Damsels in Distress

by Joan Hess

  I was searching through my desk drawers for a forgotten candy bar when the bell above the door jangled. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I called, secretly hoping whoever it was would creep away.

  Caron and Inez came into the office. “We saw you on TV,” the former said accusingly.

  “How’d I look?” I asked as I gave up my search.

  “Not too bad, considering,” Inez said, blinking at me.

  I didn’t pursue it. “What are your plans for the rest of the day? Promise me you won’t take anyone hostage. I’ve had my fill of that for the day.”

  “Mr. Valens called,” Caron said. “He wants us to help out at another amateur production this weekend. Ten bucks an hour, each. I told him we’d think about it. I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered from the last one. At least it’s not the same group. They’re still trying to wiggle out of their lederhosen.”

  “The money’s not bad,” I commented.

  “If I’m going to sell my soul, I’m not doing it for less than eternal youth and fabulous riches.”

  “Or a date with Louis Wilder berry?” Inez said slyly.

  Caron made a face that would have frightened a gargoyle. “Did you see him Saturday? He was repulsive. Emily and Carrie told me he went behind one of the tents and barfed all over his shoes. That is So Infantile. You know, he and Rhonda make a perfect couple. He’ll go to a second-rate college on a football scholarship, and she’ll join a sorority and major in elementary ed. She’ll get pregnant, they’ll get married, and then the two of them will spend the rest of their lives in some dumpy little house. I can hardly wait for our tenth class reunion. Would you like to ride with me in my limousine, Inez?”

  Inez dismissed the offer with a flip of her hand. “No, the Secret Service won’t allow it. They’ll fly me into town in a helicopter and deliver me in a bulletproof car with tinted glass. I hope my bodyguards won’t intimidate the little people.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’re already worrying about it,” I said. “When do you have to let Mr. Valens know?”

  “He said you can tell him at the potluck tomorrow.” Caron shook her head disapprovingly at me. “I never thought of you as a person who went to potlucks. Is this something married people have to do? Will you be wearing polyester pants before too long? Will I have to get braces even though I don’t need them?”

  “All of the above,” I said.

  “Let’s go to Ashley’s,” Caron said to Inez. “Her brother gets off work in half an hour. Maybe he’ll be wearing those tight jeans and no shirt. He is so hot.”

  Inez did not agree, and they were debating the matter as they left. I hung around the bookstore for another hour, then locked up and drove home. I’d forgotten about the potluck in Salvador’s honor, or at least shoved it to a conveniently obscure corner of my mind. There was little chance that the state lab would analyze the tapes any time soon, so Fiona wouldn’t be incarcerated like good- hearted but seriously misguided Sally Fromberger. I hoped Peter had let her toddle away when he returned to the PD.

  I scarfed down an apple and a handful of chips, then made a drink and retreated to the balcony. Too much had happened too quickly. As Edward had claimed, I too felt as if my brain were frozen. In my case, he was the primary cause. Did I believe him? He was worse than an onion—every layer of lies could be peeled back to expose yet another layer. I couldn’t imagine him killing his mother in such a cold-blooded fashion. Then again, he was a schemer of Machiavellian aptitude. Once he learned Salvador’s name, he’d done extensive research—and had not stopped until he found out about his father’s successful career and life in Farberville. His mother could have talked about ARSE activities when she was in college, leading him to look for articles in the local paper that mentioned the local fiefdom and its members. Joining it gave Edward a way to check out his father and decide how to approach him. And my name did pop up in the newspaper on occasion. Although I’ve always done my best to let Lieutenant Rosen and the CID take credit for solving cases, there had been times when the press found me more photogenic. One of the reporters had given me the dubious sobriquet of “Miss Marple.” A brief biography was usually included. Edward knew I was widowed, and he knew that Carlton was not his father. Watching me sweat must have amused him.

  He did have legitimate grievances. If Salvador had not walked away from Michelle (or Angie, or Serengeti, depending on the moment), Edward would have had a more normal childhood, although possibly not one of wealthy comforts. Salvador’s initial success had not come until after he moved to Farberville. Maybe it was because of something in the water. I doubted that fluoridation could inspire genius, but I had been wrong once or twice in the past.

  Benny’s behavior was perplexing. If he’d had such venomous feelings about Salvador, why had he ended up reminiscing about him on Edward’s couch? Other than his atrocious behavior at the cocktail party, I had seen no interaction between him and Salvador. Had their friendship soured to the point of violence? Vikings were not known for their laid-back approach to problem solving.

  I shifted my attention to Julius Valens. I’d allowed myself to be alarmed by him, mostly because of the belligerent behavior that I’d only heard about. He must have been thrilled when someone as charming and attractive as Fiona Thackery had shown interest in him. He worshiped her, and she betrayed him. Had he been quivering with rage all along, and finally snapped? Salvador certainly wouldn’t have worried if Julius suggested they go behind the archery target to talk privately.

  Fiona had threatened someone at the farmhouse while I was trying on the gown. Salvador might have had a reason to believe that he was not the father of her baby. He was no longer in a position to protest. Fiona had wasted no time forming an alliance with Edward. It was possible that neither of them wanted paternity tests. With no one else having a claim on the estate, probate would proceed smoothly. Half of a fortune was preferable to years of litigation.

  I realized I had only one course of action to resolve this mess before my relationship with Peter imploded. I would not, however, stoop to polyester.

  “I cannot believe we’re doing this,” Peter said as I knocked on Lanya and Anderson’s front door the following evening. “We could be having dinner at a quaint country inn, and gazing at each other in the warm glow of candlelight while the maître d’ pours wine.”

  I batted my eyelashes at him. “That’s the first romantic notion you’ve had for days. If we’re lucky, we could be out of here in an hour. I shouldn’t think that we need dinner reservations on a Wednesday night.”

  “I wasn’t talking only about dinner. I have designs on your virtue.”

  “Did you and Leslie discuss her virtue?”

  Peter stepped back. “I wish you’d get past that. She showed up at my mother’s house the day before I left. She brought her new husband, Jean Pierre something, to show him off. He was bewildered but charming. My mother dragged him down to the wine cellar half an hour after they arrived to ask his opinion about the collection. Leslie and I congratulated each other. When I began to tell her about you, I realized I couldn’t bear to be away from you one more day. That’s why I came home early.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible. Do you have any idea what you’re going to say to these people?”

  “I’d like to think I’ve read enough mysteries with classic denouement scenes to pull one off in my sleep. I will gladly step aside if you want to take over, Sherlock.”

  Lanya opened the door. She beamed at me, then recognized Peter and gulped. “Why, Claire, I didn’t realize ...”

  “I believe you and Peter have already met,” I said as I herded him inside.

  “Several times…under different circumstances. I see you’ve brought some fruit and cheese. Everybody else is on the porch. Please help yourself to a beverage in the kitchen before you join us.” She skittered away to warn the others.

  “I feel like a piranha dropped into a goldfish bowl,” Peter s
aid.

  “And that is what you are, darling. Would you like mead, wine, or a soda?”

  “Maybe later.”

  I escorted him out to the screened porch. Everyone looked appalled by Peter’s presence, as I knew they would be. “You’ve all met Peter Rosen, the head of the CID division,” I said cheerfully. “He’s been keen on the Renaissance since boyhood, and thought it might be fun to attend an ARSE meeting.”

  “How nice to see you again, Constable,” Glynnis Threet said. “Why don’t you come sit with William and me on the sofa? Percival had curly dark hair, too. Would you like to see a photo of him?”

  “Not now,” said her husband.

  Glynnis began to dig through her purse. “But it’s such a darling photo. It was taken after Percival won Best of Show at the county fair. The blue ribbon matched the mohair sweater I made for him as a birthday present.”

  William took her purse away from her and moved over to make room for Peter. “Were you a fan of the Arthurian legends when you were young? My friends and I used to make helmets out of cardboard and joust on our stick horses. My cousin Manfred lost an eye one summer in such a contest. What fun we had.”

  No one else was motivated to share memories. Edward was sitting in the same corner, mutely watching. Julius and Fiona sat next to each other on kitchen chairs, but the chill between them was palpable. Anderson was sprawled in a battered wicker throne, looking as bored as he had at the Royal Pavilion. Benny stood behind him like a museum guard.

  Lanya added my plate to the others on the table, then cleared her throat. “Welcome, all. As you know, this is a tribute to Salvador, our brother in mock war and true peace, and an honored member of our fiefdom. How shall we proceed? Anderson, will you propose a toast to Lord Gals worth, Baron of Firthforth?”

  I noticed Edward flinch at the word “Galsworth.” I was pleased that everyone was on edge. I had a theory that explained almost everything, but I had no proof. What I needed were emotional outbursts and wild accusations in the next few minutes, if I was going to end up dining in a country inn. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at the potluck offerings on the table. Lanya’s mysterious casserole—or Chateaubriand, medium rare, with a rich béarnaise sauce. My resolve stiffened.

  “What a splendid idea,” I said to Anderson. “Let’s have a toast to Salvador Davis, a man of many different titles and talents.”

  “Yeah,” said Benny. “Make a toast, Duke.”

  “I’m too tired to play games,” Anderson muttered.

  “Then how about you, Benny?” I said. “You and Salvador were close friends for more than a decade, weren’t you? Or Edward, what about you? He was your long-lost father, and he welcomed you into his arms as if you, rather than he, were the prodigal son.” No one was leaping to his feet. I turned to Fiona. “You had an intimate relationship with him.”

  “What did you say?” said William. “That’s an outrageous accusation, Lady Clarissa! Fiona is engaged to Julius.”

  Glynnis blinked moistly. “Such a sweet couple.”

  There was an awkward silence. Peter was staring at me, waiting, but he was the only one willing to make eye contact. I finally took a breath and said, “Well, then, if no one wants to offer a toast, we’ll just have a cozy conversation about Salvador and all the people he loved so dearly. It’s difficult to know where to start. The beginning is the logical place, I suppose. Twenty-two years ago Salvador impregnated a young woman named Michelle Galway. She had to give up on her dreams of becoming a dancer in order to support her child. The child was Edward, who was later adopted by a man named Cob- binwood. Hence, the name. Is everybody with me thus far?”

  “Michelle Galway?” said Lanya. “Why is that name familiar?”

  I waited in case Peter wanted to jump in, but he did not so much as raise an eyebrow. “That,” I replied, “is the name of the woman whose body was found at Salvador’s house yesterday morning. It’s reasonable to assume that none of you recognized the name except for Edward, of course. It was his mother.”

  “The woman with the crazy makeup?” said Benny. “I ran into her at Salvador’s house a couple of times. She was damn impossible to talk to. She said her name was Serengeti, but her response to every other question was that she didn’t like it when people asked her that. Spooky.” He swiveled his head to look at Edward. “That was your mother? It’s no wonder you like to run around in purple tights.”

  “You are a clever gal, Clarissa,” said Glynnis. “Do tell us who killed her.”

  “In a few minutes. Michelle went by the nickname Angie. I presume it’s because her middle name was Antoinette. Although she gave up her potential career, she remained interested in the Renaissance events. She must have taught fairies to dance over the years. Isn’t that so, Edward?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, on and off. She couldn’t afford the admission tickets, so she’d volunteer in exchange for free passes. She had me wearing garb when I was four years old. When she had a few extra dollars, she’d find clothes at a thrift shop and alter them.”

  “You must have been adorable,” began Glynnis, then stopped as she realized everyone was glaring at her.

  “I’m sure he was,” I said politely. “Michelle went through some rough financial and emotional times, as did her son. I’ll come back to that later. Let’s move on to the very trite eternal triangle, consisting of Lanya, Anderson, and Benny. All in college together. Cheap wine, a little pot, weekends at Renaissance Fairs, where they could really let loose. Benny and Lanya decided to get married, but Benny gave way to his carnal urges and Lanya married Anderson. That meant that Anderson not only got the girl, he got the kids, the mortgage, the monthly bills, and the boring job in an office. Benny was stuck with the high-paying, exotic job and the freedom to bed every wench he could persuade.”

  “It’s not exotic,” Benny protested. “Arabs don’t let their daughters go out without a chaperone. I mostly play poker with the crew.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “What’s more intriguing is that you and Salvador became good friends years ago. Fifteen, did you say? Something like that. He was an unsuccessful young painter and graphic novelist back then. He lacked the imagination to break into the genre, but he kept trying. Eventually, after he’d moved here, he finally hit the big time with Lord Zormurd. Salvador moved from a shabby apartment to a very expensive house. He drove a Lamborghini and entertained lavishly. When he traveled, it was to conventions where he was the center of attention.”

  “What’s the point of all this?” said Fiona. “Why are we listening to you ramble on as if you were in the front of a classroom? I think we should put a stop to this and have something to eat. What say you, milords and miladies?”

  “I think it’s interesting,” said William. “And the point of it, Fiona, is to determine who killed Salvador and this woman. By the way, are you knocked up?”

  “William!” Glynnis gasped.

  Julius stood up. “No, she is not. We are both saving ourselves for our wedding night.”

  The silence this time was profound. Not even Glynnis dared to sniffle. Teeth clamped down on lips. The rough floor seemed to fascinate everyone except Julius, who remained on his feet, his fists on his hips. He reminded me of a grumpy troll defending a flower bed (or a deflowered bed, anyway).

  “Julius,” Fiona said at last, “we need to talk. Why don’t we go out to the front porch?”

  “Everyone needs to stay in this room,” Peter said. “It’s ... ah, safer.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting we go into the woods to hunt for witches,” she said in a voice that was likely to be effective with boisterous teenagers.

  Peter was not cowed. “Please remain here.”

  Fiona looked as though she wanted to fling her wine at him, but regained enough composure to grab Julius’s hand and pull him back onto his chair.

  I tried to collect my thoughts. “Salvador was finally successful, although he was reticent to elaborate on his source of income. He went into seclusion to work on his
latest project, and felt no need to discuss the true nature of it. You all tolerated his eccentricities. It was going smoothly when waves from two directions rocked his yacht, both superficially positive. The foremost was the arrival of Edward, the son he never knew he had. Salvador was stunned. He called me more than a week ago to talk about it, but changed his mind. He managed to resolve his feelings and decide how to deal with the news.”

  “I told you he was pleased,” Edward said. “He felt guilty about deserting my mother and me, and never bothering to find out if we were okay. He was going to make it up to me. I didn’t ask him for anything; he offered.”

  “And very generously, according to your version,” I said. “Sadly, it’s the only version we have. You lied when you told me that you didn’t approach Salvador until the day before the Renaissance Fair; he called me almost a week before that. I have to admit I have some reservations about you, Edward. You manipulated me without a qualm, even though you knew I was frantic with worry. The only reason I can come up with is pure malice. It’s intriguing that you chose to be a jester, a naïve fool whom no one takes seriously. Your mother hid her identity, too. You might want to take this up with a psychiatrist one of these days.”

  “Leave her out of this,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Fiona staring over her shoulder at him. “It’s a bunch of crap. If you were all that frantic, it was your own fault. All I ever did was confide in you because I was apprehensive and didn’t have anyone else to talk to.” His lip curled for a second, although I suspected I was the only one who caught it. It did not seem like the moment to mention that he needed to find a psychiatrist from the Freudian school of thought.