by Amanda Lee
“Are you sure about this?” I asked Ted for the umpteenth time.
“I’m positive. I can’t guarantee that Mother will take him . . . her?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I’ve been calling the bunny a her because Clara did. I guess she’d know.”
“Anyway, I can’t promise you anything, but I think Mother is our best bet,” he said.
“For a pet.”
Ted laughed. “My mother doesn’t cook, if that’s what you’re getting at. The condo staff takes care of all her meals.”
When Ted had first told me that his mom lived in an “upscale condo,” I didn’t dream it was upscale enough to have a staff. And then he took me to this upscale condo, and the place looked like a resort hotel. It even had a doorman. His name was Bill. I quickly learned that the emphasis was on ease at this facility. Residents had chefs, maids, hairstylists, manicurists, and a nursing staff at their disposal. Of course, they were free to utilize these services or not, but the perks were part of the complete package. Mama Nash was living large! I thought everybody should be so lucky!
“Do they allow pets at your mom’s condo?” I asked.
“Yes, if they’re small and house-trained.” He glanced over at me. “Don’t worry.”
“I can’t help it! You didn’t even call ahead to let her know we’re coming.”
“Trust me,” he said. “It’s better that way.”
“But what if she isn’t there?”
“Stop worrying.”
I cupped my hands over Clover’s long ears, though it appeared the little creature was asleep and not listening anyway. “You know, springing a bouquet on someone is one thing . . . but a bunny is something else entirely.”
“Of course it is. Bunnies have a much longer shelf life than flowers.”
“I certainly hope so.”
And then we were pulling into the drive.
Parking.
Getting out of the Jeep.
We were probably looking as goofy as could be. Ted was leading Angus, and I was carrying Clover. And we were heading into the lobby to call Veronica to let her know we were there.
Bill, the doorman, was probably calling security.
Or maybe not.
He stepped out onto the sidewalk to greet us. “Well, what a fine crew of furry beasties you have with you this evening! Please allow me to call your mother for you, Mr. Nash. It appears everyone’s hands are full.”
“Thank you, Bill,” said Ted. “If you don’t mind, ask her to meet us in the garden.”
“Will do,” said Bill.
“Oh, and the furry beasties are a surprise,” I said quickly before Bill could go back inside.
Bill smiled, nodded, and went to make the call.
Ted strode toward a walkway that led from the front of the facility to the back. Round stepping-stones took us to a garden that was even more breathtaking than I could have imagined. White Adirondack chairs, benches, and swings flanked on each side by trellises provided plenty of seating for the residents. Flower beds were separated from the well-manicured lawn by landscaping timbers and contained torch lilies, blue-violet hydrangeas, and chrysanthemums in yellow, white, pink, and orange. Lovely evergreen shrubs with clusters of white flowers, weeping Japanese maples, and heather added more color and beauty.
“Clover would love it here,” I said, my voice hushed with reverence. “I love it here.”
Ted smiled, put his hand at the small of my back, and led me over to a bench. Angus, of course, wanted to sniff all these wonderful things, most of which he’d never seen. Ted took him for a stroll around the garden while I sat on the bench with Clover. I was afraid to put the bunny down. What if she ran off into the shrubbery and wouldn’t come back?
We had been waiting only a couple of minutes when Veronica emerged. She wore jeans, a lightweight red sweater, and tan peep-toe wedge sandals. Her light gray hair was cut in an angular bob that framed her face, especially offsetting those brilliant blue eyes that were so much like Ted’s.
“Hello,” she said, walking over to the bench toward Clover and me. “What have we here?”
“Hi, Mother,” said Ted. He and Angus joined us.
“Good evening, Veronica,” I said.
She sat beside me. “Have you added a bunny to your brood?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Clover here belonged to a woman who . . . passed away.”
“We’re trying to find the poor little thing a home,” Ted said. “We hoped you might know of someone who’s looking for a pet.”
“May I?” She held out her hands, and I gave her the bunny. She cradled the brown and white rabbit on her shoulder, carefully supporting its feet with one hand.
“Is Clover house-trained?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “There was a litter box included among her belongings.”
“That’s good.” She held the bunny out from her and looked into her face. “Are you a good girl?”
Clover twitched her little pink nose. I, personally, took that as a yes.
“And you say that Clover’s owner died?” Veronica asked, returning the bunny to her shoulder.
“Actually, she was murdered,” said Ted.
“Given your line of work, I didn’t think she’d gone peacefully,” said Veronica. “I worry about you.” She silently petted Clover for a moment before continuing. “Who was she?”
Ted gave her a quick rundown of the entire situation, including the fact that Nellie Davis had pushed Manu into taking Ted off the case.
“That’s silly,” Veronica said. “It seems to me this woman is trying to use a personal vendetta to pass blame for her sister’s death.” She gazed up at the darkening sky. “You say this Nellie was seen arguing with her sister before she left for food?”
“I’m not sure anyone officially made that statement, but we understand that to be the case,” said Ted.
Veronica frowned at her son. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t kill the sister herself, leave to deflect blame, and then decide she had a wonderful scapegoat when Marcy found the body.”
“At this point everyone’s a suspect,” Ted said.
I was sure that both his mother and I had known that line was coming.
“Including, so it seems, the two of you.” Veronica bent and set Clover on the grass.
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll run off?” I asked.
“If she does, you and Ted will catch her.” She smiled.
Angus immediately went to his new buddy and licked the bunny’s head. He then lay down, and Clover nestled between his large paws.
“They’re sweet together,” said Veronica. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep her?”
“I really can’t,” I said. “I know nothing about rabbits.”
“They aren’t hard to care for. Ted and Tiffany had a couple at one point in their childhood.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose many children do at some time or another.”
“She’d be good company for you, Mother,” said Ted.
She rolled her eyes at him. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to resist. That’s why you brought her here.”
He grinned. “Would I do something like that?”
“Yes. You would.” Her face softened. “I suppose you brought her things with you?”
“Of course. They’re in the Jeep. Want me to go get them?” he asked.
“Please.” She huffed in mock exasperation. “Have Bill help you.”
Ted handed me Angus’s leash before trotting off to unload the Jeep.
“I was surprised when Ted told me he thought you’d want her,” I said.
Veronica arched a brow. “I don’t strike you as the warm and fuzzy type?”
Well, no, she didn’t, but I couldn’t admit that. Instead, I said, “I just didn’t think you’d want the responsibility of caring for a pet. It can be hard sometimes.”
“I know it can. Ted and his sister had lots of pets growing up, and it always fell to me to care for them,” sh
e said. “I haven’t had a pet in years. I think it will be a nice change of pace.”
“I’m glad. She seems awfully sweet.”
“Yes, she does,” said Veronica. “About that other matter . . . If I were you, I’d simply enjoy the Renaissance festival without being flanked on either side by two sisters who despise me . . . God rest the one woman’s soul.”
“Clara,” I said.
“Whatever. She seems to have been a horrible person, she’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about that. Life is for the living . . . so enjoy the Faire.” Veronica steepled her fingers. “If the sister returns to manage her booth—though I doubt she will because that would be wretchedly crass—then simply ignore her. Certainly don’t engage in any sort of conversation with her. She’ll only hurl accusations and insults.”
“Okay,” I said. “Although I keep thinking that if I could talk with her, I could find out more about who Clara saw that day, what was going on in her life, who might want to kill her.”
“That’s not your duty,” said Veronica. “That obligation rests solely on the shoulders of Manu Singh . . . especially since his head detective is off the case.”
Ted returned to the garden. “Bill and I got everything into your condo. I figured you’d want to take a look at it and arrange it however you’d like.”
“Of course. Thank you, darling.”
“It looked as if I was interrupting a serious conversation,” Ted said.
“We were talking about Nellie,” I said. “Your mom doesn’t feel I should try to communicate with her.”
“It’s obvious the woman resents Marcy and wouldn’t believe that she truly wanted to help her find her sister’s killer . . . if indeed she didn’t strangle Clara herself,” said Veronica. “Trying to talk with this Nellie would be like trying to hug a skunk—painful, beneficial to no one, and with lingering consequences. I’d leave it alone.”
“That’s a valid point,” said Ted. “Manu has already been interviewing her, anyway. He’s an excellent interrogator, and he’ll find out whatever she knows.”
“I know,” I said. “You’re both exactly right. I’ll avoid Nellie like the plague . . . or a skunk.”
“Good.” Veronica turned to Ted. “As for you, I believe you should leave this case entirely up to Chief Singh.”
“Mother, I’m the best detective on the force.”
“I know that,” she said. “But you are not on this case, and it would be counterproductive to pursue it. I’m sure you have other cases.”
“I do, but—”
“I’m only expressing an opinion,” said Veronica. “This Nellie sounds like a beast to me. Both of you would do well to steer clear of her since she’s trying to implicate you in her sister’s death. Remember your Miranda rights—anything you say can and will be used against you. She will surely twist everything around to make you appear guilty.”
“She has a point,” I said to Ted.
“Besides, if Nellie didn’t kill her sister, then whoever did might have designs on murdering her next,” said Veronica. “Until you find the motive, you can’t narrow down your field of suspects. And if Nellie winds up dead, neither of you wants to be the one finding her body.”
“Were you ever a detective yourself?” I asked Veronica.
She laughed. “No. I simply read a lot . . . and I try to keep informed about my son’s line of work.”
“We should get going,” Ted said. “Marcy has an early start tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you for taking Clover,” I said. “If it doesn’t work out, please let us know and we’ll find her another home.”
“All right.” Veronica stood. “Come, Clover.”
The bunny got up and hopped over to Veronica’s feet. She bent and picked it up.
“Good night.” She looked down at Angus. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring your friend to visit you soon.”
Ted was quiet on the drive back home.
“You’re thinking about what your mom said, aren’t you?” I asked.
He nodded. “She’s right, you know. You should absolutely stay away from Nellie. You won’t get any useful information from her; and if someone has a grudge against both sisters, you could be putting yourself in danger.”
“And you?”
“I won’t approach Nellie, either,” he said. “Manu is getting all the information we need from her. But I won’t stop investigating this case on my own until Clara’s killer has been caught.”
Chapter Fourteen
On Saturday morning, I arrived at the Ren Faire looking more like a merchant and less like a noblewoman. I wore my red jacquard skirt, a cream-colored, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse—that I had resisted the urge to embellish with blackwork, mind you—and a black corset vest.
Ted was working from home, and he’d taken Angus along with him. He said they’d stop by and see me later.
I got to the fairgrounds before the gates opened, but people were already lining up. I anticipated a busy day as the good folks of Tallulah Falls were eager to make an adventure of stepping back in time.
The horses were being prepared for the jousting tournaments as I made my way to the merchants’ building. As I sidestepped them, a man wearing a black hat, a cape, and a gold Plague Doctor Venetian mask blocked my path.
He held up a carved staff. “Where might ye be going, lass?”
The man looked creepy, especially since I couldn’t see his face, and something about him made me uncomfortable. “I’m on my way to the merchants’ building, good doctor. I must hurry to my stall before the gates open or else my partner will give me a thrashing.”
Okay, that last part was a lie . . . and I felt bad about telling it. But for some reason, I wanted the man to think someone was waiting for me and would come looking for me if I didn’t arrive at my booth soon.
“I warn ye to be careful among those merchants,” he said. “There might be a viper in your midst.”
I hesitated. Did he know something about Clara’s murder?
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“One of you suffered a dreadful fate on the eve of the Faire. Keep a weather eye out, my friend. The evildoers might not be finished yet.”
I swallowed hard. “What’s your name, good doctor?”
“I’m known only as the Crow,” he said.
Then he walked away, leaving me confused and bewildered.
I hurried on to the merchants’ building. I’d left the booth tidy yesterday, and today everything was still in order. However, the encounter with the Crow had made me nervous, and so I bustled around the booth straightening everything again.
A woman dressed as a washerwoman in a white muslin dress with a blue checked gingham overdress and matching muffin cap stopped by my booth.
“A merry morning to ye, fellow laborer!” she called out cheerily.
“Good morning!” I went closer to facilitate chatting with her. I was eager for some conversation that would clear my mind of my experience with the Crow. “How are you today?”
“I am happy to say nothing is awry . . . at least, as of yet. My name is Jan, and I will be thy neighbor for the day, as Mistress Nellie is still in mourning.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jan. I’m Marcy. How is Nellie . . . er, Mistress Nellie, by the way?”
“Ah, she grieves as any good sister would,” said Jan.
“Of course. Were you here on Thursday?”
She shook her head. “Nay, I was not . . . and glad of it I am.”
Gee, she was really taking her part to heart.
“I was,” I said. “In fact, I found Clara.”
“Oh, you poor dear. What a shock that must have been!”
“Yes, it was.” I frowned. “Have you met a man wearing a Venetian Renaissance costume with a gold, long-nosed mask who calls himself the Crow?”
“Nay, I have not. Did he behave in an untoward manner?”
“No,” I said. “He was just . . . creepy. He told me to beware because th
e evildoers might not be finished yet.”
She chortled. “Oh, my dear, you must not take him seriously. We are all to extend warnings about Macbeth and his treacherous wife and to encourage our customers to visit with Hecate and her sisters.” She lowered her voice. “It’s all part of the fun.”
“Oh . . .” I forced a laugh. “Of course. I guess Clara’s death has just put me on edge.”
“Certainly, it has. But now we must put aside our worries, for the show must go on,” she said. “I will be in thy neighboring stall should you need me.”
“Thank you, Jan . . . and likewise.”
I didn’t care what Washerwoman Jan thought. There was something about the Crow that was downright ominous, and he hadn’t been warning me about Macbeth.
* * *
I was delighted when, soon after the gates opened, Riley, her husband, Keith, and their beautiful baby daughter, Laura, came to visit me. Riley was dressed as a noble lady in a rose empire-waist gown, Keith was dressed as a knight, and Laura was a baby faerie.
“You guys look fantastic!” I said, rising from my chair and going to hug Riley and to take the baby from her. Laura had inherited her parents’ dark hair and olive skin tone and her mother’s blue eyes. She was so precious in her green leotard, lavender tutu, and green and purple wings that I could hardly stand it. I kissed the baby’s cheek, and she cooed and giggled.
“Oh, I love her so,” I said to Riley. “Please let me have her. You two can make another.”
Riley laughed. “You’d regret that request at about”—she looked at Keith—“what? Two thirty in the morning?”
“Two forty-five,” he said. “You could set your watch by it.”
“Here, let me take a photo of the best-looking family at the Faire.” I handed Laura back to Keith, and the threesome posed while I snapped a picture with my camera.
“Thank you,” I said. “I might even pass it along to Paul Samms, if you don’t mind, so he can put it in the newspaper.”
