by Amanda Lee
“How about Sir Pepperoni of Pizza?”
He frowned. “Now that’s just crazy talk. You’ve been out in the sun too long.”
I huffed and slapped his shoulder.
Angus woofed.
“I can come up with good names, can’t I, Sir Angus O’Ruff?”
He woofed again.
“See?” I asked Ted.
“Yes, I see. You might not be in the same league as Chuck Jones, but you’re pretty good.”
“How do you even know Chuck Jones wrote the Bugs Bunny cartoon where Bugs went to Camelot?” I asked.
“I don’t,” Ted said. “But he wrote a bunch of them. How do you know he didn’t write that one?”
“Touché.” I smiled. “Be sure and cheer for Sir Reginald at the joust. I’m anxious to see how my honor fares in this tournament.”
* * *
When Ted returned from the tournament, he gleefully told me that Sir Reginald’s jousting attempt was nothing more than a “dream within a dream,” as our pal Will might say.
He took a dramatic stance, feet shoulder width apart, hands out in front of him. “Picture it. Sir Reginald rides onto the field on a magnificent white horse. It holds its head high majestically as Sir Reginald looks around and waves to the spectators. After all, many of them bought him favors to carry into the joust.” He gave me a pointed look.
I laughed. I felt I was enjoying Ted’s rendition more than I would have appreciated the joust itself.
“Sir Giles, the competitor, rides out on an equally handsome bay. He pays little attention to the onlookers because he appears to be concentrating on the match,” Ted continued. “King Duncan gives the signal for the joust to begin. A trumpeter sounds a couple toots, and off they go! Sir Reginald’s noble steed races toward the center of the field. Sir Reginald slides off the back of his horse!”
“Oh, no!” I tried not to laugh as I said it, but Ted was laughing really hard—it must have been a funny sight. “Was he hurt?”
“I imagine his ego was bruised,” Ted said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “And, unless he padded his pants with all those dollar favors, I’d say his butt was, too!”
At that, I did laugh. Poor Sir Reginald. Maybe my dollar had gone to a good cause after all. Soon I was wiping tears from my eyes, too.
“I’m definitely going to have to freshen my makeup after this,” I said. “Will you help me cover everything up so we can go on home?”
“Sure. Are you planning to go by the Stitch?”
“No. I don’t want Julie to think I’m checking up on her. I’m sure she’s doing a great job.” At that, my phone emitted the first few bars of the theme song from the television show Law & Order. Riley.
“Hold that thought,” I told Ted before answering the call.
“Hey, Marcy,” Riley said. “I talked with Mom, and she thinks it’s a great idea that she keep working part-time while we hire someone full-time in the office. Give Julie a call and see if she’s interested, would you?”
“I’ll do it right away,” I promised.
After ending the call, I turned to Ted. “On second thought, I need to run by the shop and talk with Julie about working for Riley.”
“Okay. I’ll take Angus home and feed him so that’ll be one less thing you’ll have to do when you get there.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But let’s all leave here together, all right?”
“Sure, babe.”
I know it was crazy, but there could potentially still be a killer in our midst. I didn’t want to take any chances.
Chapter Sixteen
When I went into the shop, Julie was dusting the shelves, and Amber was sitting on the sofa facing the window playing a game on her phone.
Amber jumped up when she saw me come in. “Marcy! Hi! Cool outfit! You look great!”
I smiled. I’d forgotten how exciting everything was when you were a teenager.
“Thank you, Amber. To tell you the truth, though, I envy you your jeans and T-shirt right now.” I put my thumb through the armhole of the vest and held it out slightly. “This thing got so hot today!”
“I can imagine,” said Julie. “Did you do well?”
“I did. Business was fairly steady all day.” I then entertained them both with the story of Sir Reginald and how my “honor” bit the dust when the knight came out from under his horse. “Ted said he hoped my favor and any others Sir Reginald had managed to obtain had been used to pad his breeches!”
We all had a good laugh about that, Amber especially.
When Amber stopped laughing, she asked, “Where’s Angus?”
“He spent much of the afternoon at the festival with Ted and me, and then Ted took him on home,” I said. “The poor baby is exhausted.”
“Angus or Ted?” Julie asked.
I laughed. “I was talking about Angus, but I’d say they both are. The reason I stopped by is to ask if you’d be interested in working for Riley Kendall.”
Julie’s eyes widened. “I’d love it. What would I be doing?”
“Riley—she’s the pretty lawyer that comes to some of the classes, right?” Amber asked, flipping her long, honey-colored hair back.
“Yes,” I answered.
Julie gave her daughter a sharp look to warn her not to interrupt.
“Camille, Riley’s mom, is her administrative assistant,” I explained. “They’ve been keeping the baby at the office, but as Laura grows, it’s getting harder and harder for the women to get any work done. Camille is going to leave—or at least only work part-time—so she can keep Laura at home.”
“So she’s looking for a secretary?” Julie asked.
“From what I gather, Camille is like a receptionist, secretary, and paralegal all rolled into one,” I said.
“Goodness . . . do you think I could do that?” Julie raised her hand to her mouth.
“Don’t you dare bite your nails, Mom,” said Amber. “And why couldn’t you do it? You did practically everything at that stupid bank, and they didn’t even appreciate you for it.”
I smiled as Julie lowered her hand. It was cute to see the mom and the daughter switch places. “I’m with Amber. I know you can do it. Why don’t you give Riley a call at her office first thing Monday morning?” I wrote Riley’s office number on a small slip of paper and handed it to Julie.
“Okay,” she said with a smile.
“Yay! We have something to celebrate this evening!” cried Amber.
“Don’t be too hasty. I don’t have the job yet,” said Julie.
“But you have an interview. That’s good enough for me. Can we get pizza on the way home?”
“We can get pizza.” Julie shook her head at me. “Like, I need pizza.”
“Of course you do. We all need pizza every now and then. And you’re celebrating.” I winked at Amber. “If the two of you see a disheveled knight walking along the road with dirty pants . . . speed up!”
They both laughed.
“Yeah,” said Amber. “I wouldn’t want him charging us a dollar for the privilege of giving him a ride.”
“Before I go, did anything odd happen today?” I asked Julie, slightly inclining my head in the direction of Clara’s shop.
“Fewer gawkers than yesterday, so that was good. I hope all that will end soon,” said Julie. “One of the customers mentioned that Clara’s funeral service is being held Tuesday morning.”
“I wonder if Nellie plans on taking over her booth after her sister’s funeral,” I said. “For the past two days, festival volunteers have been overseeing it.”
“Well, I don’t mean to be hateful, but I imagine the longer Nellie stays away, the better for you,” Julie said. “She’s unjustly mistreated you ever since you’ve been here, and I’m afraid she’d be horrible to you if she had to occupy a space next to you all day.”
“Actually, I don’t see the person in her booth throughout the day other than to say hello and good-bye,” I said. “I did talk with somebody calling herself S
ister Mary Alice yesterday when I shopped in Nellie’s booth.”
“You actually shopped at her booth?” Amber asked. “You bought stuff from somebody who treats you like dirt? Girl, you need a backbone implant as much as Mom does!”
“Amber!” Julie’s eyes and mouth both opened wide.
I laughed. “That’s all right, Julie. She’s right. I’ve tried my best to make Nellie like me these past few months because I absolutely hate it when someone doesn’t. But the reason I bought some things from her booth was because, one, she had some really great stuff, and, two, I felt bad because Clara had died, and I wanted to help somehow. I know I can’t take food or send flowers, so I bought a few things.”
“That wasn’t a lack of backbone,” Julie said, with a firm look at her daughter. “That was compassion and caring.”
“And class,” said Amber.
“Thanks, guys,” I said. “I have to run, though. Ted and I are having dinner with Reggie and Manu this evening, and I need to go home and get changed.”
“Have fun,” said Julie. “And thank you so much for letting me know about Riley.”
“She’s looking forward to talking with you,” I said.
When I got out to the Jeep, I called Riley and left her a voice mail telling her that Julie was interested in the job and that I’d told her to call the office first thing Monday morning.
* * *
The Singh home had been decorated with an eclectic blend of Indian and coastal decor. It sounds strange, but it was beautiful. The living room walls were painted a soft cream, and the floor was a dark hardwood. Covering most of the floor was an Indian rug containing shades of brown, blue, beige, and copper. A light blue sofa matched the color in the rug and was flanked by rattan rockers with blue-and-copper-striped cushions. An elaborate painting replicating the ceiling of the Taj Mahal hung on the wall directly across from the door.
Since we hadn’t had time to stop anywhere to get a hostess gift, I’d brought Reggie one of the bottles of essential oils I’d bought from Nellie’s booth at the festival. I’d taken the small apothecary bottle of sandalwood oil, wrapped it in white tissue paper, and tied it with a green ribbon. I gave the bottle to Reggie as we walked in.
“I’m so glad you could come,” she said. “Manu just put steaks on the grill. They’re thick, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
Manu joined us in the living room. “Hey, folks! Marcy, you look lovely. I half expected you to be wearing a Renaissance Faire costume.”
“No,” I said with a laugh. “I was happy to change out of that thing.”
Reggie opened the gift and uncorked the apothecary bottle. “Oh, this smells amazing.” She held it out to Manu.
He sniffed, cautiously at first, and then more willingly. “That does smell good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” said his wife. “Do you think Marcy has bad taste?”
“Well, she is involved with Ted,” he said.
“Ow!” Ted put his hand over his heart as if he’d been shot. “That was brutal.”
“You know he’s only joking,” Reggie said. “He’s in a mood this evening.” She eyed her husband. “You haven’t been in the wine already, have you?”
“No, I have not. You women are always suspicious,” he said. “Speaking of wine, may I get you two something to drink? Wine, tea, water, soda?”
“I’d love some water,” I said.
“I don’t need anything right now,” Ted said.
Reggie said she’d get the water, and Manu invited Ted out onto the patio to help with the steaks.
I went on into the living room and sat on one of the rattan rockers. When Reggie brought in our glasses of water, she handed me mine and sat on the sofa, curling her legs up under her.
“I suppose you already know that helping with the steaks was code for talk about the murder of Nellie Davis’s sister,” she said.
“I figured. Any leads?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses back up on her nose. “Manu has interviewed so many people. He’s really missing having Ted on this case.”
“Ted’s missing being on the case,” I said. “I think it’s crazy that Nellie had him kicked off for merely talking with Clara.”
“So do I. But apparently everyone who’s ever talked with Clara is a suspect in her murder . . . at least, it seems that way. Manu is getting home late every night exhausted from talking with Clara’s siblings, children, stepchildren, neighbors. . . .” She sighed. “Thursday night it was the people from the festival. Yesterday he spent the day talking with festival folks and the evening talking with others who knew Clara.”
“What’s Nellie saying?” I asked. “I know you don’t know much of the inside information, but one of the merchants told me she saw Nellie and Clara arguing before Nellie left for food.”
“Nellie denied arguing with her sister that day,” said Reggie. “I only know that because Manu was aggravated about it. He said that more than one person had reported the two of them arguing but that Nellie denied it. If she won’t be honest with him about that—even if she’d said, ‘We weren’t arguing; that’s just how we talked with each other’—then he can’t trust anything she says.”
“Does Manu feel that Nellie is a suspect, then?” I asked.
“As both our men are fond of saying . . .”
“Everyone’s a suspect.” We said it in unison and then laughed.
“I don’t think he really believes Nellie killed Clara, though,” Reggie said. “I’m sorry you’re the one who found Clara, by the way. Are you doing all right?”
“I keep wondering if there was something more I could have done, but everyone assures me there wasn’t. Apparently, she was dead when I got there,” I said. “And there are so many people in costume at the festival. Even on Thursday, people were in costume, and the Faire didn’t even officially start until Friday. It would have been so easy for someone to slip in, kill Clara, and then discard their costume and escape.”
“Manu hasn’t said anything about finding any discarded costumes . . . but, of course, the killer could have ditched the costume off-site.”
“That would’ve been the smarter thing to do.” I instantly thought of the Crow. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. How are things going at the library?”
“Traffic has been a bit slow since the Ren Faire started,” she said. “Before that, patrons were checking out books on the Renaissance, the history of the English monarchy, pirates, and popular Renaissance festivals like crazy.”
“I know what you mean. I can hardly keep black floss in stock due to the popularity of blackwork during the period.”
“Maybe you and the Ren Faire will bring about a revival of blackwork in Tallulah Falls.” She smiled. “I prefer my chikankari, but blackwork is beautiful, too.”
Manu called that the steaks were ready, and Reggie and I went into the dining room.
* * *
On the way home, I leaned back in my seat and took Ted’s hand. “That was fun.”
“It was,” he said. “I enjoyed it.”
“Are you gonna tell me what you and Manu talked about out on the patio?”
He chuckled. “You gonna tell me what you and Reggie talked about in the living room?”
“I’ll bet they’re the same,” I said. “Clara’s murder.”
“Ding, ding, ding! Give the lady a prize.”
“I love prizes. What did I win?”
“How about an all-expense-paid trip to Merry Olde Tallulah Falls?” he asked.
I groaned. “Again?”
“So you’re not enjoying the Ren Faire?”
“I am. . . . I would have enjoyed it more had Clara not been killed and if I wasn’t looking for murder suspects around every corner.” I sighed. “Reggie talked as if Manu doesn’t have any really solid leads.”
“He doesn’t,” Ted said. “He confirmed what Paul told us about Clara being lenient with her dead husband’s funds with he
r own children but stingy with his. That certainly didn’t endear her to her stepchildren.”
“Now that Clara’s dead, do the stepchildren inherit everything?” I asked.
“More than likely.”
“And Manu’s leaning toward one of them as the murderer?”
Ted inclined his head. “You know I can’t go into specifics, but the stepchildren have alibis, and Clara had more enemies than you can imagine.”
“Oh, I can imagine it, all right,” I said. “I’d never met a more abrasive person in my life . . . with the possible exception of Nellie. I wish Manu could put you back on the case.”
“So do I, Inch-High. But, unofficially, I’m doing what I can.”
“Well, unofficially, so am I.”
Chapter Seventeen
On Sunday morning, I wore my blue jacquard skirt, off-white peasant blouse, and black corset vest. The worst thing about these costumes was that I had to wear flats. I couldn’t even wear wedge espadrilles with a slight platform. I had to try to look authentic.
As I walked from the parking lot to the merchants’ building, a woman fell into step beside me. I glanced over and saw that it was the witch that reminded me of Kathy Bates, the numerologist.
“Good morning,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, sweetie. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. Are you having fun at the festival?”
“Ah, it’s a job, I suppose.” She gave a rueful little smile. “I hope we didn’t scare you overmuch when we told your fortune the other day.”
“I’ll admit it did make me nervous,” I said. “So it was all make-believe?”
“Now, I didn’t say that,” she said, her smile quickly fading. “We discussed . . . your situation . . . after you left.”
I stopped walking, and so did she. We stepped over out of the way of the rest of the pedestrian traffic.
“What do you mean, you discussed my situation?” I asked.
“You’re involving yourself in something that doesn’t concern you,” said faux Kathy. “You’re asking questions, trying to help the police do their job, hoping someone saw the killer. We feel that if you don’t back off, you’re going to anger the murderer . . . and that he might retaliate against you.”
