Holding Court

by K. C. Held

  “I didn’t get myself assigned. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m finally realizing how weird it is that you suddenly want to be my friend. Me, Jules Verity, crazy psychic freak.” God, I’m so stupid.

  “Jules, you’re not a freak.”

  “No? Then what do you call it? And why do you even care?” I just want him to go away. I don’t even want to try to figure out what it all means.

  “Of course I care. I’ve been trying to help you, Jules. I’m sorry if I was an ass to you before, it’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  He runs his fingers through his hair and frowns. “I…I need to talk to Bree.”

  “I bet you do.” I’m afraid to figure out what it all means.

  He looks at me like I’m standing at the edge of the Cliffs of Insanity, getting ready to jump.

  “Who’s her buddy now that Sarah’s not available? And where was she when I got hit by that car?” I ask him, and then the pain and confusion are too much and I let out a sob.

  “You’re not making any sense. Maybe we should have this conversation later. When you’re not so upset.”

  “Good idea, because there’s no way I’m staying in here with you.” I jump up and run for the door, tears streaming down my face.

  Grayson grabs my arm. “Jules, please. Why are you so angry with me?”

  “Let me go. Please don’t make me use my stun gun on you.”

  He drops my arm.

  “Angelique saw her, Grayson.”

  “Saw who? I don’t understand any of this.”

  “She saw Bree. Coming out of the alcove. Bree was in the secret passageway.”

  Grayson’s eyes widen, and he backs away from me. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even want to know.”

  “You think Bree had something to do with the murders?” I watch as his expression shifts from horrified to incredulous. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? No more ridiculous than you suddenly discovering that I exist.”

  “Jules.” He grabs my arm again. “Let’s go find Bree. We need to talk about this.”

  I pull my arm away. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Grayson. Not ever.”

  As I stumble through the door I hear him whisper, “As you wish.”

  I make for the stairs, tears blinding me. I run through the main hallway, determined to get out, to get away from all the secrets and the lies and the stupid butterflies. I grab my backpack out of my cubby in the Great Wardrobe, duck into a dressing room, and strip off my Maid of Kent costume. I put on my street clothes and wad my costume up in a ball. When I throw the curtain open Geoffrey is standing right outside.

  He’s holding his enormous pair of scissors by his side and I notice a dark splotch on his absurd pumpkin-shaped pants.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at the crumpled costume.

  “I…I have to leave early,” I say. “I’m sorry I wrinkled my costume.” I hold the ball of fabric out to him. “I just…I’m in a hurry.”

  “What’s the matter, Mistress Verity? You seem awfully upset.” Geoffrey takes the costume from me and tucks it under his arm. Instead of his usual pristine white jacket he’s wearing black velvet.

  “It’s just…it’s too much right now. With finding Sarah and then Floyd and the police thinking—”

  “What do the police think?”

  “The police think I had something to do with all of it, which is ridiculous. But Angelique saw—” I stop myself before I permanently besmirch Bree’s golden name.

  “What did Angelique see?”

  “Never mind. I have to go. Thanks, Geoffrey, but I don’t really want to talk about it.” I take a step forward but instead of backing up, Geoffrey leans into me.

  “Someone else saw Sarah’s body,” he whispers.

  “What?” I want him out of my space. I haven’t even processed what just happened with Grayson; I can’t handle any more right now.

  “I saw her come out of the secret entrance.”

  “Who? You saw someone come out of the alcove? But that’s impossible. I was in the hallway and then—”

  “Not the alcove, she came out of the other entrance.”

  “What entrance? The dungeon or upstairs?” I can’t seem to follow what he’s saying.

  “The dungeon. And I know where the body is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Your Secret’s Safe with Me

  “Come on, I’ll show you,” Geoffrey says.

  I look around the costume shop and realize there’s no one else around. “Um, where’s your buddy, Geoffrey? Aren’t you supposed to have a buddy?”

  “Don’t you want to see the body? Come on, let’s go.”

  “To the dungeon? Um, no thanks, I’ll pass. Why don’t you tell the police what you know?”

  “No, not the dungeon, the suit of armor.”

  “What?” My brain is still scrambling to keep up.

  “The suit of armor. It’s so ridiculously obvious.”

  “The body’s in the suit of armor? That doesn’t make any sense. How would—”

  Geoffrey pulls my arm and leads me into the hallway. “Let’s go, before I change my mind.”

  I follow him down the hallway, and he stops in front of the suit of armor and beckons me forward. “Quick, before someone else comes. Flip open the visor.”

  “What? Geoffrey, this is crazy. She’s been dead for at least three days. Wouldn’t someone have smelled her by now if she was in the suit of armor?”

  “Well then, flip open the visor and see. The front part of the headpiece, pull it up so you can see inside.”

  He points at the helmet with his scissors, and even though I know it’s ridiculous and there’s no way Sarah’s body is inside the suit, I’m suddenly deeply afraid of opening the helmet.

  I step forward. I reach one hand up, and Geoffrey shoves me from behind, and we’re spinning. The secret entrance slides open and I’m back in the passageway, Geoffrey sandwiching me between him and the suit of armor. I scream but it’s too late; the entrance is already resealed. Geoffrey pulls his scissors out of the armored hand and I realize he must have used them to trigger the mechanism in the absence of the ax. He sticks the pointed tip of the scissors under my chin.

  “Don’t bother screaming again. The walls are three feet thick.” He pushes something into my hands. “You can hold this. I’m going to need my hands free,” he says, and I realize he’s handed me my balled-up nun costume.

  I’m about to drop it when I remember the stun gun. I never took it out of the hidden pocket.

  “You saw the blood on my trunk hose, didn’t you? Who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him, eh? But they’re silk. I couldn’t just wash them in the sink—it would destroy the fabric. And I didn’t think anyone would notice, a red stain on red pants. But you, you already knew, didn’t you?” His body is still pressed up against me, and he sprays my cheek with flecks of spittle as he talks.

  “Geoffrey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I wince as the scissors bite into my skin.

  “‘Be soft and attend thy soiled slops!’ Isn’t that what you told me, Miss Know-It-All? Well you don’t know it all, do you?” He pushes me forward. “Do you still want to find Sarah? Floyd gave you the answer, you just didn’t look hard enough. And the police must not have taken you very seriously, because they didn’t either.” He pushes me down the passageway toward the steps to the dungeon. “I was going to be the next Walter Plunkett, you know.”

  “Um, who’s Walter Plunkett?” I ask, hoping it’s a long story.

  We reach the stairs, and he pulls me tight against him so we can go down the steps together. “Gone with the Wind? Singin’ in the Rain? Little Women? And more than a hundred and fifty other movies? How can you not know Walter Plunkett? He was a genius. His costumes were meticulously researched and flawlessly accurate. Converse sneakers for
Marie Antoinette? Mixing Degas with a ruff? He would never have done anything so ridiculous! He had too much class. And so do I. I’m the foremost authority on period costumes! If someone wanted historical accuracy they came to me! But then that little hussy cuddled up to the director and suddenly I was out of a job. I worked for years to establish my reputation, and all she had to do was shake her ass. And Sarah was the same.”

  “Sarah was sleeping with Hank?” I say, totally shocked at the idea.

  “She had him under her spell all right. She was stealing things from right under his nose. The fabric I could maybe have forgiven. Replacing my gorgeous silks with polyester linings? I understand the lust for a Scalamandré silk damask, but substituting fake jewels for the real ones I’d so meticulously sewn on? Can you imagine if we had sent King Henry’s Whitehall ensemble to the British Museum that way? They would have laughed it right out of the building. And she was destroying his beautiful necklaces and jeweled weapons. That lovely little dagger I used to kill Floyd. It was unacceptable. And when I confronted her she said it didn’t even matter. That no one cared if the gowns were made of silk or polyester. Polyester! Can you imagine? She actually laughed in my face. ‘What are you going to do about it, Geoffrey? You’re just a washed-up has-been working in a cheesy dinner theater in the middle of Looneytown.’”

  We reach the bottom step, and he spins me around. “The things I make are beautiful. No one else can re-create history through fabric like I do. No one. The British Museum wants my garments! The British Museum!” His face is inches from my own, but he’s practically screaming at me, as if he needs to make sure I hear the importance of what he’s saying.

  “I’ve never seen costumes as beautiful as the ones here at Tudor Times,” I say, truthfully. “They take my breath away. Sarah obviously didn’t understand.” So you took her breath away.

  “No, she didn’t. And Floyd, he was not a nice man. He was a snoop, like you. He found out what Sarah was doing and blackmailed her. She gave him a share of the jewels, and he not only kept quiet about it, he started helping her get into the castle at night.”

  Geoffrey pulls me with him and feels along the stone wall until he triggers the opening leading to the dungeon. We step through the wooden cabinet. In the corner of the dungeon stands the iron maiden surrounded by the detritus of the CSI team, but there are no police here now.

  “They’re all upstairs conducting interviews,” Geoffrey says, as if reading my mind. “Floyd was right, I used the iron maiden, but I didn’t simply hide Sarah inside. There’s an extra secret not even the police figured out. Why don’t you open her dress and I’ll demonstrate?”

  “Um, no thanks. I’m happy to take your word for it, Geoffrey. Can we go back upstairs now? It’s a little chilly down here.” I take a step toward the door, and he yanks me back.

  He reaches out and pulls the handle to open the iron maiden. “Get in there. Now.” He gives me a push and I stumble forward. “Floyd told me the secret when I was working on an Elizabethan gown King Henry commissioned for a new banquet performance. The ruff reminded Floyd of the iron maiden. Of course he called it a collar, not a ruff. Imbecile. He should know better. Oh yes, Floyd told me lots of secrets. I was going to hide his body, too, but the mechanism was stuck and I didn’t have a chance to get rid of him before you came snooping around again.”

  I yelp as he nicks me with the scissors. I feel a warm trickle of blood run down my neck. “Don’t do this, Geoffrey,” I say. “Let’s go back upstairs. I’ll help you explain to King Henry what was going on.”

  “Floyd came down here looking for Sarah. And I wanted to help him find her. Just like I’m going to help you. I know you won’t stop snooping until you find her. Would you like to know where she is?”

  I’m not sure how to answer this question safely, and I’m too busy trying to get the cap off the stun gun inside my balled-up costume, so I don’t say anything.

  “Floyd knew I was the only one he told the iron maiden’s secret to. I had to kill him or he was going to tell.”

  “I’m not going to tell anyone, Geoffrey. All I wanted to do was prove that I’m not crazy. That’s it. I wasn’t trying to catch Sarah’s killer, I just wanted to show everyone that I didn’t hallucinate a dead body. But listen. Everyone still thinks I’m crazy! They think I’m Sarah’s accomplice. They’re not going to believe anything I say. Your secret’s safe with me. Now can we just—”

  “No,” Geoffrey says and he shoves me into the iron maiden. “You want to find the body? I’ll show you where she is,” he shrieks. As he reaches up with one hand toward the disintegrating face of the iron maiden, he raises the hand holding the scissors as if preparing to plunge them into my chest. I take advantage of the fact that the scissors are no longer at my throat and pull the cap off the stun gun and thrust it forward into Geoffrey’s chest. His eyes open wide as I push the button, then his arm jerks and he drops the scissors, but it’s too late.

  Chapter Thirty

  Mystery Solved

  The metal floor of the iron maiden gives way beneath me, and I drop through a gaping hole. I brace for impact, but instead I land with a splash and find myself completely under water. My feet hit something solid and I push off, breaking the surface with a sputter and a cough. The water is cold and deep enough that I can no longer touch bottom. I look up. Geoffrey’s head appears silhouetted in the circular trapdoor hidden beneath the iron maiden.

  “Well, mystery solved!” Geoffrey yells down at me. “Now you know where the body went. Too bad no one else will ever know.”

  “Help! Geoffrey, I can’t swim!” I yell and the water closes over my head again. I push with my arms and bob back up. “Geoffrey, help!” I yell again and then let myself sink, holding my breath for as long as I can. Desperate for air, I return to the surface to find the trapdoor closed and Geoffrey gone.

  I take in great gulps of air, trying not to notice the smell assaulting my nostrils, knowing what it must mean.

  Dim light filters in from somewhere above me. I’m still holding my stun gun/flashlight and I press the flashlight button, hoping against hope that it will still work despite the repeated dunking it’s just received. Nothing happens. I try the stun gun button, but the water seems to have killed it as well. Or maybe zapping Geoffrey used up all its power.

  I turn in a slow circle. I’m in the center of a rectangular pool surrounded by a collection of white marble statues separated by tall columns. As my eyes adjust to the gloom I see that the walls and ceiling are covered in beautiful blue and gold mosaics. I appear to be in some kind of underground bathhouse featuring a secret entrance hidden in a medieval instrument of torture. The more of wacky Mr. Lune’s secrets I discover, the less I’m inclined to like him.

  I catch sight of something floating a few feet away from me in a corner of the pool. I know what it is even before I get close enough to see for sure. I’ve found Sarah, just as Geoffrey promised. She’s floating facedown in the water, and there can be no doubt she’s dead. I swim to the steps at the other end of the pool and climb out. I put both hands over my mouth as I gag on the realization that I’ve been floating in water containing a decomposing corpse.

  I can’t assume that Geoffrey bought my drowning act, and I don’t want to be here if he comes back. I can see the outline of the trapdoor in the ceiling, but there’s no way to reach it. I quickly case the room and find a switch that brings to life several of the alabaster lamps lining the bathhouse. The light bounces off the tiles and the effect is beautiful: it turns the surface of the water into a shimmering pane of glass, broken only by the body floating silently on the surface. I try to avoid looking at Sarah’s corpse, but the smell is inescapable. I need to get out of this place.

  I’m jumping up and down, trying to warm myself up and shake off some of the contaminated water saturating my clothing, when I spot a backpack lying next to one of the statues. I rush over to it, remembering Jared’s story about Sarah’s text message to Geoffrey. According to Jared, her
cell phone signal was coming from somewhere inside the castle. I pat the outside pockets and let out a whoop of triumph when I feel a rectangular bulge. I reach my hand inside and pull out something that feels cool and metallic. Breath mints. Oh goodie, at least I’ll have something to eat if I’m trapped down here for long. Or maybe I can stuff them up my nose to escape the smell of Sarah’s putrefaction. In the other pocket I find a flashlight and a set of keys, but no phone.

  I unzip the main compartment and find a carefully folded stack of fabric, as well as a small velvet bag containing a jumble of jewelry pieces, and a wallet with Sarah Buckley’s driver’s license tucked inside. So not helpful. I throw the backpack down in frustration. And then I see the cell phone lying on the ground to the side of the statue.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Sarah!” I grab the phone and push a button. An image of a depleted battery appears. “Come on battery, I just need one call.” The screen goes blank. I try pressing and holding the button, then pressing it repeatedly, then shaking the phone with frustration, but the screen remains impassively blank. It might as well be floating in the pool with Sarah—it’s clearly just as dead. I shove it in my pocket and grab the flashlight. I’m relieved to discover that it, at least, still works.

  I head for the dark hallway halfway down the room where the light from the alabaster lamps doesn’t quite reach. There are three doors on each side of the hallway and I try them one by one. Three of them lead to small dressing rooms, and the other three are private bathrooms complete with showers. I consider rinsing myself off but decide I have more pressing priorities. I head back to the pool room and shine my flashlight on the tile ceiling. In between two mosaics featuring naked mermaids are several rows of what look like glass bricks set into the tile. They’re letting in a small amount of light, which could either be sunlight from outside or light from a room above. I try to orient myself in the castle. I know there are no glass bricks in the floor of the dungeon, but I’m not sure what else is on this side of the castle. Angelique was too busy playing CSI to give me a proper tour.