"I found Joe right away," Ronzo said. "I went to his camp with Marvin when I was here before. I remembered it was near the San Luis Airport, so I walked until I found it. I begged Joe to help me hide. I figured if anybody knew how to do disappear, it was J.J. Tower. I couldn't contact you, because I was afraid I'd put you in danger, too. But of course, they got to you anyway. I should have known...I'm so, so sorry about your store. It's all my fault."
"Your fault? Did you know Elijah was going to try to burn down my store? Is he connected to this Rattlebag person?"
Elijah. He was still out there. I realized I still hadn't warned the Jens.
Ronzo looked confused. "I don't know any guy named Elijah. I'm talking about the people who have been stalking me—who made that disgusting video. They're a steampunk band called Leftenant Froggenhall. I gave them a bad review. Not a terrible one—but not a rave—and, well, I'd hooked up with the singer, Lady Rufina, a couple of times, and she thought I owed them five stars. She thought I could make the band famous. So she went ballistic. I didn't realize how crazy she was. She knew I loved my cats, so she..."
Could this be true? If it was a lie, it was an awfully creative one.
"But I saw you on the GoreFest site! Marva showed me that horrible 'Kittehs in teh Towah' video."
My voice rose to a squeak. I so much wanted to believe.
"It's not my backside in that video, Camilla. Lady Rufina had Mack—he's the bass player—get a fake tattoo to look like mine. He's kinda built like me. It's a pretty common design with musicians. I guess the two of them were into that disgusting crush stuff, so they made that video. It grossed me out as much as everybody else, believe me."
I felt relief flood through me.
"You're not the kitten killer? It's not you?"
"Of course not."
I could see pain and exasperation in Ronzo's eyes.
He turned away and peeked through the car window at Buckingham, who seemed to be relaxing in the carrier now.
"The night they emailed me that video," he said. "I found my cat Lucky dead on the back stoop with a note stuck into her body with a knife...it said my Nana was next. It was the most horrible day of my life."
He turned back and looked me in the eye.
"So I sent you the email from a library computer saying something had come up, so you wouldn't expect me. Then I took a bus to the airport. Left my car, my laptop, my phone, everything. Just brought a few clothes in my messenger bag. Not even a suitcase. I didn't want anybody in my building to know I was traveling, so nobody would suspect I was still alive."
I leaned against the car, looking at Ronzo silhouetted against the fading sunset. Everything he said was making sense, in a way, but it was all so improbable. If his story was true, he was a victim who needed comforting.
But distrust still tensed my stomach.
"So you got on the plane and they didn't ask for your ID or anything? Wouldn't the police find out you were alive when you checked in?"
"I pretended I was my cousin—Vinko Zolek. We call him Vince. Vinko is my middle name and we look kind of alike—so they usually buy it. I would have been screwed if they didn't. So I shaved my head and bought the shades. Vince is totally bald now, so I needed to look like him. I know it's cheating to use somebody else's frequent flier card, but Vince knew I was pretty broke and he flies all the time for business and had all these miles..."
Ronzo was worried I'd look down on him for cheating on frequent flyer miles. That was a good sign, somehow.
"So that's why the police didn't figure out you're not dead? You didn't leave them a body, I assume?"
"No. I was fresh out of dead bodies, except poor Lucky." Ronzo gave one of his familiar smiles. "But I cut myself with a razor and dripped some blood around and smeared on the doorknob. Then I drove my car to the waterfront, got some blood on the steering wheel, then left it there. Nice little vintage Camaro. I hope they let Vince keep it. I left a will giving everything to him."
"And then you flew out here and walked to Joe's campsite?"
"That's about it. After I'd been here a few days, I wanted Joe to tell you I was okay, but he...well he thought that might put you in danger. He said it was safer for me to stay away. He took Bucky to you because the couple who run the camp don't like cats. Pretty ironic since I named my cats after them. My Nana's cat had kittens right after I got back from my trip out here, so I took two..."
I stared at this man who looked sort of like Ronzo, and sort of like a bald homeless man, and wanted to make him stop talking so I could throw my arms around him and kiss him, but I still wasn't quite sure if that would be wise.
For one thing, he seemed to have slept with this Lady Rufina person.
"This all happened because you've been canoodling with some steampunk crazy woman? Ronzo, what were you thinking?"
"Not much, obviously." Ronzo looked at his shoes. "She's kinda hot. Not hot like you, but...Camilla, this was months ago. I didn't even know if you wanted to see me again."
I realized I didn't have a right to feel jealous. After all, I'd recently been doing some canoodling myself.
I kept falling in love with guys who pretended to be dead. What was that about?
"So you faked your death to save Bucky from Lady Rufina and Mack Rattletrap?"
"Not just Bucky. I had no idea what they might do. My Nana just went into Assisted Living—her memory is going—and Rufina knows where she lives. I thought it was better they if all thought I was dead. You're right that Rufina is a crazy woman. Right out of Fatal Attraction."
I stood by the car and listened to the Boll Weevils launch into Man of Constant Sorrow and wondered if anybody would ever realize that Joe, the homeless bluegrass player was one of the most famous rock gods of all time.
I took a breath, trying to ground myself. I could smell the salt air from the bay and the savory smells from somebody's barbeque. And Ronzo. He smelled so familiar. But I couldn't find any words.
All I wanted to do was kiss him, but I didn't know if it was safe.
"Ronzo, I'm so glad you're all right," I said finally. "I'm just so, so glad."
I didn't have to decide about the kiss, because he took me in his arms and gave me a soul-deep kiss that seemed to erase all the horrors of the past week.
But we both froze at the sound of a high pitched scream.
I looked across the parking lot and saw a couple fighting. I saw the flash of Jen's blond hair.
And Elijah.
Chapter 76—Plantagenet
After he was seated in a pew between Liam and Davey, Plant tried to smile serenely and behave like a proper wedding guest.
But his mind was busy sifting through what he had just heard.
This is what he knew now: Oliver had in all likelihood killed Neville, and he'd threatened to kill Declan as well. And Plant couldn't help wondering if Oliver's other online nemesis—Alfred the Cake—might not be Alfred Duffield.
Good thing Alfred and Declan were safe in the dismal hole of the Swynsby jail.
Organ music swelled and the wedding procession started down the aisle. The church was gorgeous, with a domed pastel ceiling that might have arched over Jane Austen or William Wordsworth. In fact, Mary Ann Evans, a.k.a. George Elliot, might have attended this very church.
Plant wanted to be suitably reverent. But his brain flooded with memories of his own ill-fated wedding less than two weeks ago.
What was worse, a big, bald man sitting a few pews in front of him had a back like Silas's, except for the missing hair. Silas had the same huge broad shoulders—built up from a childhood on a working ranch. The bald man was even wearing a Burberry raincoat like the matching ones he and Silas had bought for their London trip.
He must be hallucinating again. How could hallucinations seem so real? He still had confused feelings about Richard III's ghost. The apparition had made so much sense. So many things about this last week made no sense at all, but that hallucination had spoken so sensibly.
He
focused on the happy couple at the altar—they did look radiant—but he kept mulling over the horrors he'd been through since his own wedding—two weeks of bizarre chaos ending with his conversation on the church steps with Oliver/Owain.
Whatever he was called, the man seemed to be a psychotic murderer who thought poisoning an old friend was suitable retaliation for a few online threats.
Plant fought the urge to run out of the church to tell the police what he knew.
But chances were slim they'd believe him. He was the "Hollywood Nancy-boy" who was accused of the murder. They'd assume he'd made up Oliver's story out of whole cloth. Nobody had overheard Oliver's confession that he knew of. And they wouldn't have understood the implication of his remarks about gardeners and medieval herbs.
The ceremony itself was mercifully short. Plant knew he'd be expected at the reception, which was to be held in the parish hall. He supposed he'd better go, or Vera would think he'd escaped her custody. He'd have to corner Pradeep and get him to set up a meeting with Sanjay this afternoon, so he could tell him what he'd discovered about Neville's murder.
The unbalanced Oliver was obviously a danger to the public. Plant hoped the police would find enough evidence to arrest him right away.
Plant waved at Pradeep, who was wheeling out of the church beside a sturdy looking blonde woman with a small baby on her hip. She must be Meggy. Camilla had mentioned her. She'd had an abusive husband before she and Pradeep discovered each other.
Liam and Davey rushed to greet Pradeep and Meggy. It looked as if this must be their first reunion since the trip to India.
Plant lingered a moment in the emptying church. Here he was in England, surrounded by magnificent architecture. Who knew when he'd be back here? Probably never. He had spent a good deal of his savings on his own wedding, and his career was in tatters.
Like his marriage.
The marriage that never was.
He felt his eyes sting in a flood of conflicting emotions. Was he always going to find weddings this sad? He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and walked out of the church with the last of the stragglers.
The bald Burberry man stood at the bottom of the church steps. Plant realized stress was definitely playing tricks with his perceptions again, because the big, burly man now looked even more painfully like Silas. He could have been his twin—his tanned, bald twin.
The man gave a sudden wave and bounded up the steps toward Plant.
"Plantagenet! Oh, thank god! You're here!" He threw his arms around Plant and squeezed him so tightly Plant nearly lost his balance.
"Silas? It is you? What happened to your hair?"
Not the best opening line. But it was better than, "where have you been for the last two weeks, you philandering bastard?"
"Shaved it. Got in touch with my inner Mr. Clean." Silas rubbed his shiny pate. "That was the whole problem, you see. I had no idea. The anti-baldness drug I was taking..."
"Did Glen suggest the hairdo?" Plant knew his tone was icy, but he had no idea how he was going to forgive Silas for all of this. "So you two would match? Two Mr. Cleans together. How romantic. Where is he, by the way?"
Plant looked around, hoping not to see Glen's buffed little body in the crowd. He didn't think he could bear that right now.
"Glen Jones? He's in Hawaii, of course. Running his New-Agey clinic. Most of the stuff he does there is pure hokum, but getting off the grid for a week did me a lot of good..."
Plant gave him another cold stare.
"Well, I thought it had done me good," Silas said. "Until I heard from Peter—I mean Piotr—and I found out about the bomb at the Old Vic and your arrest. My god, Plant, what an ordeal. Are you all right?"
Plant nodded, but he did not feel all right. He felt like punching Silas in the face.
"Peter...Mr. Stygar phoned you?" The crowd thinned around them. People were moving toward the parish hall. Liam motioned vigorously for Plant to join them. He shook his head.
"Thank goodness for Piotr Stygar," Silas said. "He's why I'm here. He got hold of the main desk at the clinic and insisted they pull me out of yoga class. The clinic has a firm no-electronics policy. It's part of the healing process. We had to leave our phones and laptops locked up in a vault in order to get into the place. We had no access to any media."
"No electronics? No TV? So you didn't know anything about...what I've been through? None of it?"
Such a simple, plausible explanation. Of course that didn't justify Silas running off in the first place.
"No electronics, TV or even newspapers. Of course I didn't know. Do you think I would have stayed there chanting 'om' while my husband was rotting in a foreign jail?"
"But that's what you did, isn't it?"
Silas looked stricken.
"I...well, yes. I didn't know when I got on the plane for Hawaii that I'd be incommunicado for a whole week. I just wanted to detox from medications and alcohol. Glen was so convinced his treatment would solve my...problems. But once I was there, I figured I'd better go through with the whole program. I'd been so worried. I thought I'd never...I thought I was old and over the hill."
Plant sighed. "We'd drifted apart. I know I spent too much time working on the wedding..."
Silas glanced around to see if they were being watched, but most of the guests were gone. He grabbed Plant's hand.
"It wasn't your fault. It was me. Or rather...it was my meds. That's what I found out after a week of detox. It was the anti-baldness stuff I was taking. Finasteride. It's why I was...growing the boobs. And had no libido."
Plant had noticed Silas's chest had got flabby, but he figured he was suffering from overwork and stress from the lawsuit. And he'd ascribed their lack of a sex life to the same thing. He felt a catch in his throat realizing how stupid he'd been not to ask Silas what was wrong.
"You left me to go on our honeymoon alone because you were growing boobs? You couldn't tell me you were having health problems? What kind of man do you think you married? You know that 'better or worse' thing is supposed to cover this stuff, don't you?"
"I thought I'd lost it. Like, forever. Then when Glen told me you were bi...and you'd been in love with Camilla, I thought you belonged with her, not some over-the-hill fat guy..."
Plant looked at Silas through the blur of tears. Everything Silas was saying began to make sense. He threw his arms around him. He didn't care who saw.
"You big idiot. You thought I was in love with Camilla?"
Chapter 77—Camilla
I could see Elijah trying to pull Jen into a dark Prius that had slunk silently into the parking lot behind us.
"Stop, you creep," I shouted. "Leave Jen alone!"
"You know those people?" Ronzo looked ready to spring into action.
"That's the guy who set fire to my store!"
Ronzo took off across the parking lot and I grabbed my phone to call 911.
But of course my phone was still out of commission.
And before Ronzo was half way across the lot, Elijah gave out a bloodcurdling scream and held his hands to his eyes.
Jen, with a spray bottle in her hand ran toward us.
"Vince! Camilla! Help! Elijah has gone, like, totally cray-cray."
Jen grabbed Ronzo, while Elijah kept screaming.
"Has he got a gun?" Ronzo said.
Jen shook her head.
"He hates guns. But he might have a knife."
Apparently Jen knew Ronzo as "Vince". He must still be using his cousin's identity.
Ronzo approached Elijah with his street-wise swagger. I was pretty sure he could take Elijah in a fist fight.
"I sprayed him in the face with my Victoria's Secret 'Love Spell'," Jen showed me a small purple plastic bottle. "I remembered you told me you fought a guy with a can of hairspray once. This is the first thing I grabbed in my purse. "
"I can't see, dude," Elijah yelled to Ronzo. He sounded like a small boy about to cry. "Bitch attacked me with toxic chemicals! I can't drive when I can't see
. Somebody has to drive me home."
A group of men came running up from the Red Barn.
"What seems to be the trouble here?" A tall man with gray hair seemed to be in charge. "Jen? What's going on?"
I pointed to Elijah where he sat in the driver's seat of his Prius, with the door still open, his hands over his eyes.
"That's the man who set fire to my bookstore last night," I said. "He also tried to rape me about an hour ago. And I saw him try to kidnap Jen. Can somebody call the police?"
Jen let out a wail.
"You tried to rape my boss? The Manners Doctor? Elijah, that is just soooo creepy. She's like, as old as your mom!"
The crowd of men had grown, and a couple of them pulled Elijah from the car.
The tall man put an arm around Jen.
"You gonna be okay?" he asked her.
"Yeah. He didn't do anything. I sprayed him in the face with body mist. Vince came to my rescue." She nodded in Ronzo's direction.
"She was rescuing herself just fine," Ronzo said.
"Sorry you had to miss out on your set," the tall man said. "You have some problem with your cat?"
"Yeah. Crazy cat missed me, I guess. But everything's copacetic now." Ronzo turned to me. "Right? Are we good?"
I took his hand. "Yes. We're good." His palm felt rough, but warm.
We watched the tall man lead the procession back to the Barn. Two men held onto Elijah, who looked more like a small boy who'd been caught raiding the cookie jar than a rapist-arsonist.
The fiddle music ended. The sky had gone dark.
"The Weevils sounded okay without me," Ronzo said. "But hey, I got to play a couple songs with a music legend." He put his arm around my shoulders. "Sounds like your week has been worse than mine. You want to tell me what's going on?"
His arm felt good.
"That might take a while." I relaxed against his shoulder and realized I'd been shaking.
"I'm a dead guy. I got nothin' but time," Ronzo said.
So Much For Buckingham: The Camilla Randall Mysteries #5 Page 23
