Wicked Stitch

by Amanda Lee

  “Aye, ’tis a kissing booth,” Ted said. “For a chest of the king’s gold, I’ll plant one on thee.”

  Manu hooted with laughter. “I believe I’ll pass, but thanks just the same.” He turned serious. “I’m sorry I had to take you off that case, Ted.”

  “Hey, no problem. You gave me the day off, so . . . there’s that.”

  “I know you’d much rather be working this investigation,” Manu said. “And there’s nowhere I’d rather you be. But after Ms. Davis made such a stink, I couldn’t let her bring our integrity into question.”

  “I know,” Ted assured him. “It’s all right. Besides, I have this cold case to keep me occupied.”

  “Any progress on that?” Manu asked.

  Ted lowered his voice, and I busied myself on the other side of the booth. I tried not to eavesdrop but couldn’t help overhearing.

  “Not much,” Ted said. “The arson investigator and I are still trying to determine whether the businessman set the fire and, if so, what reason he had for doing so.”

  Manu nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else but thought better of it as a woman in a nun’s habit came alongside him.

  “Excuse me, fine sir,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I’ve been asked to man Ms. Davis’s booth for a few hours since she’s . . . um . . . under the weather.”

  I wondered if she’d been told not to mention Clara’s death and the reason for Nellie’s absence.

  “Some of us volunteers will be taking shifts with this booth.” She held out her hand, first giving Manu a brief handshake, then Ted, and then me. “I’m Mary Alice. Sister Mary Alice, if you will.”

  “Are you really a nun, then?” I asked.

  “Heavens, no, child!” She chortled. “I’m only pretending to be a nun for the Faire. It was the easiest costume I could come up with. I’m a retired nurse . . . you know, in real life.”

  The rest of us introduced ourselves.

  “One of you strong-looking men couldn’t be persuaded to help an old lady fold these sheets up, could you?” she asked.

  Of course, we all pitched in to help.

  “I have to keep an eye on my booth right now,” I said. “But I want to come back later and get some of those little bottles of essential oils. Aren’t they darling?”

  “They are,” Mary Alice agreed.

  “Go ahead and shop,” Ted said. “I’ll watch the booth.”

  He and Manu went back over to my little corner of this strange world, leaving me to shop Nellie’s boutique.

  First, I perused the bottles of essential oils and selected several to buy.

  “Set these aside for me, please, while I look around at everything else,” I said to Mary Alice. I went over to the sachets. “She has some really nice things in here. Do you know Nellie, or are you just a volunteer with the Ren Faire?”

  “Both,” said Mary Alice. “I’ve been acquainted with Nellie for years, but she’s a rather hard person to know. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve worked down the street from her for almost a year now, and I couldn’t really say that I know the woman.”

  “Some people are that way.” She walked over to the soaps. “These look nice . . . and they smell wonderful. Do you shop at Scentsibilities often?”

  “I don’t. Nellie and I tend to give each other a wide berth.” I selected a couple of candles.

  “Here. Let me put those with your oils,” said Mary Alice.

  “How about Clara, Nellie’s sister?” I asked. “Did you know her?”

  “Yeah . . . about as well as I knew Nellie, I guess. That Clara . . .” She blew out a breath. “Well, she could be a pistol, couldn’t she?”

  “A pistol?”

  “Sure, you know . . . a crackerjack, an odd duck, a . . .” She spread her hands.

  “An ornery old cuss?” I asked.

  Mary Alice smiled. “There you go.”

  “Were you here yesterday evening?”

  “When Clara was . . . found, you mean?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  She lowered her voice. “We aren’t supposed to speak of that, you know.”

  “I guess not . . . but I’m the one who discovered her,” I said. “I just wondered if you’d seen anyone skulking about or arguing with Clara or anything like that.”

  “Skulking, no. But Clara argued with almost everyone she met,” said Mary Alice. “She infuriated the bird lady.”

  “The one with the falcon?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes, I met her, and she mentioned it. Apparently, Clara thought the bird might take off with Clover.”

  “How a falcon tethered to her handler’s arm could swoop down and attack a rabbit—especially one in a kennel—is beyond me, but what do I know? I’m only a nun.” She winked.

  “Do you know of anyone who’d want to harm Clara?”

  “Only everyone, dear,” she said. “But most of us don’t act on our baser instincts, do we? I imagine it was some vagrant who was passing through, noticed that she was here alone, and attempted to rob her.”

  “But the police didn’t mention that anything was missing,” I pointed out.

  “Maybe the robber was scared off.” She patted my shoulder. “Don’t fret about it, dear. I believe we’re all perfectly safe. The fairgrounds will be teeming with people from here on out, we have plenty of security guards, and you have your own handsome fellow watching out for you.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” I paid for my purchases and went back to my booth.

  Manu had left, and Ted was checking his phone.

  “Do you need to go?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Just checking my e-mail while I was waiting for you. What’d you get?”

  I showed him what I’d bought from Nellie’s booth.

  “Nice,” he said. “It’s a shame you have to wait until Nellie isn’t around to shop for things you obviously enjoy.”

  “What’s really a shame is that her sister had to die before I was able to shop from her,” I said. “I really hate this whole . . . feud, for lack of a better word. I don’t understand Nellie’s animosity toward me, and I wish I could find a way to just resolve it.”

  He lowered his voice. “I heard you asking Sister Mary Alice about Clara. Good move.”

  I spoke quietly, too. “Thanks. I’d hoped maybe she’d seen something. Did you hear her response?”

  “Some of it,” he said. “Not all.”

  “She thinks Clara was murdered by a vagrant or a robber,” I said. “When I pointed out that the police didn’t mention anything being taken, she said that maybe he was frightened away before he could steal anything.”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  “Me, either. She did go out of her way to assure me that we were safe,” I said.

  “I heard. Of course, anyone would rather think someone they knew was killed by a stranger rather than someone who might be walking among us here at the Faire.” He looked out at the people milling around in the building. “She didn’t seem terribly broken up about Clara’s death.”

  “No, she didn’t,” I said. “I’d hate to think that if I died—particularly died a violent death—none of my casual acquaintances would even gasp and say how terrible my last moments must have been.”

  “If you died, the flags would be flown at half-mast, and the whole world—nay, the universe—would mourn,” he said.

  “As long as you’d be heartbroken, I’m good,” I teased.

  “My heart would shatter into a billion trillion pieces,” he said.

  “And you’d never look at another woman again,” I said.

  “Never. I’d gouge out my eyes first.”

  I giggled. “You’re silly . . . but I love you.”

  “And I love you,” he said. “Why don’t you go explore? I’m back on duty tomorrow. Take advantage of my being here to enjoy the festival a little bit.”

  “No. I don’t want to leave you with the booth and go have fun at the F
aire. Maybe later I can get Vera to come watch the booth for a while, and we can explore the Faire together.”

  “Maybe you can. But for now, go . . . shop . . . ask questions.” He’d played the trump card. He wanted me to investigate.

  I smiled. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll start with this building. The merchants here would be the most likely to have seen something.”

  I headed for the booth nearest the door on the other side, deciding to go to each one in order to ever so casually question everyone. I just had to keep my purse strings tied tight for the most part. I could easily spend a small fortune here.

  In the first booth, I found an assortment of beautiful handmade jewelry. There were ornate pearl chokers with cabochons of sapphire, ruby, lapis lazuli, and emerald.

  “Wow, are these real?” I asked.

  The woman smiled. “No, they’re costume, but they do look authentic, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do. Do you have a card? My mom is Beverly Singer,” I said. “She’s a costume designer, and she—”

  “Yes! I’ve heard of her!” She plucked a card off her table and handed it to me. “Please tell her I thought her costumes in Once a Queen were breathtaking.”

  “I will. She’ll be delighted that you’re familiar with her work,” I said.

  “I’m really into costumes,” she said. “I’ve done a few things for local theater companies, and it’s such fun . . . but really hard work! Even in a small theater like that, you’ll have people who’ll call you out on any errors you might make in wardrobe.”

  I picked up one of the chokers offset with emeralds. “This is lovely.”

  “Take it,” the woman said. “It would go marvelously with your gown. Did your mom design it?”

  “She sent me the pattern,” I said. “She’s on location in Arizona right now, or else I’m sure she’d be here. She loves this sort of thing.” I opened my purse.

  “Oh, no! I mean it. Take the necklace. You can show it to your mom as a sample of my work.”

  “I will, but I’m paying for it. I’d feel terrible if I didn’t pay you. How much do I owe you?” I asked.

  The woman gave me a price I thought was too low, but I didn’t push it. I would pass her information and a photo of the necklace on to Mom, and if Mom could use her work, she definitely would.

  “By the way,” I said, leaning in conspiratorially, “did you hear about that poor woman who got strangled with her scarf yesterday?”

  “I did,” she said. “She and her sister had a terrible argument while they were setting up their booths. I didn’t catch what it was about, but several of us heard their raised voices, and it was obvious they were angry with each other.” She tsked. “Her poor sister . . . she must feel terrible now. Wouldn’t you? Fighting with someone you loved and then having them wind up dead? How awful!”

  “That is awful.”

  As I strolled to the next booth, I wondered what Nellie and Clara had argued about. I didn’t think Nellie was strong enough to have killed her much larger sister . . . but, still, she had been quick to throw suspicion onto Ted and get him kicked off the case. What was she hiding?

  Chapter Ten

  Before going outside the merchants’ building, I went back to my booth and stored my purchases under the table.

  “You made quite a haul,” Ted said.

  “I actually showed great restraint and didn’t get half the things I wanted. And I was able to learn a few things about yesterday.” I told him that while few of the merchants had anything nice to say about Clara, most of them had seen her arguing with someone yesterday. “One of the people she was arguing with was Nellie.”

  “And that never made it into Nellie’s statement,” he said. “Imagine.” He took out his cell phone. “Granted she was shocked and upset last night, but I’m still going to call Manu and let him know so he’ll be sure to bring that up when they question Nellie later today.”

  “Okay, sweetheart.” I kissed his cheek. “I’m off to do more sleuthing.”

  He grinned. “Don’t forget your purse.”

  I held up my arm and showed him that the dainty drawstring purse was hanging from my wrist. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you need me before then, call me.”

  “I will.”

  He was already talking with Manu when I left the merchants’ building.

  As I walked out into the sunshine, I was happy we had such beautiful weather for the opening day of the festival. The first person I encountered as I began strolling through the fairgrounds was the lady falconer and Herodias.

  “Hello!” I said. “Good morning, Herodias.”

  The bird peered at me. I’m a dog person. I can tell what Angus is thinking . . . or at least I can imagine what he’s thinking. I had no clue whether this falcon was happy, unaffected either way, or wanting to rip my eyes out.

  Her handler, however, was friendly today.

  “Hi, there,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name yesterday.”

  “I’m Marcy Singer,” I said. “I own the Seven-Year Stitch, and I have a booth set up in the merchants’ building.”

  “Of course. Your shop is there on Main Street. I’m Amelia Banks.”

  “Nice to meet you, Amelia. Do you do needlecrafts?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve never had enough patience for it. My mom does, though. I think she’s been in your shop a time or two. It has a memorable name—I like that.”

  “Thank you. How’s Herodias today? Does the crowd bother her, or does she just take it in stride?”

  “She’s pretty used to it by now,” said Amelia. “We go to a lot of these types of festivals, and we go to schools and nature centers . . . things like that. Where’s Angus?”

  “I decided to leave him home this morning,” I said. “I thought the food and all the commotion might be a bit much for him to handle. We have a high fence around our backyard, and since the weather was so pretty today, I let him stay out there. He has the back porch, a swing—which he loves to lie on—and plenty of food, water, and toys.”

  She laughed. “By the end of the day, I’ll probably wish I’d gone to your house to stay with him.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “Incidentally, did you happen to see anyone else arguing with the lady with the rabbit yesterday, or did you notice anyone hanging around the merchants’ building who looked as if he or she didn’t belong there?”

  “Not that I recall. Why?”

  “Haven’t you heard? That woman was found strangled to death with the scarf she was knitting,” I said.

  Amelia gasped. “Here? That happened here?”

  I nodded. “I’m the one who found her. I didn’t realize she’d been murdered, though. I thought maybe she’d just had a heart attack and had fallen over or something, but I later heard it was murder. The woman manning the booth next to mine said she thought it might have been a vagrant, so you and Herodias be careful.”

  “We will. You, too.” Amelia looked distracted as she started walking away. “Talk with you later!”

  “See ya!”

  Well, she hadn’t appeared to know anything. But maybe if she picked up any information, she’d stop by the merchants’ building and share it with me. People were going to think me a terrible gossip when this was over, but how else was I going to help Ted find out who’d killed Clara? So far, the only viable suspect we had was Nellie . . . and frankly, I didn’t think she was all that viable.

  I walked past archers who were shooting at their targets—away from the other Faire-goers, thank goodness. I spotted the juggler again. This time, he was tossing four balls of different sizes and colors. There was a large red one, a smaller blue one, a yellow one, and then the smallest, a green one.

  “Hey, there! Hey, pretty one! Stop and talk with me!”

  I turned, realizing the woman’s lilting voice was directed at me. “Hello.”

  “Hello. I am Hecate, Queen of the Witches, goddess of ma
gic and witchcraft.”

  She was a lovely older woman with red hair and green eyes. In fact, it struck me that she faintly resembled the actress Agnes Moorehead, who was famous for her role as Endora in the sitcom Bewitched.

  “Beware,” she told me. “That Macbeth has a lean and hungry look about him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I haven’t met Macbeth yet, but I’ll certainly take your word for it,” I said. “Tales of his ambition precede him.”

  “That they do.” She brought her hand around with a flourish and directed it toward a tent. “Won’t you come in and have my sisters tell your fortune?”

  Okay, with that enigmatic expression, she looked a lot like Agnes Moorehead playing Endora.

  I hesitated, and she gave a throaty laugh.

  “Come, darling. Don’t you want to know what’s in store for you?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, with a nervous chuckle. “It depends on whether it’s good or bad.”

  She arched a brow.

  I suppose I could question the witches while I was having my fortune told.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Fabulous. Step right this way.”

  Hecate ushered me into the tent. “My sisters, we have a seeker.”

  Three tables were set up inside the tent, each draped with an ornate fabric. The “sisters” sat in chairs behind the tables. My mind might have been playing tricks on me, but they looked enough like the actresses Jessica Lange, Angela Bassett, and Kathy Bates that they could’ve been their stunt doubles.

  “These are the three witches from Macbeth that chanted double, double, toil and trouble?” I asked. “I didn’t expect you guys to be so pretty.”

  The one that looked like Jessica Lange threw her head back and laughed. “I like this one, Hecate. I’m glad you brought her to us.”

  Hecate laughed, winked at her, and then left me alone with the witches.

  “How does this work?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

  “You start with me and pay Hecate on your way out,” said the one who resembled Angela Bassett. “Come on over and let me see your hands.”