“Yeah? Whatever. You guys are all nuts out here, you know that?” Bradley turned to me. “Listen, I have a story to tell that you should hear before you decide who’s innocent and who’s guilty in all this. Here’s my cell phone number. Give me a call.”
“You aren’t supposed to use that here,” I reminded him.
“Sue me!” he yelled as he walked away with a last glare at Lord Robert.
“Shall we meet now to speak of Stewart’s downfall?” my knight asked eagerly. “I am disguised so that others might not know of my Templar identity.”
“About that, Lord Robert,” I began, glancing around, glad the visitors were gone for the day. “Only the Templars dress all in black. FYI.”
“Oh.” He stared at me like I’d said he was naked.
And no sooner was the thought in my head than he began taking off his shirt—exposing his pink and white chest.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, really concerned.
“I am disrobing to make myself less visible for our meeting.” He sounded totally nonchalant about it.
“Never mind. The Dungeon is right here. Let’s just step inside for a few minutes.” I glanced around and unlocked the door. “And put your shirt on!”
When he was dressed again, we sat on the stairs that went up to the apartment in full view of the tortured souls who occupied the ground floor. Some fifteen or twenty men and women peered at us with plastic eyes and painted faces through the dirty cell bars. Straw covered the floors as it would have during the Renaissance to soak up bodily fluids. Eww!
It wouldn’t have been a good place to be back then, certainly not easy to get out of. At least no one could charge Chase with abusing his prisoners.
I told Lord Robert about my basic plan to prank Stewart—and the history of past misdeeds at the Village being erased by pranks. “It’s practically a lifestyle here.”
He looked at me like he wasn’t quite sure. “As far as I know, my lady, there is no prank you could perpetrate on Stewart to make him a better person. He is a product of his very rich, very snobby parents who’ve spoiled him all of his life.”
Lord Robert was very well spoken for an underling. “What have you done all of your life?”
“I worked my way through medical school. I have an internship at Duke starting this fall. I thought it might be fun to spend the summer here. Big mistake, I guess.”
“Cheer up. There’s still plenty of summer left.” I told him about my life teaching history to many students who thought the world began in 1975. “We won’t let this rich bully ruin both our summers. We can turn this around.”
“What has Stewart done to ruin your time here? I only saw you at the encampment once.”
I couldn’t tell him about Chase. I had to make up a few white lies about how the Village meant so much to me and all the residents were suffering. Maybe not lies exactly—people were kind of unhappy about the Templars.
“I wish I could be more help,” he said. “I can’t think of anything we could do to Stewart that would make a difference. You haven’t met him. You don’t know what he’s like.”
Maybe my brain was too full of hat pins and pranks. Maybe I was tired and not capable of rational decision making. But I got an idea—more like a cannon exploding in my head—and I knew what to do.
“Maybe you could help me get in as a neophyte knight. I could wear the costume and the headdress and find out Stewart’s weaknesses.”
“No offense, my lady.” He smiled that cute little smile again. Reminded me of a little puppy my brother Tony and I had when we were small. “But women can’t be knights. There’s the physical stamina, not to mention the fact that there aren’t any women at the encampment besides concubines.”
I smiled right back at him. There wasn’t any knight in the Village—except maybe Chase—who knew more about being a knight than I did. I was pretty good with a sword, excellent with the long bow, and a decent horse person.
“I think I could manage.”
He didn’t look convinced. “If I introduce you as a friend and you are unmasked as a woman, Stewart will have my head.”
I got to my feet, dusted off the back of my gown. “As far as I can see, you’re on the verge of leaving anyway. What have you got to lose? Let’s keep this in perspective, Bobby. This is Renaissance Faire Village and Market Place in the heart of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. No matter what—things aren’t real here. I think my plan would work.”
He nodded slowly as he got to his feet. “All right. When do you want to begin?”
Thirty-one
Chase was home that night. I didn’t ask what the Templars were up to or volunteer information about my plan. I did tell him about seeing Joe Bradley again. I gave him the business card with Bradley’s cell phone number on it.
“I don’t know what he’s up to,” Chase said. “But since he has Detective Almond’s blessing, there’s not much I can do about him—unless he steps across some Village law. Then I can boot his butt out of here.”
“What about the cell phone?”
“You said the Main Gate was closed already. You could’ve used your cell phone.”
“What about him holding that gun on me?”
“He denies it.”
“And you believe him over me?”
He put his arms around me. “Not ever. But like I said, Detective Almond made it clear this is a personal favor to him to have this guy capture this fugitive. These people have all kinds of powers outside the regular law. He can come in here without a search warrant and search through everything if he thinks the guy he’s looking for is here.”
“All right. I’ll find something else. I have a feeling he’s not exactly adhering to Village law.”
I made a point of not talking about anything else that pertained to law, the Village, or the Templars that evening. It was just me and Chase, the way it might be if we lived a normal life. Not that I wanted that life—but intervals of it were nice.
The next morning a crowd was gathered outside the Dungeon. It wasn’t Wednesday, but residents wanted to air their grievances anyway. There wasn’t much Chase could do but listen. It was early, so I stayed around for moral support.
Of course it was all about the Templars. They’d stolen one of Bo Peep’s sheep and borrowed Galileo’s eye piece from his telescope. The list seemed endless.
“We’re not asking anymore, Chase,” Alex from the Merry Men warned. “We’re going to take things into our own hands.”
Chase kind of snickered. “I think you’ve already tried that. It didn’t work so well.”
“Well, what do you suggest, Bailiff? The Green Man said that the Templars had broken a pair of his stilts. What are we supposed to do?”
“I’ll talk to the knights,” Chase promised.
“That’s what you always say,” one of the dancing men from the Stage Caravan said.
“Look,” Chase addressed them. “If you weren’t here complaining about the Templars, you’d be here because Alex and Robin Hood had taken your toaster ovens. Or the pirates had spent the night tying up half of what you have and taking the rest. This way, it’s just the Templars.”
No one liked that idea. They railed and promised vengeance. I knew most of them weren’t sincere. A few were on my list for helping me prank Stewart. I needed strong-willed pranksters who could keep their mouths shut but had a grievance to avenge. I made a mental list of those who fit the profile.
“All I’m saying is that we’ve all done some things here that might not be what others wanted us to do.” Chase tried to win them again. “I have complaints about loud parties at night. Bo Peep, your big bad wolf howls too late for the animal keepers. Diego, Lorenzo, people complain about you in general.”
Diego hugged his brother. “Thank you, Bailiff. That means so much to us.”
“Whatever.” Chase sounded like he was getting impatient. “My point is that you’ve all decided that the Templars are the number one bad guys right now. But no one h
as gotten hurt, and all sheep and other items have been returned. No harm done.”
Most of the crowd couldn’t argue with his roundup of the situation. It was all true. I’d been living with the bailiff long enough to have heard it all. Some of the complaints were valid—most were stupid.
What he’d said was enough to disperse the early-morning risers back to coffee and breakfast. Chase watched them go, clearly unhappy with the situation. “I’m going to see Merlin. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I should only be a few minutes. Do you want to wait for breakfast?”
I knew it would take a lot more than a few minutes. And I’d seen a package with my name on it near the door as we came down the stairs from the apartment. “You know, I think I’ll get an early start at the Hat House. Maybe we can meet for lunch.”
He kissed me and didn’t say much. “That’s fine. I’m sorry about all this.”
I promised him silently, as he started toward the other end of the Village, that I had the problem in hand. He wouldn’t have to suffer much longer.
When he was gone, I went back inside and opened the brown paper–wrapped box. It was a black shirt, trousers, and headdress—the working garment of the Templars. There was a note from Lord Robert inside. Meet me at the tree swing at ten tonight.
I tried on my Templar gear—it didn’t fit me as well as it did the knights. But that was a good thing, since I was trying to disguise myself. I hid the box away so Chase wouldn’t find it. It might be tough to slip out tonight. If Chase was home, I’d have to think of something. Maybe a hat emergency. That wouldn’t be any more stupid than some of Chase’s calls.
It was for Chase’s own good that I was undertaking this mission. For him and for me. Stewart Reiker had made my bailiff unhappy one time too many. I vowed I was going to make it better.
I went back outside in search of a new gown, caffeine, and possibly chocolate—it might require a lot of chocolate through the day to build my courage for tonight. It might be for the greater good that I infiltrated the encampment, but I was a little worried about it, despite my reassuring words to Lord Robert.
The day was warming up quickly with no rain the night before to cool everything down. I was glad it had been dry overnight though—less mess from mud and wet straw to put up with.
I met Neal on the way to the Monastery Bakery and invited him to breakfast. I really wanted to pick his brain about hat pins. I thought the least I could do was buy him something to eat before subjecting him to the painful brain-picking process.
He was dressed in his resplendent blue and gold livery, a little hat with a big feather on his head. I knew Andre had made that hat at some point.
“How’s the job?” I asked when we were waiting for food at the bakery.
“Hot. And the costume is itchy. And I wish the hat fit better. It feels like a little box squeezing my head. I think it was made for a little boy.” He swallowed some coffee. “But otherwise, it was okay, you know? I like horses.”
“Good! You know, I could take a look at your hat. Maybe it could be altered.”
“That would be great! Thanks, Jessie.” He took the hat off (it was quite small for such a large man) and handed it to me. “I think D’Amos will understand, don’t you?”
“He’ll understand. And I’ll find you and bring it to you later if it can be altered today.”
Breakfast arrived—cinnamon roll for me, bagel and cream cheese for Neal. We talked about life in the Village and whether or not King Harold would acknowledge the queen’s child—a major topic of conversation for everyone right now.
“This place is really something.” He shook his head as he watched the monks praying over some loaves of unbaked bread. “It’s like living in another world. They just think Hollywood is La-La Land. They should try it here sometime.”
“Speaking of Hollywood.” I used this segue as my jumping-off point. “I wanted to ask you a question about Andre’s wife’s murder.”
“Shoot!”
“Did you notice the hat pin? The one they found at the scene of Kathleen Hariot’s death. I know that might seem a little weird—”
“Hey. Not at all. I took the Three Pigs and some guy in a big tree suit around the Village yesterday. I know what you mean.” He munched his giant-sized bagel while he seemed to get his thoughts in order. “You know, I think it was pink. Or at least had pink on it. I’m not sure if it had a gemstone or what. But I think it was a pink color.”
I sighed—no thrill of revelation there. I’d have to have some reference for a pink stone on one of Andre’s hat pins. “Did the investigation actually find that the hat pin belonged to her, Kathleen, I mean?”
“I don’t remember. What’s with the visit to the past when you’ve got your own murder to solve?”
“I’m not sure.” I sipped my coffee. “Just curious, I guess.”
I didn’t want to explain my hat pin theory to him. Not yet anyway. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I didn’t really know him. Chase felt that Andre shouldn’t be clued in, and I still wasn’t clear about Neal’s real motives for being in the Village—especially since the newspaper had fired him. I didn’t want to give him information he could use as part of a personal vendetta. He might try to buy his way back into his old job with it, if nothing else.
We were done eating, and I wished him a good day. I took the hat with me for Andre to look at.
I felt a little like a blind woman trying to follow a crooked path. Somehow, I knew that the color and shape of the hat pins meant something. I just couldn’t figure out what yet.
It was Sunday, I realized as I saw the carts full of supplies going toward the castle. The King’s Feast would be this evening at the close of the day. It was always a spectacle in itself—full of knights and pageantry, fools and beggars. There would be duels and visitors scattering chicken bones from hundreds of tiny chickens. It was one of the biggest events every week. Every resident attended, wearing their finest (as long as they didn’t outshine the Royal Court). Maybe there would even be an announcement about the queen’s pregnancy. I didn’t expect to hear King Harold welcome the child as yet—there hadn’t been enough time for a paternity test.
I reached the Hat House to find the rooms dark and silent. There were no laughing, incompetent assistants, no layers of material being made into hats. The door was open to the shop but no one seemed to be there. Where was Andre?
I called his name—upstairs and downstairs. There was no answer. I kept searching until I finally found him in the big chair by the window. He was buried in blankets as I had been while Joe Bradley searched for his hat pin.
“Andre?” I moved a corner of the blanket.
“Go away. I don’t want to see anyone today.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk, Jessie. Please go away. And lock the door on your way out.”
Of course, I couldn’t let it go. He was too miserable, and the three sisters who were coming to pick up the purple hats we’d made could be there as soon as the Main Gate opened.
“I’ll make you some tea. I think there was still some of that jam you like and some brown bread in the kitchen.”
“No.” He sniffled in a sob. “Tea won’t help. Neither will brown bread and honey.”
“Sorry.” It was honey, not jam, that he ate every day. I’d only known him a short time. I couldn’t know everything about him. “Let me help you, Andre. You helped me when Chase and I broke up. Think of me like Audrey Hepburn helping George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“She didn’t help him,” he pointedly reminded me. “She ruined his life. Like all women.”
“Yes, but in a good way. Come on. You can’t stay under there forever. You want to hear how much the three sisters love their new hats, don’t you?”
I got him into the little kitchen area. I mean little, too. It was only about the size of a closet. You could tell he rarely ate there.
I made him some tea, and he sat in the rickety wo
od chair and tried not to cry. His little nose was very red and his eyes were sunken with terrible dark shadows under them. He suddenly looked much older than he had just the day before.
“Is it Eloise?” I guessed. This had to be a matter of the heart for him to look so miserable.
“Yes!” The floodgates opened and it all poured out. “She dumped me. Me! After all I’ve done—all I’ve given her.”
“I’m sorry.” It was inevitable. He was the only one who couldn’t see it.
“She still wanted someone else—Bernardo! Can you believe it? Cesar’s brother! Apparently they’re going into business together. She’s abandoning her sisters at the King’s Tarts and helping him reopen the chocolate shop. They plan to call it The Lady’s Chocolate Shoppe. What kind of name is that?”
Bernardo again. Had this always been the plan? It was seriously beginning to look as though Bernardo had killed his brother because Cesar was overbearing and had the woman he wanted. He got everything—except the chocolate recipe. But I felt sure he could make that up as he went along. I didn’t know what his alibi was for the time Cesar was killed, but he had to be lying. No one profited from Cesar’s death like Bernardo did.
After coaxing Andre into drinking his tea and eating a little bread and honey, I got him to go upstairs and take a shower. “You should rest for a while. I’ll man the shop and let you know when the sisters get here.”
He rested his head against my shoulder. “Thank you, Jessie. You’re a very good friend.”
I didn’t tell him how much I could empathize with his problem. I’d been dumped many times before. If things weren’t so good right now, I could probably sit down and cry about it with him.
But things were good. Chase loved me and we were happy together. Once I rescued him from the Templars, life would be perfect.
As though thinking of him made him walk through the shop door, Chase appeared. “I thought I’d check in with you while I was down at this end of the Village separating the fortune-teller near the Main Gate from Bawdy Betty. It seems the fortune-teller told Betty that she and her new boyfriend, Phil from the Sword Spotte, are about to break up. I never saw so much scratching and hair pulling.”
Harrowing Hats Page 20
