Holding Court

by K. C. Held

  “I told you, I forgot. I was kind of flustered, what with the whole murder and interrogation thing. Not to mention Officer Lasky’s ‘theory.’ I mean, seriously? Why would I tell everyone I found a body and then hide it?”

  “I don’t believe you did.”

  “Okay, I’m confused.”

  “Officer Lasky thinks perhaps Miss Buckley needed to disappear, and you helped her do that.”

  “And then I killed Floyd and conveniently ‘found’ him, too, so I could call the police and you could make up another ridiculous scenario? So, according to Officer Lasky, I’m not only guilty of larceny and murder, I’m also moronically stupid. Is that correct?”

  “Miss Verity, I’m not accusing you of anything. But the facts don’t add up.”

  “The facts seem pretty clear to me. Sarah Buckley is dead and so is Floyd Bean, and I didn’t kill either of them. You should probably start trying to figure out who did before they kill someone else and stick them in the priest hole, whatever that is.”

  “The priest hole?”

  “That’s the other hiding place Floyd told me about. It’s somewhere in Mr. Bacon’s private rooms.”

  “Interesting. Why don’t we get Mr. Bacon in here and ask him about it?” Officer Kilbride goes to the door and tells the officer stationed there to ask Mr. Bacon to join us.

  We sit in silence, Officer Kilbride flipping through his notes, as we wait for Hank.

  When he comes in a few minutes later he stands by the door as if reluctant to be a part of the proceedings.

  “Yes, Officer Kilbride? I understand you require my presence?”

  “Yes, have a seat please, Mr. Bacon.”

  Hank sits down in one of the chairs across from the couch.

  “Miss Verity has been telling me some information she learned from Floyd Bean before his untimely demise. He claimed there was a ‘priest hole’ somewhere in your personal quarters. Are you aware of such a thing?”

  “A priest hole? Truly? It wouldn’t surprise me. As I continue to learn, old Mr. Lune was very much a man who liked secrets, and a priest hole would be a very appropriate addition to a Tudor castle if there wasn’t one built into it already.”

  “I’m not familiar with the term. Would you mind enlightening us as to what it refers to?”

  “Certainly. A priest hole is the name given to a secret room or hiding place that was meant to allow a Catholic priest who was fleeing persecution during Elizabeth I’s reign to evade capture. Many castles and country homes in England already had secret passageways that would allow them to escape at a moment’s notice. These were very uncertain times, you see. But after Elizabeth I became queen, many Catholic households created secret rooms intended to hide practicing priests, hence the name ‘priest hole’ came about.”

  “I see, and is it possible there is one of these priest holes somewhere in your personal quarters?”

  “Why don’t we go find out?” Hank says and launches himself out of his chair before Officer Kilbride can respond. He holds out a hand to me. “Mistress Verity? Would you care to accompany us?”

  “I don’t think—” Officer Kilbride begins to protest, but Hank cuts him off.

  “Unless I am mistaken, my personal quarters are not part of your crime scene, Officer Kilbride. And if you would like to investigate them without a search warrant, I suggest you indulge me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Priest Hole

  We all troop up the stairs to Hank’s private rooms, pulling aside a velvet rope with a small hand-lettered sign that says No Entry. Hank uses a large metal key to unlock the huge wooden doors leading to his bedroom. The room looks the way I imagine it would have in the sixteenth century, with no sign of modern amenities despite the fact that it’s off-limits to everyone but Hank. On the far wall is an enormous intricately carved oak bed hung with velvet curtains; the walls are covered in beautiful golden tapestries and the floor with colorful woven rugs. The ceiling is magnificent, painted blue and gold and adorned with golden cherubs who gaze down on us with blissful expressions.

  “Okay, if you were a priest hole, where would you be?” I ask Hank.

  “It could be a man-sized space under the floor somewhere, or an actual room hidden behind paneling, a piece of furniture, or possibly a fireplace.”

  We all look around the room, which is fairly sparsely furnished. Apart from the bed there are a few velvet-padded chairs, a heavily carved table, a huge buffet, and a painted wood cabinet. Hank walks over to a large painting hanging on one of the walls, Officer Kilbride starts tapping on the wall paneling, and I walk over to the enormous fireplace, which features an inner carved stone section surrounded by a beautiful carved wood overmantel that reaches all the way to the ceiling. The inside of the fireplace is gray stone and I bend down to get a closer look. It doesn’t look as though anyone has lit a fire inside it in a long time. I step back and look at the wooden overmantel. In the center is a crest surmounted by cherubs, with columns on either side. I run my fingers over the intricate carving, not sure what I’m looking for. Another secret mechanism?

  Unlike seemingly everyone else, I don’t have the slightest doubt about whether or not Sarah is dead. But after finding Floyd, I’m no longer sure I want to find Sarah’s body. At least not personally. I’ve had more than my share of contact with dead people over the last couple of days, and the last thing I want is to find myself writhing around on the ground underneath another corpse.

  Staring at the cherubs brings back a wisp of memory. Something I blurted recently but immediately tried to forget because it was no doubt embarrassing, ill-timed, or just plain bizarre. At the top of the wooden crest, flanked by the cherubs, sits a crown. At the apex of the crown, the wood is carved to resemble a faceted jewel, and I spot what looks like a crack along the edge, so I pull a velvet chair over to get a closer look. The crack appears deliberate as it goes all the way around the base of the decoration. I take a deep breath and push on the jewel. I swear it depresses slightly, but nothing else happens.

  “Well done, Mistress Verity!” Hank booms, and I look around in confusion. He points at the inside of the fireplace.

  I hop off my chair and take a look. The back wall of the fireplace has slid to the side, revealing a small room beyond. “Holy crap!”

  “An appropriate sentiment for a priest hole, one might say,” Hank says, striding toward the opening.

  “Hold on, Mr. Bacon,” Officer Kilbride says. “There may be important evidence in there.”

  “Evidence of what? If there was a body in there we would have smelled it by now, Officer Kilbride.”

  I realize he’s right, and I feel both relieved and disappointed. I want the mystery of Sarah’s disappearance to be solved, but I could do without the decomposing corpse part.

  Hank ducks to enter the space behind the fireplace and gives a low whistle. “Well, Miss Buckley may not be here now but she certainly has been before.”

  I scramble through the opening to take a peek before Officer Kilbride can stop me. The room is small, about five feet square. Against one wall is a narrow wooden table cluttered with photographs of jewelry pieces, small jars of gemstones and pearls, various tools and jewelry-making supplies, a flashlight, a disposable coffee cup, and a copy of Philippa Gregory’s The Queen’s Fool lying splayed open.

  “All right, both of you, out of there,” Officer Kilbride says, and I step back through the opening. Hank follows behind me and Officer Kilbride takes his place inside the little room. He looks around for a moment or two before unclipping his police radio. “Hey, Joe. I’m going to need an evidence team up on the second floor,” he says and describes our location. He steps out of the priest hole and gives me a hard look. “So, you had no idea this place was here, huh?”

  “I’ve never been in this room before.”

  “My private quarters are off-limits to the staff,” Hank says. “I have the only key, which I thought, until recently, meant I was the only one with access.” He walks o
ver to the heavy wooden wardrobe. “I’ve since discovered there is an entrance to one of the secret passageways inside this wardrobe. Which must be how Miss Buckley gained access to my collection of Tudor artifacts and reproductions. I assume, based on what we’ve just seen, that she used the priest hole as her workspace. I am rarely up here during the day, so it wouldn’t be difficult for her to avoid detection.”

  “And you’ve since moved your collections to a more secure location, correct?”

  “Correct. Everything of value has been removed until I can have a vault installed in the room next door.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bacon. I’m afraid we’re going to be here a while longer. If you’d like to make yourself comfortable someplace else I’ll supervise things up here.”

  “Am I free to go?” I ask.

  “Yes, Miss Verity. But I’ll be in touch.”

  While Officer Kilbride and his team get ready to do their CSI thing, Hank and I head back downstairs. Grayson is waiting outside Hank’s study.

  “There you are,” he says when he sees me. “Are we allowed to go now?” he asks Hank.

  “I’d like a word first,” Hank says and leads us into his study. Grayson and I sit on opposite sides of the room while Hank takes a seat behind his desk. “I don’t know what’s going on in this castle, but obviously I am deeply disturbed by the death of Floyd and the disappearance and possible death of Sarah Buckley. I do not want any more lives lost under my watch. Mistress Verity, I know we may disagree on this, but I trust Officer Kilbride to do his job. Which means I don’t want you doing it. No more lurking around the castle looking for clues or secret passageways, or places to stash dead bodies, understood?”

  I nod.

  “You, too, Mr. Chandler. I am disappointed in you. Your job was to keep Mistress Verity safe, not lead her into the bowels of the castle looking for murder victims. If I catch either of you doing anything other than the jobs I’ve hired you to do, you will be terminated.”

  I wince at his choice of words.

  “Fired. You will be fired on the spot. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Grayson and I chorus.

  “Fine. Assuming the police are able to wrap up their investigation by opening time, I will see you tomorrow,” Hank says. “Mistress Verity, I called your grandmother and assured her you are still in one piece. Do not make a liar out of me.”

  “I won’t. Thank you, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Everything Is Going to Be Peachy Keen

  As we head for the staff parking lot, I can’t help wondering what it’s like for Hank after we all go home and he’s alone in the castle. And tonight he’ll be truly alone. With Floyd dead, the gatehouse, Floyd’s caretaker home, will be empty.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask Grayson as I slide into the passenger seat of his SUV.

  “Who? Hank?”

  “Yeah. It’s got to be creepy being here all alone at night. Especially knowing there’s more than likely a dead body somewhere on the premises.”

  “He’s not alone. The police will probably be here for hours.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But Officer Kilbride isn’t exactly good company. Or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t like me.”

  “Why wouldn’t he like you?”

  “He has an aversion to psychic nuns?” I suggest, and then shrug. “I have no idea.” But really I know why. Officer Kilbride knows I’m hiding something. Something that makes me feel ridiculously guilty. I’m guessing he thinks it’s something more sinister than being in love with someone else’s boyfriend. “Where’s Bree?” I say, following up on that train of thought.

  “She got a ride home with Kaitlyn again. I told her I’d call her as soon as the police let us go. She was pretty freaked.”

  “Yeah, I imagine everyone’s going to be freaked when they hear. We found the priest hole, by the way.”

  “You did? Where was it? What was it? I assume there was no body inside?”

  I fill him in on Sarah’s hidden lair.

  “Jeez, this place is full of secrets.”

  “I know,” I say. Just like me. I look over at Grayson. He’s focused on the road ahead, and I take advantage of the opportunity to ogle him up close. The way his hair curls around his ears, the slight dimple in his chin, how his bottom lip looks so incredibly kissable…

  “What?” Grayson says, looking over at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, blushing deeply.

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m sorry I got you involved in all this,” I say, even though I’m not. I mean, of course I’m horribly sorry two people are dead, but I’m not sorry for this time I’ve had with Grayson. For the realization that he no longer seems to think I’m a weirdo to be avoided at all costs. I am sorry he has a girlfriend and that she’s someone so perfect I can’t even begrudge her her phenomenal luck at being the girlfriend of the most perfect boy I’ve ever met.

  “It’s not your fault, Jules.”

  Yes, it is, I want to say, but don’t. If he hadn’t been working at Tudor Times I would have never taken the job as the Maid of Kent. And I would have never involved him in this mess.

  We’re both quiet for the rest of the drive to my house.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say as we pull to a stop.

  “Jules, are you okay? I mean, of course you’re not, you got tackled by a dead guy, but…you’re going to be okay, right?”

  “Eventually,” I say. But I’m not thinking about Floyd or Sarah or any of the rest of the Tudor Times mess. That stuff is all horrifically awful, but it feels survivable. I’m thinking about my heart and how I’m never going to get it back from Grayson Chandler no matter how hard I try. I reach for the door handle.

  “Don’t go, Jules,” he says and puts a hand on my arm.

  I look down at his hand, confused.

  “I…I want to…” He can’t seem to get the words out, and when I look at his face his expression lets loose a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my chest. “Jules,” he says urgently as he leans toward me and I swear he’s going to kiss me and I start to lean in and then…

  I pull away. “You’d better go call Bree. She’ll be worried.”

  He straightens up and puts both hands on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I will. Pick you up at twelve thirty tomorrow?”

  I’m so confused. But I know I should tell him no. That I’ll borrow my mom’s van or drive Rosie. Instead I open my mouth to say, Thanks, Grayson. I’d love a ride, but then he gives me a sad smile and says, “I’m sorry, Jules. This is all such a mess.”

  My heart does that weird fluttering thing again and I say, “I don’t need a ride. My mom says I can use her van until I get my bike fixed. Go call Bree.” And I jump out of the car and run up the driveway before I can change my mind.

  “There you are!” Cami pounces on me when I reach the porch. “Where’ve you been? What’s going on at Tudor Times? I heard there were police cars there. Did they find the body?”

  I hold up my hand. “Cami, please stop. I just can’t right now.”

  Miraculously, she shuts up.

  “Well, you’ve had a day,” Gran says when I walk through the door. She looks from me to Cami. “Miss Cami, why don’t you make us all some hot chocolate?”

  “Sure,” Cami says and gives my arm a squeeze before heading for the kitchen.

  “Hank said he called you?”

  “Yes. He called to let me know you were okay and that you’d be home a bit late. Then that old biddy Esther Davis called to see if I had the inside scoop on the latest gossip, what with you working at Tudor Times. And Shirley Ferndale called wanting to know if it’s true you can talk to the dead now and if so could you please find out where her Milton hid the savings bonds before he died? I swear the people in this town have no sense.”

  “If I could talk to the dead I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Isn’t that the truth. Someone killed old Floyd Bean, eh? Stuck his nose where it didn’t bel
ong, I bet.”

  “Yeah. Or else he was Sarah Buckley’s accomplice and she killed him. Or I’m her accomplice and I killed him for her. It’s all starting to blend together.”

  “That’s just silly. Sarah Buckley is dead.”

  “Well, duh. I’ve told the police that several times, but they seem to be having a hard time believing me without an actual body around. I only found Floyd because I was trying to prove Sarah was dead by finding her body for them.”

  “You found Floyd? Oh, honey. Your day was worse than I thought. Come here.” She envelops me in a warm hug, and I breathe in the scent of her. She smells like Oil of Olay and violets and safety.

  I don’t mean to, but I start crying and pretty soon I’m out-and-out sobbing. “I’m…sorry. It’s…not…I’m…just—”

  “Don’t try to talk, honey. Just let it all out.”

  Gran grabs me a box of Kleenex, and I cry until I’ve used up half the box on the tears and snot streaming down my face.

  “I’m not crying for Floyd,” I finally say, between dwindling sobs.

  “I know you’re not.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t sign up to be the body finder. How can they not believe me that Sarah’s dead? I know Officer Kilbride is suspicious of me because he knows I’m hiding something. But the thing I’m hiding has nothing to do with Sarah or Floyd or Tudor Times at all. And I can’t really be a suspect in a double homicide, or a jewel forgery scam, or whatever the hell is going on, because that’s ridiculous.”

  “I know, honey.”

  “I’m crying because I’m completely stressed out and I’m in love with Grayson. And I can’t have him. And it’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair, cupcake.”

  “Really? Is that what you tell your matchmaking clients?”

  “Of course not, they actually listen to me.”

  “I listen to you.”

  “Well then, ‘You have to accept whatever comes, and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give.’”