Wicked Stitch

by Amanda Lee

  I walked over to the table that was draped in black and gold velvet. There was a stool in front of the table, and I sat down.

  “Place your hands on the table, please,” she said. “As a woman, palmistry of your right hand reveals what you were born with. Your left hand shows what you’ve accumulated, your potential, what could be.”

  “All right.” I stared down at my hands, eager to hear what she saw in them.

  “You have water hands. You’d be successful in some artistic endeavor . . . fashion or beauty, perhaps,” she said.

  “I run an embroidery shop.”

  She smiled but continued looking at my hands. “Your emotions are more important to you than reason. You often go with your heart and not your head.”

  “Well, that’s true . . . although I do think I’m a reasonable person.”

  “We have only five minutes,” she said.

  In a nice way, she was telling me to hush and listen to what she was saying.

  “I see love in your life. You’ve been hurt in the past, but now you’ve found a love greater than the one you had before.” She glanced up for confirmation.

  I nodded.

  “You are a lucky woman. This love . . . this passion . . . runs deep. You also have a life filled with adventure.” Her brow furrowed. “Some good adventures . . . some not so good.” She straightened. “Be careful, child. I think maybe you tend to meddle where you have no business sometimes. That can be dangerous.”

  My eyes widened. “It’s—”

  Faux Angela raised her hand. “Shhh. Tell us nothing yet. Go to my sisters and see what they have to say first.”

  “All right.” This experience was starting to unnerve me and make me feel that my money could’ve been better spent on another ornate necklace or more essential oils.

  “Come on and have a seat,” said the woman who reminded me of Jessica Lange.

  I went over to her table. It was draped in blue and silver velvet. These women liked their velvet.

  Faux Jessica placed a deck of cards in front of me. “Shuffle those and then remove three from the deck. Put them facedown in front of me.”

  I did as she requested.

  She watched my eyes as she turned the first tarot card over. The picture on the front was of a woman in clerical garb.

  “It’s the High Priestess,” she said. “This card signifies some mystery . . . and silence. The High Priestess is the guardian of secrets, so this card might mean that someone is trying desperately to keep something hidden.”

  She flipped over the second card. “Interesting.”

  There was a man on the card holding a wand.

  “It’s the Magician,” she said. “He represents communication . . . and sometimes trickery. You should be careful who you trust.”

  The final card was the Ten of Swords. It showed a man lying on his stomach with ten swords in his back.

  Well, that can’t be good.

  I tried to read the expression on faux Jessica’s face, but it was unfathomable. I wouldn’t want to play poker with this woman . . . especially given the fact that every time I have a good hand, I squeal with delight. Fortunately, I only play with Ted.

  “The Ten of Swords is a card representing betrayal, overthinking, or mental defeat,” said faux Jessica. “It’s a sign of conflict. Given these three cards, I’d say . . . well . . .” She gave an elegant shrug. “If I were you, I’d watch my back.”

  I gulped. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, sweetie, don’t let those two freak you out!” called the Kathy Bates look-alike. “Come on over here and let me find your Life Path number.”

  “After all this good news, I can hardly wait,” I said, making my way to faux Kathy’s red-and-blue-velvet-draped table.

  She laughed. “Now, really, was what they told you all that bad? You’ve learned you have a good man who loves you—but you already knew that—and that you’ve got some mystery and conflict in your life. Let me see what I can come up with.”

  She asked me my birth date and promptly told me that my Life Path number was seven.

  “One of the things your Life Path number says about you is that you enjoy piecing together intellectual puzzles,” said faux Kathy.

  “Now tell us what’s weighing on your mind, child,” said faux Angela.

  “It’s the death of that woman in the merchants’ building yesterday,” I said. “I’m the one who found her. Isn’t there any way you guys can tell me who killed her?”

  Faux Jessica smiled. “I wish we could, but things are never that easy.”

  “I can tell you one thing,” said faux Angela. “This was not a random act. That woman had many enemies.”

  “I don’t want a murderer to go free,” I said. “And I don’t want people to blame me because I’m the one who found her body. I want to find the person responsible and bring him or her to justice.”

  “That’s very noble,” said faux Kathy. “But be careful, sweetie. Make sure your risks and potential rewards outweigh any negative consequences.”

  Faux Jessica nodded. “Be cautious and judicious.” She tapped the Magician card. “Remember the trickster.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I will.”

  I paid Hecate as I left, and she smiled and gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. I didn’t feel comforted in the least. I wanted to get back to Ted. I decided I’d get us some lunch and head back to my booth.

  I walked to the food court and looked around at the various trucks, carts, and tents.

  “Tinkerbell!”

  I turned and smiled. “Captain Moe!”

  I hurried over to his tent and hugged him fiercely.

  After giving me a comforting hug, he held me slightly away from him and looked down at me. “Are you all right, Marcy?”

  “I’m just on edge,” I said.

  As he led me over to a couple of folding chairs in a deserted corner of the tent, he called out instructions to his two staffers to take care of everything for a minute.

  We sat down and he took my hands.

  “You’re trembling, Tink,” he said. “Let me get you a drink.”

  “No. I’ll be fine,” I said. I told him about the encounter with Hecate and the three witches.

  “It’s their job to foretell gloomy fortunes,” said Captain Moe. “It lends itself to the atmosphere building up to the play.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’m the one who found Clara dead . . . and then Nellie had Ted thrown off the case . . . and then these fortune-tellers basically told me to watch my back and that not everyone is who they claim to be.”

  “Which is advice they could’ve given to anyone, Marcy. Think about it. You’re letting your emotions rule your head.”

  I took a deep breath. “You’re right. But they told me I meddle in other people’s business and that I should be careful who to trust.”

  “King Duncan trusted Macbeth. Remember?”

  I nodded. “So you think it was just . . . an act?”

  “Of course. If you’ll notice the fine print on the sign outside their tent, it says ‘For entertainment purposes only.’” He squeezed my hands. “You read more meaning into their interpretations because you have Clara’s death on your mind. My suggestion is to steer clear of the witches. Maybe they’re the ones you can’t trust.”

  I smiled. “You’re a wise man, Captain Moe.”

  “I’m just happy to see you smiling again.”

  “If you want to make me positively delighted, then put some burgers on that grill for Ted and me,” I said.

  Chapter Eleven

  I went back to my booth and found Ted looking almost as frazzled as I felt. He’d obviously been running his hands through his hair. Seeing it that way made me want to do the same, but not necessarily out of frustration.

  I placed the bag containing our food on the table. “Are you all right?” I carefully smoothed his hair back into place.

  He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m great . . . maybe feel
ing a little like a fish out of water, but I’m trying to get the hang of things.”

  “You don’t have to now. I’m back. And I think I’ve done all the exploring I care to do,” I said. “Let me go get us a couple of drinks and—”

  “I’ll get those,” he interrupted. “It’ll be my pleasure. Is water okay?”

  “Water will be great. Thank you,” I said with a grin.

  He walked away from the booth, and I moved the bag to the corner of the table until he returned. I wondered what kinds of aggravation he’d endured while in charge of the booth. The prices for everything were clearly marked, unlike the merchandise in some of the other booths I’d visited, so I couldn’t imagine there’d be a dispute over cost . . . unless someone had wanted to haggle. I’d heard that some people liked to haggle the way they supposedly had at medieval marketplaces. Everything was still neatly arranged, just as it had been when I’d left.

  Ted returned and set two bottles of water on the table. “Why are you looking so perplexed?” he asked.

  “I’m simply wondering what made you so uncomfortable while I was gone,” I said.

  “Oh, it was nothing.”

  At my urging, he finally related the tale of two elderly, hard-of-hearing ladies who’d come by and asked Ted about every item in the booth. First, they wanted him to tell them what he knew about blackwork. The extent of Ted’s knowledge was that it was embroidery done with black thread. They wanted to know if blackwork had been popular during the Renaissance era. Ted, figuring the blackwork class wouldn’t be so popular and that I wouldn’t have so much of it for sale in my booth had it not been, had told the ladies that indeed it had been outrageously popular.

  “When they began questioning me about motifs, I asked them to please come back by in about half an hour when you’d be here,” he said.

  “How long ago was that?” I asked.

  “About an hour ago.”

  I giggled. “You’re wonderful . . . and I truly do appreciate your holding the fort for me.”

  “Now, what about you?” he asked. “I thought you’d come back here bursting with tales of all the fun you’d had. I figured you’d be spouting Old English to the point that I wouldn’t be able to understand thee a whit.”

  “Yeah . . . well . . .” I opened the bag, took out the burgers, and handed Ted his. “These were made by Captain Moe, so that’s a plus . . . maybe two or three pluses.”

  “So give me the minuses.”

  I told him about Hecate and the three witches of Macbeth. “I realize it was only for fun and that they’re probably being spooky when predicting everyone’s future, but that entire episode made me feel off-kilter. Especially the part where faux Jessica told me I should watch my back.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m on edge over finding Clara”—I lowered my voice—“and the fact that she was murdered.” I unwrapped my burger before looking up at him. “Will Manu be interviewing me again?” He’d questioned me briefly before I’d left last night, and, of course, I’d already told Ted everything I knew.

  “More than likely,” Ted said. “He’ll need to make sure you didn’t forget anything when you gave him your statement last night . . . see if there’s something else you might’ve remembered . . . that sort of thing.”

  “Right . . . because until the killer has been found, as the person who found the body, I’m still a suspect.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “Time of death should put you in the clear.”

  “Really? Or are you just telling me that to make me feel better?” I asked.

  He bit into his burger and then held up his index finger to let me know he couldn’t answer with his mouth full.

  “Hmmm . . . well played, detective,” I said. “When I talk with Manu, I should probably stick to the facts and not mention the gossip I heard while out exploring the festival, right?”

  He swallowed. “Absolutely right. You should spill the gossip to me, and let’s see what we can make of it.”

  “I didn’t hear much,” I said. “I asked around to see if anyone had seen anybody lurking near the merchants’ building that looked like he or she didn’t belong there or might be up to something, but no one noticed anything. The witch faux Angela did say this was no random act of violence . . . that Clara knew her killer. But then, that, too, could have been merely some drama to add to the witches’ flair.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with her, though. I mean, it’s an understandable observation,” he said. “The killer strangled Clara and then left.”

  “Someone had to have seen something, Ted. A person can’t just come into a crowded festival, kill a woman, and then leave without a trace.”

  “The festival wasn’t so crowded last night. And sometimes crowds are the easiest places in which to disappear.”

  We fell silent as some Faire-goers—not the two ladies who’d been by earlier with all the questions for Ted—came and bought some collars and cuffs from me. Once they left, we finished our burgers.

  “We’re too late for lunch, Paul,” said Vera, as she and Paul approached our booth.

  I wiped my mouth on a napkin. “You guys look adorable!”

  “Thank you!” Vera twirled so I could further admire her gold brocade dress. The matching Tudor French hood had a white tulle veil that flowed out behind it.

  “You’re positively elegant,” I told Vera. I turned to Paul. “And you . . .”

  Vera hadn’t been kidding about that blousy orange surcoat with the huge white ruffled collar. He also wore a floppy hat and carried a lute.

  “You’re quite the minstrel,” I finished.

  He swept the floppy hat off and bowed. “Thank you, m’lady!”

  “Might you play us a tune?” Ted asked.

  “Maybe later,” said Paul. “I’m here mainly as a reporter rather than a troubadour.” He lowered his voice. “Especially given the events of yesterday evening.”

  Vera jerked her thumb toward the booth beside mine. “What’s with the old nun? Is she a friend of Nellie’s?”

  “She’s a festival volunteer,” I said. “Her story to me was that Nellie was under the weather. I’m guessing the fairgrounds committee is trying to keep the death hush-hush for fear that it will scare people away.”

  “If anything, it would do just the opposite,” said Vera. “People can be gruesome. The festival would probably have a big bump in attendance from rubbernecks who wanted to see where someone died.”

  “That’s true,” Ted said. “What’s your take on everything, Paul?”

  “If it’s the committee’s hope to keep Clara’s murder under wraps, they’re out of luck,” he said.

  Ted jerked his head backward, indicating that Vera and Paul should come deeper into the booth so the four of us could talk with less fear of being overheard.

  I stood and we went to the back corner of the side where Clara’s booth was located. We knew no one would be shopping in there.

  “Why do you say that?” Ted asked Paul.

  “Of course you know the coroner is finishing up the autopsy today and that every reporter in Tallulah Falls County is going to want the details—including yours truly.”

  “Actually, I’m currently out of the loop on this one,” said Ted. “Nellie Davis had me removed from the case.”

  Vera gasped. “That old shrew! Why would she do such a thing?” She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe she had something to do with her sister’s death, and she knows that if you’re on the case, you’ll find it out.”

  “The lady in the jewelry booth told me she saw Nellie and Clara arguing yesterday,” I said.

  “I haven’t been to her booth yet,” said Vera. “I came directly to yours. Does she have some pretty pieces?”

  “She does.” I placed my hands on my collarbones to draw her attention to my choker. “I bought this from her. I’m going to send Mom her information.”

  “Ooh, that’s lovely. And it matches your dress perf
ectly. Paul, we have to go there next.”

  “Of course, dear,” said Paul. “Is there any way you can override Nellie and get back on the case, Ted?”

  “Not as things stand right now,” said Ted. “But I’m still unofficially looking into things. And I know you well enough to guess that you are, too.”

  Paul smiled. “Absolutely.”

  “What have you found out about Clara so far?” Ted asked.

  “She was widowed about six months ago,” said Paul. “She has two children and four stepchildren. I get the feeling that she and the stepchildren don’t get along very well.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Because she was Clara,” said Vera. “You’d met the woman.”

  “True,” said Paul. “But she and the stepchildren were at odds over the fact that Clara—who’d only been married to their father for two years—was appointed the administrator of his estate. She’d been fairly lenient in the disbursement of funds to her own children, but she wasn’t as generous with her husband’s brood.”

  “That figures,” Vera said. “And the man wasn’t even the father to Clara’s children.” She shook her head.

  “How do you plan to write this up?” I asked Paul.

  “Well, naturally, I won’t mention her history with her stepchildren because I imagine Manu is looking into their alibis and things of that nature,” he said. “And while I’ll mention that she’d recently opened a shop in Tallulah Falls, I certainly won’t comment on its similarity to your shop, Marcy. That sort of thing is fodder for a tabloid, not a respected newspaper, eh?”

  We agreed that he was correct.

  “I imagine the article will be brief. I’ll state that she was a widow who’d recently started a business called Knitted and Needled in town, that she was the sister to Nellie Davis, owner of Scentsibilities, and that she is believed to have been murdered here in her booth at the Renaissance Faire.”

  “‘Believed to have been’?” I echoed.

  “Of course. There’s always the possibility she was murdered elsewhere and moved here, isn’t there?” he asked.

  “I suppose,” I said.

  Ted gave his head just the slightest of shakes, and I had to admit that when I found Clara, I thought perhaps she’d gotten that scarf hung up in the rocking chair and accidentally strangled herself. I didn’t believe she’d been killed at another location.