Ms. Malloy. You said so yourself.”
“I most certainly did not,” I said, “and whatever I did say was an attempt to keep you out of juvenile court. When you turn eighteen, you’re on your own. I understand that even minimum security prisons lack spas and tennis courts.”
“Whatever,” Caron growled. She does not care to be reminded of certain undignified activities in the past few years.
I waited a moment, then said, “Are the fairies upset about their teacher’s death?”
“Some of them are creeped out,” said Inez. “I mean, they were in the house. They thought Madam, as they were instructed to address her, was kind of a freak and obsessed with perfection, but they were sad when they heard about her. That must be a terrible way to die.”
“Duh,” said Caron, who was still annoyed at me, and therefore at everyone else within spitting range. “Would you rather be disemboweled while you’re alive, or be trampled by a herd of buffalo? Thrown in a pot of boiling oil?”
“My three greatest fears,” Inez retorted. “They’re right up there with being accused of mooning over Louis Wilderberry in the cafeteria. Rhonda snickered about it the rest of the day. She did everything but announce it over the PA system.”
I realized I’d better intervene. “Did Sergeant Jorgeson get in touch with you earlier?”
Caron was still glowering. “Yes, and I gave him some names and telephone numbers. It’s not like he could have found anybody this afternoon. They all went to the lake. Rhonda’s uncle has a cabin and a party barge. Why don’t you have any cool relatives, Mother?”
This was not a question I cared to answer. Years ago, when I thought she was old enough to understand, I’d explained the situation. Now all three of us were annoyed. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a drink, then returned with a forced smile. “Did the fairies say anything about Madam? Did she tell them where she was from or why she’d moved here?”
“Not really,” Inez said. “She sort of slouched around while she poked them with an umbrella and made nasty remarks about how clumsy they were.”
“She didn’t mention any friends or enemies?”
“You’ll have to call Rhonda and ask her. They should be back from the lake in an hour or two,” Caron said. “Can we have the car now, Mother? Mr. Valens wants us to come early so he can redo the lighting. I told him the play would be better if it was performed in the dark—and in pantomime. He looked pissed, but I could tell he agreed.”
“I doubt the retirees of Hasty are ready for alternative theater,” I said, then told them they could go search the hills for the sound of music, as well as a few of their favorite things. I was relieved to be rid of them for the evening. I tidied up, turned on the news, and settled down on the sofa. Peter had promised to call once he arrived at his mother’s house. I wanted to tell him about the area where Salvador lived, but it might be tricky to explain why I’d spent part of the afternoon sitting on Salvador’s deck, with a martini glass nearby. Then again, it might be the moment to remind him that I was not without appeal to others of his gender.
As for Edward Cobbinwood, there was nothing I could do until he showed up at the bookstore. If I called Lanya to ask for his phone number, she would demand to know why. I wasn’t ready to implicate him in the arson investigation, and I wasn’t about to mention his parentage until I talked to him in private. Without a reasonable explanation, she would conclude, as Salvador had done, that I had designs on him.
If I ended up in court, I would do so with my dignity intact.
Luanne called while I was eating dinner. I allowed her to grovel, then accepted her apology and gave her an update. We agreed that it was all very peculiar and puzzling. After we’d run out of speculation, we planned an evening of popcorn and movies later in the week. Peter finally called to say that his flight had been delayed by weather, but he was at his mother’s house and was looking forward to a hot shower and a decent bed. Caron came home much later, took a soda out of the refrigerator, and retreated to her bedroom.
And so to sleep, perchance to dream.
The next few days passed uneventfully. The fairies performed as scheduled on the portico, drawing attention primarily from children, college boys, and geezers clad in Bermuda shorts. Caron and Inez had chosen costumes from the theater department, but refused to model them. I finished the Sunday crossword puzzle (in ink, of course) and resumed reading the real estate ads. Anderson and Benny appeared in armor once again to whack at each other, while Fiona watched from the sidelines. Madrigals were sung. Lutes were strummed. Tickets were sold. Edward Cobbinwood did not appear, however, so I’d finally told Sergeant Jorgeson that it was possible that there might be a link between Edward and Angie. Underwhelmed by my revelation, Jorgeson agreed to look into it. Peter’s calls were infrequent and inevitably cut short by a whimsical demand from his mother. Sally and her entourage had paraded past the Book Depot several times, perhaps readying themselves for a crusade. Best of all, I’d had minimal contact with the ARSE members, limited to watching Julius struggle with his sound equipment.
By Friday, I was optimistic that the Renaissance Fair would come and go without any demands on me. Luanne and I planned to attend on Saturday afternoon, both out of curiosity and to support Safe Haven, the battered-women’s shelter. I’d just sold a guide to indigenous wildflowers to a retired couple when Edward came into the store.
He waited until the transaction was finished and the couple gone, then said, “Good morrow, Claire, for that is your name, I hear.”
“Good morrow,” I said politely.
“I guess you’ve been wondering where I was all week.”
I pretended to consider this while I put away the sales slip. “No, Edward, I haven’t.” This was, of course, a lie of immeasurable magnitude. I’d imagined him in a endless variety of situations, including one in which he approached Caron to give her a brotherl
y hug. Half of one, anyway. I turned around and looked at him. His face was pale and his hair uncombed, and he looked as though he’d lost weight. Dark smudges under his eyes suggested he hadn’t been sleeping. “A police detective questioned me this morning. He wouldn’t say why he thought I’d known Angie. I finally figured out that you were in the car that drove by her house when I was there.”
“I had no choice,” I said. “They’re investigating arson, if not murder. The fire was set intentionally. As far as I know, they haven’t had much luck learning anything about her past or present. You knew her?”
“Yeah, sort of. I met her at a Ren Fair in Sacramento. She was selling fairy wings and wands, and junk like that. We sat at a picnic table and had a couple of pints of ale, talked about ourselves. When Lanya mentioned that a woman named Angie was going to work with the fairies, I wondered if it might be the same woman. Funny, the two of us running into each other fifteen hundred miles from California. I went by to say hello and to ask if I could shop for her or anything. She stayed in the doorway, said she didn’t need any help, and thanked me for coming by. I’m not sure she even remembered me. I felt like an idiot.”
“She never told you where she was living when you met her?”
“Some little town in Arizona. If she told me the name, it didn’t register. All I could tell the detective was that she was about forty years old, brown hair, and was using an umbrella as a cane. Not much help, I’m afraid.”
I was watching him closely, unsure that he was telling me not only the truth, but the whole truth. “You said the two of you talked about yourselves over ale. She must have said something.”
He blushed. “I guess I did most of the talking. I’d just found out about my father, and I didn’t know how I felt about it. Up until then, I’d never had a father. I mean, well, I knew some guy had impregnated my mother, but he didn’t have a name or a face. He wasn’t real. When I was a kid, I used to fantasize that he was a cowboy or an astronaut, then later that he was a celebrity. I didn’t hide girlie magazines under my mattress; I had issues of People and Entertainment Weekly. Whenever I was in San Francisco, I’d stare at the restored Victorian houses along the trolley route, picturing him living in one with his perfect wife and two adorable, polite children. His name would be Michael, his wife’s Stephanie. Mike Junior and Julia would attend a private school and take music lessons. I even gave them a dog.”
