“That’s pretty amazing. You must be very proud of yourself.”
“To have grown from just the hobby group we once were into a large and successful organization that has cash in the strongbox and doesn’t have to go begging the membership for donations? Yes, I’m proud of what we’ve done. And what we will continue to accomplish. We support the arts and educational nonprofits up and down the Coast.”
“That must have taken a lot of work.”
“It did.” Pete turned to tap a man on the shoulder. “Excuse me…”
The man turned around. He was dressed in tight blue jeans and a t-shirt, obviously more ready for work than Pete in all his finery. The way his shirt stretched across his chiseled pecs made Cal’s mouth water. He was built like a Greek god, pushing out thoughts of Brody and Thomas—an unusual reaction for her, but this guy was Hollywood-level eye candy. No ring on his finger, either. Not even a tan line.
“Oh, hi, Pete,” the Apollo said. “What can I do for you?”
“Wanted to introduce you to someone.”
The man’s eyes went to Cal curiously. “Yes? Nice to meet you, Miss…”
“Cal Corwin.” Cal nodded, avoiding the handshake like she usually did, considering the weakness of her right hand, courtesy of the bomb blast. Besides, she didn’t exactly want him to know how suddenly clammy her palm was.
“Miss Corwin is investigating the death of our dear Lady Jenna,” Pete explained. Cal didn’t argue with that characterization. “Miss Corwin, this is Pat.”
Cal stared at her host, the gears in her brain grinding and popping. “This is…?”
“This is Pat. You were asking about him.”
“Oh. Right.” Cal forced a smile and tried to sound casual instead of surprised. Cal’s assumption that Pat was a woman Randy was having an affair with came crashing down.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Pete said, a twinkle in his eye. He’d clearly enjoyed his surprise reveal.
Cal stared up at the flawlessly beautiful man. She couldn’t say that she was surprised to find out he played for the other team. He was too gorgeous to stay single otherwise. Unless he was a total asshole, or chose to be that way, or… Cal corralled her milling thoughts. “Do you think we could go somewhere quiet? Have a private conversation?”
“Uh…yeah. We could go over to the tavern. It’s not fully set up yet, but we could sit down and chat.”
He led her to a black-and-green tent. It was dim and cool inside, lit by a couple of lanterns with faux-flickering electric light bulbs, no doubt a concession to the fire code. As he’d said, the bar was there, but not populated yet. There were small groupings of tables and chairs, so Pat selected one and they sat down.
“I don’t know how I can help you,” Pat said slowly. “I didn’t really know Jenna.”
“You’d met, though?”
“It’s a small community. I knew who she was. Watched her fight. But we weren’t close.”
“Well, I wouldn’t suspect so. You were closer to Randy weren’t you?”
“Randy? What makes you say that?”
“I’ve run across information that you and Randy were…” Cal bit the bullet and just said it, “…that the two of you were lovers. That you were carrying on a secret affair behind Jenna’s back.”
Pat scratched his jaw with large, calloused hands. “Who told you that?”
“It’s all over the USENET forum. Don’t you think it was dangerous to allow things to be posted about the two of you, where Jenna could have seen it?”
“I can’t control what other people do or say. I can’t stop anyone from posting and saying whatever they like about me. Even in our group, even in the City, some people can be haters.”
“For being gay, you mean?”
“Yep.”
Cal cocked her head. “You haven’t actually denied that you were involved. I think you’re trying to avoid acknowledging it, being cute. Hell, you are cute, as I’m sure you know. But let’s be up-front here. You and Randy were having an affair.”
There was a long pause before Pat answered. Then he finally nodded. “Yes. I didn’t realize that it was fodder for the gossip mill. I thought we had managed to be discreet about it.”
“Did Jenna know?”
“No, not last I heard. There was no reason for her to know. It was just physical chemistry, something to feed a starving side of Randy. It wasn’t a replacement for their relationship. They were together. He and I were just a side thing.”
“How do you think she would have reacted if she found out?”
“I don’t imagine she would have taken it well.” Pat stared off at a space over Cal’s shoulder. “Jenna could be a pretty…passionate person.”
“You mean volatile. She wouldn’t have liked Randy fooling around on her.”
“She demanded his loyalty—and she would have seen us as a violation of it.”
“You think she would have attacked him? Boiled over? Gone berserk?”
“I’ve seen Jenna angry, but never out of control. I can’t see her going that nuts over anything. Even Randy having an affair. Except maybe her kid. Scratch a mother and you’ll find a mama bear.”
“Randy says she attacked him with a knife. That they were having a fight. About you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t picture her doing that.”
“That’s what Randy said happened. Maybe he’s told you something different.”
Pat shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything from him since it happened. He hasn’t called me. I didn’t know whether to expect him at the Faire this weekend or not. He and Jenna always loved coming to events, but he’s grieving…and they were supposed to be here together. That would make it pretty hard to put in an appearance this year.”
“Did it surprise you he didn’t call?”
“Not really. I wanted to hear from him. I hoped he would come to me for comfort, but he probably feels guilty—and if Jenna had found out…”
“Did you ever ask Randy to tell her? So you wouldn’t have to sneak around?”
Pat shifted in his seat and looked away for a long time. Eventually he pulled his gaze back to her. Cal wondered if this was an act. These Society people were actors, after all. “I did ask him to,” he said. “The last time we saw each other, I told him to tell her, or we’re over. I thought…I thought he needed a little encouragement.” A tear leaked from his eye and he dabbed at it with a scarred knuckle. “Maybe it’s my fault.”
The tear was a nice touch. More acting? And those hands… “So you said it was either Jenna or you.” That would make sense. Getting rid of Jenna would leave Randy all to Pat.
“No, no…I was okay with him still being with Jenna. I just wanted him to be honest and tell her about me. I didn’t want to sneak around. Things like this are so much more comfortable when everyone’s cool with it.”
Cal shook her head. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. San Francisco was known for its liberal outlook on sexuality. Why shouldn’t Pat be okay with an open relationship? Yet, when it came to brass tacks, it was often a hard pill to swallow for someone to hear their partner wanted someone else too. That they weren’t enough.
“And what did Randy say? Was he up for it? Ready to tell her about your relationship? Did he do it?”
“He was still resistant. I didn’t think he was going to do it. I hoped that once he’d had some time to think, he’d realize it was better to be open, even if there was a risk of losing Jenna.”
“So you weren’t sure Jenna would break up with him over it?”
“She couldn’t very well criticize him for having…other interests.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because…” He shook his head at Cal for not understanding something that was so obvious. “She was seeing someone else too.”
Cal swore under her breath. “Of course. But why am I just hearing about this for the first time?”
Her question had been rhetorical, but Pat shrugged and answered anyway. �
�I assumed since you knew about Randy and me, you knew about Jenna and Brook.”
“Who’s Brook?”
“Jenna’s girlfriend. Brook Dancer.”
“Dancer? That a real name or a Society name?”
“Real, far as I know. I haven’t seen her ID, so it could be made up.”
“And is she around here too? Part of the SCA group?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“And she’s a fighter.”
“No.” Pat chuckled. “Brook is very much the damsel. Petite, with an air of fragility. A girlie girl, though she can be assertive when she wants to be. Nothing like Jenna. Jenna was tomboyish and in-your-face.”
“How long had that affair been going on? Jenna and Brook?” God, not a love triangle, a love rectangle. Quadrangle. Quadrilateral. Whatever.
Pat gazed into space. “Hard to say. A few months at least, but it could be longer. They’ve known each other for a couple of years. Since before Jenna and Randy got together.”
“Is the whole SCA group like this?”
“Like what…?”
“Swingers? Multiple partners within the community? Is it a spring break kind of thing? What happens at Renfaire stays at Renfaire?”
“Oh.” Pat gave a sheepish chuckle. “I didn’t think about how it would sound to you. It’s not like that. Well, maybe for some people it is, but not for those who are really committed to reenactment. It’s not just a part of our lives that happens on the weekends. It’s who we are. More ‘real’ than our day jobs. I’d say most of the group is monogamous, at least serially. Some of them are very staunch, till-death-do-us-part types. Pete, he’s celebrating his thirtieth anniversary this year. His wife has stuck with him through thick and thin, and vice versa.”
“Good for him.” Cal tried to imagine being tied to the same partner for thirty years and couldn’t picture it. Maybe that was her problem. She wasn’t really committed to getting into a long-term relationship. Maybe men sensed that about her and were put off by it.
Not like she had a good example in her mother, anyway. Yeah, that was an excuse, but it might also be a reason.
“I’m strictly monogamous myself,” Pat said. “When I’m seeing someone, I’m devoted to him. One hundred percent.”
“So you’re only sleeping with Randy, but you don’t care that he was living with Jenna, who was sleeping with Brook?” In Cal’s experience, men who proposed open relationships were just looking for permission to sleep around. Pat might say that he didn’t care that Randy was with Jenna, but that just made him more suspect.
“Right. What I didn’t like was the deceit. I didn’t want to be someone’s…secret.”
“Were Randy and Jenna still…”
“Sleeping together? Far as I know. At least, that was my impression. We didn’t really talk about details.”
“Where were you Sunday night? Or early morning Monday?”
Pat gazed at her with a hurt-puppy look she normally only got from Mickey. “You think I did it? You think I would hurt Jenna?”
“Routine questions. I ask everyone. Where were you?”
“I was at work.”
“At midnight?” Was he another programmer for Facebook?
“Yes. I’m a cleaner.”
Her first thought was of Thomas. He preferred “cleaner” or “contractor” over hitman. Surely Pat couldn’t be a hitman with a face and body like that. He could never blend into a crowd, and he wasn’t exactly guarded in his speech.
“What kind of a cleaner?” Cal said, pulling herself away from the images of Thomas. Not just her pleasant memories of him, but also those sinister, half-formed dreams she had of him. Picturing him as a villain, a monster, when all she had seen was the side he chose to show her.
“Offices,” Pat said.
Cal looked at him blankly.
“I clean offices,” Pat enlarged. “Office buildings. I’m on a janitorial crew. We work together. The others will confirm I was there.”
“You clean offices.” Cal had to admit to disappointment. He could have been a male model. A pageant participant. Even a lounge singer or stripper—or porn star. But a janitor? She had a flash of him in a coverall and a backward ball cap, running a vacuum over carpeted cube farms.
“So…” Pat stood up, leaning over, his hands still resting on the table. “Are we done here? I’ve told you all I can and I still have a lot of work to do.”
“I’d like to get your contact info.” Cal pulled out her notebook and pen, ready to take the information down. “So I can reach you if I have any further questions. And if I could get the names of the others on the cleaning crew to verify your alibi.”
Looking as if she had disappointed him, Pat gave her the information.
Chapter Ten
Cal spent the night at a cheap local motel this time, the better to wake early, hit the Faire and make it home before too late. She missed the warm ball of fur that normally lodged itself against her body, and she couldn’t help but think about Starlight. If Cal weren’t there, her mother might not feel safe at home and would probably stay with Sergei.
Not that she begrudged Mom her fun, but every time she started—or re-started—one of her relationships, it turned into a binge. The Pekes didn’t get taken care of, which meant Cal had to do it or come home to hungry doggie grumbling and accidents, and when it all ended, she could expect major secondhand emotional hangover.
Cal had a good Danish, bad coffee and acceptable orange juice from the free continental breakfast at the motel and headed off for the Faire. She preferred not to wander around all morning and get sore feet waiting for people to show up. As it was a weekday start, parking was easy and it wasn’t too busy yet. Friday and Saturday the place would teem with visitors, but by then Cal would be home.
Jenna’s lover, Brook Dancer, hadn’t been involved in the setup for the Renfaire, so Cal didn’t talk to her the previous day, but she should be there for the opening events. Cal intended to corner her and ask about her relationship with Jenna, where she had been the night of the shooting, and anything else she might know of the circumstances surrounding Jenna’s death. Brook wasn’t, as far as Cal could tell from the Renfaire schedule flyer, a specified performer in any of the events.
This time, there was an entrance gate set up where they were collecting admission and checking weaponry. There was a sign indicating only non-functioning period replica firearms were allowed and that all blades had to be peace-bonded, meaning tied into their scabbards. The volunteers working in the admissions area were using brown plastic zip-ties to lock knives down so they couldn’t be easily drawn, but could still be worn for effect.
Of course, this was just for the public areas. In the cast and crew sections, behind barriers, there were fencing blades, blunt steel swords, real weapons for display, and lots of wooden and rattan fighting gear.
A woman in some sort of headdress took Cal’s payment. Her eyes flicked over Cal, but not seeing any sign of a prohibited item, she didn’t ask, and Cal didn’t volunteer. It was an odd sensation, walking into the Faire with all of the prominently displayed weapons, none of which would be much use in a pinch, while her own carefully concealed firearms were a split-second draw away.
People tended to believe what was visible was to be feared. Cal knew, however, what was visible was often harmless. Deadly things were usually concealed.
Cal headed over to the Misty Hills tents, drinking in the odd mixture of medieval, renaissance, and casual modern wear along the way. Non-costumed visitors to the fair gaped openly, while the participants acted like it was all perfectly natural.
Children in period costume scampered about in play. Men and women in everything from the robes or armor of nobility to the colorful patchwork of harlequins and minstrels strolled hither and yon, staying in character and speaking in Middle English updated enough to be understood. Vendors hawked food and drink and cheap costumery, jewelry and trinkets and replica weaponry, a bewildering array of goods. Cal tried to keep her own
wide eyes from giving her away, looking as unimpressed as she could manage.
At the Misty Hills tents, she sought out Pete Potoczek—Prince Petros, arrayed in splendor, literally holding court. He sat on a throne, his Princess and wife of thirty years beside him. Cal waited until the session was done, and then approached as people dispersed.
Pete nodded his head regally at her and turned to his wife. “This is the woman I was telling you about, the one who is investigating Jenna Duncan’s death, God rest her soul.”
Cal couldn’t imagine curtseying in a blazer and jeans, so she gave a quick bow, feeling a bit silly. She should have just nodded or shaken the Princess’s hand, but the atmosphere of the place was contagious, and she found herself reacting in unexpected ways.
“A pleasure to meet you,” the Princess acknowledged. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I’m not really here to have fun. I’m hoping to find Brook today. Brook Dancer. Can you tell me if you’ve seen her?” Cal looked at Prince Petros.
“She came by not long ago. I’m afraid I don’t know where she was headed, but if you ask around among the Society people, someone will probably point you in the right direction.”
“How do I tell if they’re Society people and not other cast and crew?”
He smiled. “We’re the ones in the most authentic garb, and we’re medieval only, not Renaissance period.”
Cal shook her head. “I’m not savvy enough for that to help much.”
“You’ll pick up on it.”
Clearly, these two royal personages didn’t have the time to play tour guide and help her. She understood. She’d have to do gumshoe work, as usual. “All right. Thanks.”
Pete raised his eyebrows, looking Cal over. “It’s a shame you don’t have period dress,” he said. “I think you’d look quite fetching.”
Fetching, hmm? The Princess gave her husband a sidelong glance, but then smiled at Cal serenely. “Yes, I’m sure she would. Maybe something from far Cathay.”
The Girl In the Morgue Page 9
