by K. C. Held
“Yes, sir.”
“Then may I suggest I escort you to the Great Wardrobe to get your costume and then perhaps you could enjoy a quick meal in the staff dining room while I see about finding you a squire?”
“Lead on, Your Majesty.”
When we get to the Great Wardrobe there’s no sign of Geoffrey, which is a relief since I can’t help but feel like he was trying to implicate me somehow in Sarah’s jewel forgery scheme.
I change into my nun habit while King Henry waits in the hallway bellowing “Greetings, fine sir!” and “Well met, madam!” at passersby. When I’m properly nunned out he leads the way to the staff dining room, which is tucked into the northwest corner of the castle.
“Enjoy, Mistress Verity. I shall send a squire to take you up to the Oratory.” King Henry bows and takes his leave.
I go over to a long wooden table loaded with an enormous amount of food that looks pretty much like what they serve the castle guests. There are baskets piled with huge slices of bread, plates of cheese, chafing dishes filled with roast beef, salmon, sausages, chicken, artichokes, turnips, carrots and peas, and at the far end, a selection of puddings, fruit and custard tarts, and the cute little marzipan animals.
I load up a plate and find a seat at a corner table. There are a few people scattered around the room in various stages of Tudor dress, and anyone who’s eating is wearing some sort of smock over their costume.
“You’re not supposed to eat in costume unless you’re part of the banquet in the Great Hall, but you can just throw one of these on.” A guy dressed in a white-and-blue tunic and tights grabs a folded square of fabric from a stack near the door and hands it to me. Then he pulls out the seat across from me and sits down. “So, you’re the new nun, eh?” He grabs one of the carrots off my plate and pops it into his mouth. “I’m Jared. Squire to the great and noble Sir Henry Courtenay, Earl of Devon and Marquess of Exeter. Which basically means I clean up horse shit all day.”
“Jules Verity. Crazy psychic nun.”
“Good to meet you, Jules. I hear you found a dead body.”
I blink at him for a second and then say, “Well, that’s a relief. And here I thought I’d hallucinated it.”
“Word is it was Sarah, the wardrobe assistant. So, how’d they do her in? Was there lots of blood?” He reaches for another carrot, and I resist the urge to slap his hand.
“I take it you weren’t friends with Sarah?” I say, pulling my plate closer to me.
He chews on his carrot. My carrot. “I don’t think anyone here was friends with Sarah. If being a bitch is grounds for murder there are plenty of suspects at Tudor Times. In fact I’ve got plenty of motive myself.”
“Um, are you sure you should be telling people that?”
“I said I have motive, I didn’t say I killed her. Why would I be asking you about her if I did her in myself?”
“Because you’re…crazier than the Mad Maid of Kent?”
“Nah, I’m not crazy. Just insanely handsome.” He gives me a leering grin, and I manage to stifle the urge to gag.
“I hear Sarah was stealing stuff from King Henry,” he continues.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Word gets around.” He leans forward. “Get this. Apparently, Friday night she sent Geoffrey a text saying that she had some sort of family emergency, but it turns out she didn’t.”
“She didn’t?”
“Well, obviously the killer sent the text since she was clearly lying dead somewhere in the castle. Which is where it gets truly sinister.”
“It does?”
“Yeah, I heard the police checked her cell phone records and guess where she was when she supposedly sent that text message?”
“Where?”
“Somewhere. Inside. The castle.”
“Seriously?” I don’t know what any of this means, but the feeling of dread I’d managed to stifle after finding Sarah’s body is now working overtime.
“Seriously. And then it’s like she just disappeared.” He splays his hands out. “Poof.”
“Tell me about it. How do you know all this stuff, anyway?” If what he’s saying is true, I can’t help wondering why the police didn’t bother sharing it with me.
“My girlfriend’s mom works in dispatch for the Lunevale Police Department. And you know what else?”
“What?” I lean forward in my chair.
“The guy who built this place, Mr. Lune, was apparently a total whack-job. Like, he built a bunch of secret rooms and an underground torture chamber and stuff. What if Sarah’s still alive and she’s trapped in the underground torture chamber?”
I lean back. Sarah is most definitely not still alive. “Then why wouldn’t she just call someone on her cell phone?”
Jared looks disappointed. “Oh, yeah. Good point. Listen, babe. I’ve got to get back to the steeds. You going to eat that last carrot?”
“Yes. I am,” I say, curling my arm protectively around my plate.
“You know,” Jared says, looking at me thoughtfully, “you’re pretty hot for a nun.”
“Ew. Just take the carrot.” I push the plate toward him. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Thanks, babe.” He grabs the carrot, gives me a wink, and takes off.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’m the Crazy One
I’m picking at my roast beef, waiting for my court-appointed squire, when I get the neck-tingling feeling that someone is watching me. I look up to see Floyd leaning in the doorway to the dining room.
He tips his hat at me and ambles over. “Sister Elizabeth, I believe you’ve been holding out on the Keeper.” He wags a finger in my face.
“Oh?” I say, leaning as far away from him as possible. After Gran’s description of his aura I can’t help picturing a stinky black cloud following him around.
“When you asked the Keeper about the secret passageway you somehow failed to mention the dead body.”
I’m not sure how to respond. I decide to go for naive innocence. “I know. And I’m really sorry. But I couldn’t say anything because Mr. Bacon swore me to secrecy and I was freaking out because no one believed me about the body and I was just trying to figure out a way to prove that I saw what I saw and that it wasn’t a hallucination.”
“What did you see, Mistress Verity?”
“If I tell you, will you answer a question for me?”
“Tit for tat again, eh?”
“Uh, yeah. Can’t we just call it an exchange of information? Or maybe quid pro quo?”
“Very well, but this time no leaving out the good stuff.”
I have to stifle a shiver of revulsion upon hearing a dead body described as “the good stuff.”
“And you go first,” he says, “I want to hear about the body.”
“Okay. There’s not much to tell. She was lying on the floor in the passageway and it looked like someone had strangled her with one of King Henry’s necklaces. I’m pretty sure it was Sarah Buckley, but since the body disappeared I have no proof and the police seem reluctant to take me seriously. Possibly because of the ketchup.”
“Ketchup?”
“Never mind. So, yeah, that’s it. She was in the passageway, she was definitely dead, and by the time King Henry showed up the body had disappeared.”
“So you’re the only one who saw her?”
“Yup. Okay, my turn,” I say, and decide to go for broke. I look around the room. No one seems to be paying any attention to us, but there are enough people around that I feel comfortable asking Floyd what I’m about to ask him. “If you’d just killed Sarah in the secret passageway behind the alcove, where would you hide the body?”
I expect him to look shocked or something, but he just cocks his head to one side and taps a finger against his lips. “You ask such interesting questions, Mistress Verity. Let me see. How much time do I have?”
“Ten minutes tops. Probably more like six or seven. And I already know there are only two sets of stairs in the
passageway, one leading down to the dungeon and one that leads up to Hank’s private quarters.”
“I see. Yes, upstairs or down. There’s the cabinet…” His one beady eye suddenly lights up. “The priest hole, of course! But the King’s bedchamber would be a risk. Too many chances for discovery. But the dungeon…there’s the iron maiden, I suppose.”
“The what?”
He smiles at me. It’s a quick, triumphant grin and then just as suddenly it’s replaced by a worried frown. “The priest hole or the iron maiden. But no one knows. Except…”
“Except what?”
“That’s all I’m prepared to say, Sister Elizabeth. A secret is a very lucrative thing to have. Ask King Henry.” He taps his nose and walks away.
Oh, sure. And I’m the crazy one.
“Your knight in shining armor, reporting for duty.”
I look up to see Grayson in his billowy white shirt. He has got to stop looking like he just stepped off the cover of a romance novel. My heart can’t take the exquisite torture. “What?” I say, forgetting whatever it was he just said.
“‘I told you I would always come for you,’” he quotes, and I find myself desperately wishing we really were in a book and that this was a kissing scene. “Hey, are you okay? You look a little flustered.”
Well, yeah. Stop being so heart-stoppingly dreamy. And stop making me wonder if you’re saying these things because you love the same movie I do, or because you love me. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about something. What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be galloping around on a horse or practicing left-handed sword fighting or whatever?”
“King Henry asked me to serve as your squire today. I’m supposed to escort you to the Oratory.”
“He did?” I ask, feeling flustered. The plan was to ogle Grayson from afar, not up close and personal. Unrequited love is much easier to take from afar. “I thought you were training to be a knight?”
“His Majesty assures me this is a temporary assignment, just until he gets the Sarah Buckley Situation squared away.”
“The Sarah Buckley Situation? Did he really call it that?”
“Yeah, he did. He called me into his study to ask me if I thought you were nuts.”
“Seriously? I thought he was on my side. Why is everyone so eager to assume I’m nuts? Just because I blurt out random bizarre statements and find dead bodies that disappear before anyone else sees them?”
“I think it was more that he wanted to make sure I was on your side. And when I assured him that you’re mostly perfectly sane, he asked me if I’d keep an eye on you.”
“So you’re supposed to spy on me?” Something about this setup feels off.
“I’m not spying on you. I’d just like to make sure whoever killed Sarah doesn’t come after you. Come on, Jules. I’m on your side.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” I stand up.
He puts a hand on my arm, and the surge of warmth it sends through me conflicts with the icky feeling of having him assigned to be my spy. “Jules, I’ll admit the psychic thing still kind of makes me nervous, but I really am on your side here. I want to help. Plus, I owe you one for accusing you of cheating on that math test. Let me help.”
I look up at him, and my heart gives a funny little flutter. “The virgin hides the truth!” I yell in his face.
“You don’t say?”
“I pretty much wish I hadn’t.”
On the way to the Oratory, I fill Grayson in on the latest developments in the Sarah Buckley Situation, including my interview with the police, Sarah’s alleged larceny scheme, and my conversations with Jared and Floyd.
“Wow,” Grayson says. “Sarah was stealing stuff?” He pauses at the Oratory door.
“Yeah, and the police think she had an accomplice. Hang on, let me check my schedule.” I duck into the room and grab the sheet of paper on the wooden table. I have two private readings scheduled, both right before dinner. “I don’t have anyone coming for a private reading for a while. Are you supposed to stand at the door or can you sit down and pretend to be a supplicant for the tourists?”
“My orders are to stand at the door and look deeply menacing to anyone who might wish you bodily harm.”
“Gotcha.”
“But I’m all ears if you want to talk.”
My head and my heart are at war over the prospect of spending more time with Grayson, especially when it involves having to do my Maid of Kent act in front of him. I decide to focus on the Sarah Buckley Situation and ignore the Alone With a Hot Guy Situation.
“Okay, let me know if there’s a group coming so I can hurry up and act pious.” I move a chair closer to the door and grab the Maid of Kent’s huge Bible. “From what the police said, it sounds like Sarah was probably working her way through Hank’s collection of Tudor replicas. I wonder if she was on her way to replace the necklace when someone attacked her in the passageway? One of those sets of stairs leads to Hank’s private quarters where he probably keeps the really expensive stuff. I bet that’s how she got her hands on the replicas.”
“You don’t still think there’s any chance Hank killed her, do you?”
“No. But we have to consider it as a possibility, right? It’s his house, his employee, his jewelry.”
“And if she was stealing his stuff that gives him a motive.”
“Yeah. But if he killed Sarah, why would he call the police? The last thing he’d want is to have them sniffing around Tudor Times. And if he killed her because she was stealing his stuff, then he wouldn’t need to call the police, because he would already know what she was up to, right?”
“Makes sense. So what are the police going to do?”
“Hank said he showed them the passageway and there was no evidence of foul play or anything. I guess they’ll contact Sarah’s friends and relatives and see if anyone’s heard from her. Which, obviously they haven’t since she’s dead. What about Mike the Knight? You said they did Renaissance Faire stuff together. Is there any chance he could have been her accomplice?”
“It’s possible. Listen to this, I asked him about Sarah when I saw him at the stables earlier today and he was really weird about it. He asked me why I thought he’d know what Sarah was up to and I said I thought they were friends, that they did the whole Ren Faire thing together, and he said, ‘I don’t keep tabs on Sarah. I have no idea what she’s been up to.’ He obviously didn’t want to talk about her. And then I found out he took off right after we finished talking. He’s gone. Didn’t even bother to sign out.”
“Weird. When I talked to him he asked me if Sarah had a weapon with her, specifically a jeweled dagger. Do you think the dagger was one of the replicas Sarah stole?”
“Could be. It definitely sounds suspicious.”
“Right? Crap, I should have told the police about him.”
“Okay, so King Henry is probably in the clear, but Mike is looking shady. What do you think about Floyd?”
“I don’t know. He actually admitted to knowing about the secret passageway and purposely keeping secrets. And he told me where he’d hide the body, which he probably wouldn’t do if he was the murderer, right? Which reminds me, do you have any idea what an iron maiden or a priest hole are?”
“You mean, besides the band?”
“The what?”
“Iron Maiden, eighties heavy metal band?”
“Yeah, I kind of doubt he was talking about a heavy metal band.” I look sideways at Grayson. “Hank said we can’t go in the passageway but he didn’t say anything about the dungeon.”
“I like the way you think, Buttercup.” Grayson grins at me.
Happy sigh. Okay, refocus, Jules. “Except don’t you think the police would have checked everywhere? And I got the feeling Floyd was going to make a beeline for every possible place to stash a dead body as soon as we finished our conversation.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to look?”
“No, I do. I’m just guessing that if there was anything to be found Fl
oyd will have already beaten us to it.”
“Well, it can’t hurt to check. As long as we stay out of Hank’s private rooms. Which leaves the dungeon. Do you know how to get there without using the secret passageway?”
“Yeah, there’s a staircase in the southeast corner of the castle.”
“You’re finished after you do your dinner performance, right? I say we do a little dungeon recon, what do you say?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Away Inctersphay Ayssay Atwhay?
The day is going fairly well; no one has attempted to kill me and I’ve managed to make some decent premonitions and a few nonsensical butterfly blurts for the castle guests, and I’ve almost gotten over feeling like a total habit-wearing-spontaneous-blurter dork in front of Grayson, when I hear a voice in the hallway that makes me want to jump out of one of the Oratory’s stained glass windows.
“Grayson, is that you? Oh. My. God. You look so hot! Doesn’t he look hot, Whitney?”
“Totally droolsome. Bree is so lucky.”
“Right? Is this where we go for our psychic reading? I know what I want in my future. Am I right, Whit?”
“Go right in, fair maidens. Sister Elizabeth awaits,” Grayson says, and in walk Sidney Barlow and her bestie, Whitney Petty.
“Jules?” Sidney squeals. “Oh my God! You’re a nun! That is so tragic. Whitney, look at her!”
Whitney gives a shiver of horror. “That’s so totally gruesome.”
“Hello, fair maidens,” I say in my quiet, unperturbed Maid of Kent voice. “Are you here for a reading?” What I really want to say is, Are you serious? Is this some kind of punishment from God for complaining about having to wear a nun outfit? Because I can’t think of two people I’d less like to see while playing the Maid of Kent. Sidney Barlow has had it out for me ever since the crimson wave incident, and it certainly doesn’t help that my best friend is her drama club nemesis. Whitney Petty is just, well, petty.
