Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Ye Village Crier
Praise for the Renaissance Faire Mysteries
Deadly Daggers
“The Lavene duet can always be counted on for an enjoyable whodunit . . . Filled with twists and red herrings, Deadly Daggers is a delightful mystery.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Will keep you entertained from the first duel to the last surprise . . . If you like fun reads that will let you leave this world for a time, this series is for you.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Never a dull moment! Filled with interesting characters, a fast-paced story, and plenty of humor, this series never lets its readers down . . . You’re bound to feel an overwhelming craving for a giant turkey leg and the urge to toast to the king’s health with a big mug of ale as you enjoy this thematic cozy mystery!”
—Fresh Fiction
Ghastly Glass
“A unique look at a renaissance faire. This is a colorful, exciting amateur sleuth mystery filled with quirky characters who endear themselves to the reader as Joyce and Jim Lavene write a delightful whodunit.”
—Midwest Book Review
Wicked Weaves
“Offers a vibrant background for the mysterious goings-on and the colorful cast of characters.”
—Kaye Morgan, author of Ghost Sudoku
“This jolly series debut . . . serves up medieval murder and mayhem.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fast-paced, clever, delightful.”
—John J. Lamb, author of The Treacherous Teddy
“A creative, fascinating whodunit, transporting readers to a world of make-believe that entertains and educates.”
—Fresh Fiction
“[A] new exciting . . . series . . . Part of the fun of this solid whodunit is the vivid description of the Renaissance Village; anyone who has not been to one will want to go . . . [C]leverly developed.”
—Midwest Book Review
“[A] terrific mystery series . . . A feast for the reader . . . Character development in this new series is energetic and eloquent; Jessie is charming and intelligent, with . . . saucy strength.”
—MyShelf.com
“I cannot imagine a cozier setting than Renaissance Faire Village, a closed community of rather eccentric—and very interesting—characters, [with] lots of potential . . . A great start to a new series by a veteran duo of mystery authors.”
—Cozy Library
Praise for the Peggy Lee Garden Mysteries
Poisoned Petals
“A delightful botany mystery.”
—The Best Reviews
“A top-notch, over-the-fence mystery read with beloved characters, a fast-paced story line, and a wallop of an ending.”
—Midwest Book Review
Fruit of the Poisoned Tree
“I cannot recommend this work highly enough. It has everything: mystery, wonderful characters, sinister plot, humor, and even romance.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Well-crafted with a satisfying end that will leave readers wanting more!”
—Fresh Fiction
Pretty Poison
“With a touch of romance added to this delightful mystery, one can only hope many more Peggy Lee Mysteries will be hitting shelves soon!”
—Roundtable Reviews
“A fantastic amateur-sleuth mystery.”
—The Best Reviews
Perfect Poison
“A fabulous whodunit that will keep readers guessing and happily turning pages to the unexpected end. Peggy Lee is a most entertaining sleuth and her Southern gentility is like a breath of fresh air . . . [A] keeper!”
—Fresh Fiction
“A fascinating whodunit.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Joyce and Jim Lavene
Peggy Lee Garden Mysteries
PRETTY POISON
FRUIT OF THE POISONED TREE
POISONED PETALS
PERFECT POISON
A CORPSE FOR YEW
Renaissance Faire Mysteries
WICKED WEAVES
GHASTLY GLASS
DEADLY DAGGERS
HARROWING HATS
Missing Pieces Mysteries
A TIMELY VISION
A TOUCH OF GOLD
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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HARROWING HATS
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the authors
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Joyce Lavene and Jim Lavene.
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One
“How many frogs do I get for a dollar?” The boy asking was about ten years old. He had a buzz cut that almost made his blond hair invisible in the sun. His attitude was exactly what one might expect from a young male of noble blood.
I plastered a smile on my face and shifted my corset under my low-cut blouse for the hundredth time in the last hour. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to make all the women in Renaissance Faire Village and Market Place look like floozy tavern wenches needed to be out here doing it instead of me.
“You get five frogs for five dollars, young sir.” I managed to keep my tone civil. It wasn’t easy.
“That’s not many frogs for a lot of money,” he said.
“I do not make the rules. I only take the money and give you the frogs to put on the catapult. Dost thou wish to throw frogs or not?”
He looked at the targets that could net him some of the prizes above them. There were swords, of course, shields, a lance or two, and for the girls, fairy wings and flower headdresses. “I guess that’ll be okay.”
He handed me the money and I went to the water trough below the targets where the frogs ended up whether they hit their mark or not. The water was cold—the only good thing about this job. It was July fourth and at least a hundred degrees in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. If nothing else, as new people lined up at the frog-catapult game, I got to put my hands in cold water and flick some up at my face and showy bosom. Amazing what a push-up bra can do.
So I got the five frogs, lingering an extra second or two to splash cold water on my face. I took the frogs back to the little Viking and handed him the first one to load on the catapult.
He looked at the frog in his hand and squinted up at me. “It’s not real.”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“The frog. It’s not real. I thought the frogs were real.”
I laughed a little and gripped the four, slimy rubber frogs that were left a little tighter. That was to keep from injuring my obnoxious customer. “Of course the frogs aren’t real, sir. That wouldn’t be allowed. But they are wet and will connect with yon target if your aim is good. And there are plentiful rewards for a young master like yourself who can do so.”
He looked at the frog again and shrugged. “Okay.”
The first frog almost went out of the booth where the frog catapult was set. The second fared not much better. The third made it to the water trough. The fourth and fifth frogs fell to the ground before reaching the water.
“Well done, young sir!” I fetched the consolation prize—a Pan’s pipe—and gave it to him with a flourish. “No doubt you shall someday be a great catapulter!”
“That wasn’t fair,” he complained, not reaching for the pipe. “I was prepared for real frogs, not those fake ones. I needed the real frog weight to reach the prizes. You tricked me. I want my money back.”
My smile felt like it was cutting into my face. “Good sir, I am only allowed to abide by the rules of the game. I cannot refund your money because you lost.”
“I didn’t lose. You cheated. Where are the real frogs?”
“Yes.” Our resident wizard, Merlin, joined the fray. “Where are the real frogs, Lady Jessie? Why haven’t you brought out the best for this fine young man?”
It was bad enough that I was here, helping people at the Renaissance Faire catapult frogs. I should’ve been studying a craft for my dissertation—“The Proliferation of Medieval Crafts in Modern Times.”
I had put in for my apprenticeship at Pope’s Pots and Kellie’s Kites months before it was necessary. Pope’s decided not to have an apprentice this summer and Kellie was taking a three-month sabbatical. By the time I found out, no other apprenticeships were available.
That left me a choice of waiting tables at the Pleasant Pheasant or doing the frog catapult. Not much of a choice. It was better than not working at Renaissance Faire Village over my vacation from the University of South Carolina at Columbia, where I’m an assistant history professor in my everyday life. But not by much.
“Merlin, perhaps you can explain to this good gentleman that there are no real frogs.”
The wizard looked at me like I’d lost my mind. His purple robe with gold stars matched the crooked pointed hat on his head. His white hair and straggly white beard helped him look the part even more. “What do you mean, there are no real frogs? Find a swamp and bring some here, wench! We must keep the customers happy.”
And that was truly the motto at the Village this year. Times were tight. Customers had thinned out, at least according to management. Though the cobblestone streets looked to me as full as ever of laughing tourists wearing Ren Faire finery and brandishing weaponry.
Adventure Land, the parent company of Renaissance Faire Village, was pulling out all the stops to bring in more paying customers. I certainly wouldn’t have been wearing this blouse otherwise. The new posters advertising the Village used the word more at least twice in every sentence.
But even though I loved the Village, there was only so much I was willing to do. I’d been a kitchen wench, cleaned the stables, sat with sick elephants, and cleaned out dirty fountains in my time. But I had to draw the line somewhere.
Digging up frogs to throw across the booth wasn’t one of the things I was willing to do. It didn’t even sound like one of the things I should do. Wasn’t there some law against killing frogs? “Perhaps you should use your magic, Sir Wizard, and compel frogs to come here and leap upon yon catapult.”
The little boy turned his gaze from me to Merlin. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“Of course! I should have thought of that myself!” Merlin made a face and threw out some magic powder that sparkled in the sunlight. “I command all frogs to come forth and display themselves for our young friend.”
By this time, as was always the case in the Village, a small crowd had gathered to see what was going on. At any time during the day, visitors could see one of Robin Hood’s Merry Men captured by the Sheriff of Nottingham, listen to Shakespeare reciting his odes, or watch knights joust on the battlefield. You never knew where to look for the next amusement.
“Well?” the boy asked after a moment. “Where are the frogs?”
“Is something wrong, Kenny?” A large, male version of the young boy joined us. “Is someone giving you a hard time?”
Kenny at once launched into his horrific tale of being cheated because I only had fake frogs. His father seemed to understand completely and turned to me. “I think that makes sense. Give my son his money back.”
I glanced at Merlin. Not many residents who lived in the Village knew that he was the CEO of Adventure Land. I wasn’t totally sure, but if he wanted to put real frogs into the game, that was his prerogative. And he could definitely decide if the boy (and his ogrelike father) should get their money back.
But he distanced himself, performing magic tricks for the crowd around us. That meant I had to handle it. I adjusted my bosom again and addressed Kenny’s father. “We do not use real frogs here, sir. I cannot refund the money your son paid. I did offer him a consolation prize.” I held out the Pan’s pipe again.
“That’s for girls!” Kenny’s father proclaimed. “Are you saying my son is a sissy? I want to talk to someone in charge! There must be a man around here who knows what’s going on
.”
I glanced at Merlin again. He was playing with the gold cord braided at his waist. Clearly he was not going to be in charge of this incident.
“Is there a problem?” Village Bailiff (and my main man) Chase Manhattan entered the fray. He’s like the police chief and circuit court judge rolled into one very attractive package.
Seeing him there had to make Kenny and his father quake in their fake boots. Chase was six foot eight and two hundred fifty pounds of former jousting star—not to mention a college football hero. He wore his long brown hair in a braid that was carelessly tossed over one shoulder to reveal a gold earring. His tight black leather vest molded itself to his broad, muscled chest. He looked tough and determined.
Kenny began running through his list of complaints. His father seemed a little less willing to back his son up now that he was facing Chase. “Maybe live frogs are a little too much to expect, son.”
“No matter. We shall gladly refund your money, young sir.” Chase swept the boy a gallant bow. “Mayhap you can find another game to your liking.”
Harrowing Hats Page 1
