The Minstrel and the Masquerade

by Lila K Bell

I tried to get back to sleep, but my brain had already kicked itself into puzzle-solving gear and after a few minutes I gave it up as a lost cause. With a sigh of frustration, I sprawled my arms and legs across the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  Someone in that ballroom was a murderer.

  The realization hadn’t quite sunk in as I’d enjoyed the chunks of brownie in my ice cream. I’d still been riding the high of the party and the shock of what had happened. Last night, Margery’s death had simply been an interesting tragedy that had taken place in the middle of a crowd.

  In the early morning light, I was able to see things more clearly. She’d died in a crowd of people I knew, however vaguely. They were people who had brought me gifts and wished me a happy birthday. And one of them had taken advantage of the festivities to slip something into a woman’s drink — mostly likely — and kill her.

  For one thing, that was just rude. Way to steal my thunder.

  More than that, and with darker considerations, it struck way too close to home. The murder of Barnaby Coleman had been detached. My only association with the case had been an acquaintanceship with Coleman’s son, Jeremy, and the fact that Coleman had possessed a book I’d hoped to steal.

  Margery Brooks had died at my party.

  I shivered and pulled the blanket up to my chin, but that didn’t get rid of the slick, oily feeling creeping over my flesh. In the end, I jumped out of bed and headed into the bathroom to hop under the warm spray of the shower. Getting clean didn’t make anything better, but the few minutes it took to wash my hair and scrub off the rest of last night’s make up was a blissful distraction

  Ten minutes later, I got out, dressed in my usual jeans and T-shirt, and headed downstairs to breakfast.

  Mother and Gramps were already at the table, Charlie lying at Gramps’s feet. My father was nowhere to be seen, but by the water running upstairs, he was awake. Everyone in their usual place at their usual time. As though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “I didn’t hear you come home last night,” Mother said.

  “It was late,” I said. “I wasn’t really in the mood to go to bed.”

  Gramps broke a bite of bacon from his plate and slipped it under the table. I raised an eyebrow and he brought his finger to his lips with a wink. I suppressed a smile and didn’t call him out. If he wanted to teach his dog bad tricks, that was his choice and he could deal with the repercussions.

  “I don’t blame you. I don’t think I got a wink last night.” She sipped her coffee and shook her head. “Can you believe it? That someone would have the audacity to behave in such a way at someone else’s party?”

  It took all my restraint not to spit out my coffee. Okay, fine, I’d had similar thoughts while I’d lain in bed thinking over the details of Margery’s murder, but it had never occurred to me to actually be offended by her death — or to ever say it out loud. But that was my mother for you.

  “Rosie,” Gramps tried to cut in, but Mother had begun and there would be no stopping her until she finished.

  “Think about what this will do to our family name! Who will want to come to one of my parties if they think there’s a chance they’ll be murdered by eating a sandwich? It’s unthinkable.”

  “Before you start cancelling all your social engagements,” Gramps said, raising his voice just enough that she couldn’t speak over him, “maybe turn your thoughts to more constructive solutions. Offer empathy and compassion to the family of the woman who died. Show some support for the community. That way, when people think of your name, they’ll know you for the kind and caring woman you are, who was caught in a tragedy and rose above.”

  I didn’t know what I wanted to laugh at more: my mother blatant disregard for Margery’s Brooks’s life, or Gramps’s attempt to make her act like a human being. Moments like these were stark reminders of why I started sneaking out of the house and stealing books in the first place.

  Mother’s face lit up, striking worry through my soul. “You’re right. I should throw a charity fundraiser in Margery’s name. Widows and Orphans, maybe. It would be a great opportunity to redeem my reputation.”

  I really didn’t think that was what Gramps had it mind, but at least it was something constructive.

  Mother didn’t have a chance to dive deeper into her plans before my father came into the room. He was freshly shaved, wearing a nicely ironed suit, and smelled of expensive aftershave. He was also about as warm as our high-efficiency refrigerator.

  “Good morning, Father,” I said, sipping my coffee.

  “Fiona,” he said, after sparing a look of distaste at Charlie. “I trust you came home right after the hotel last night?”

  I thought it better to leave Nathan and Sybil out of it. “I drove around town for a while. It was too hot, and I wasn’t sure how long you and Mother would be with the police. Did they keep you a while?”

  Mother flung her hands into the air. “Hours. I don’t think we made it home before two o’clock, do you, Hayden?”

  “It was just after midnight,” Gramps said, sliding another bite of his breakfast under the table. “I heard the garage door.”

  “Well, it felt later for all the waiting they made us do,” she said. “And for what? It’s not like I knew anything. Can you believe they wanted the full guest list? Did they actually think I would willingly drag all my friends into this? I told them to look at the servers. It’s far more likely to be the help than one of our community.”

  I buried my face in my coffee mug, refusing to acknowledge how heartless my parents could be. Though while I enjoyed my sweet, sweet caffeine, it occurred to me that I was sitting right next to one of Margery’s oldest friends.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Father,” I said. “I only knew Margery from the evenings you invited her over for dinner. Did she have any family?”

  “A sister, I think,” he said. He poured a cup of coffee and served himself from the plate of eggs in the middle of the table. “I never met her. Other than that, Margery will be missed by her friends and clients. She was a good woman.”

  I couldn’t help but search the table for the obituary it sounded like he was reading from, but the newspaper lay neatly folded on his right.

  “I saw Ralph there last night,” I said. “He must have been shocked.”

  My father sneered. “Shocked, maybe, but not heartbroken, I expect. Those two hadn’t seen eye-to-eye about their practice in years. I’m surprised she hadn’t dumped him to open a solo firm.”

  “They were having disagreements?” I put the information aside to bring up with Ralph when I went to offer my condolences.

  “Margery was business-minded,” Father said.

  “As any good entrepreneur should be,” said Mother.

  “Precisely.” Father took up the paper and cracked it open, flipping to the financial page. “Ralph, on the other hand, was all about keeping the peace. One of those socially minded people who obviously don’t give a fig about their own success as long they’re ‘doing right by others’ or whatever ridiculous nonsense he’s spouting these days.”

  I held my tongue, doing my best to stay focused on the information I wanted to gather. My father’s opinions about “doing unto others” was a conversation best left for when I’d consumed vast quantities of alcohol.

  “Why didn’t they just go their separate ways?”

  Mother laughed. “You think Ralph could afford to strike out on his own? That’s the problem when someone’s primary goal is helping people — they can’t even afford their own name on the door. Margery held all the assets.”

  Father nodded around his paper. “Ralph wanted to buy her out, but it’s not an issue anymore, is it?”

  I sipped my coffee, thinking things through. “Divorce lawyers are already not the most well-liked people. If she was only out for the money, some of her clients must have had a grudge against her, too.”

  My father turned the page, but didn’t even peer around it to look at me. He may as well hav
e been talking to a wall. “People are never happy with anything. She was a good lawyer who got good results. Her clients should be happy to pay for whatever they received.”

  He lost himself in his paper, and I knew I wouldn’t get any other information from him this morning. Instead, I turned my attention to Gramps and found him staring at me. When he caught my eye, he rolled his gaze to the ceiling. It was a frequently shared expression between us. My parents were prime examples of everything wrong with our rich neighbourhood. Snobbish, privileged, closed-minded money-grabbers. But at least they’d given me a point of attack as I worked to find out who’d killed Margery.

  Even heartless status seekers had their uses.

  ***

  It was nearing ten o’clock when I pulled Mercy up in front of Ralph’s office building.

  It was a beautiful fall morning, the changing leaves creating a multi-coloured view of downtown. An old maple sat in front of the converted Victorian house that Margery and Ralph had rented for their business, located on a street mixed with commercial and residential homes. The large windows and quiet neighbourhood offered a comfortable and homey atmosphere that, I’m sure, was noted on the bill.

  I didn’t rush to get out of the car, wanting to take my time to get a feel for the sort of people who might work here. The house was red brick with navy blue trim. The sign on the door still read Brooks & Goodwin, though I noticed an attempt had already been made to paint over Margery’s name. Either the paint had been too dry or he’d run out, but his quick attempt wasn’t enough to cover the golden lettering underneath the blue.

  Still, it was interesting to know that Ralph’s first point of business had been to try and wash his partner away.

  After a few minutes, I locked Mercy’s doors and climbed the porch. The stairs were well maintained, with barely a creak in the floorboards. I opened the storm door and let myself into the lobby, scanning the hardwood floor and the empty reception desk in front. A waiting room sat to the left beyond an archway, a loveseat and a few deep chairs set in a circle around the middle of the room. A coffee vending machine sat in one corner beside a table laden with the necessary accoutrements.

  To my right was Ralph’s office, his name on a brass plaque on the door. I poked my head inside only to find it empty, so I followed the sound of thuds and shuffles that lead me to the second floor.

  I found Ralph in Margery’s office, standing in front of her desk with his back to the door. He was sifting through folders, every now and again dropping one of them into a box on his right.

  Hoping not to frighten him too badly, I rapped on the door with a friendly, “Hello.”

  He whirled around on his heel, but the surprise on his face quickly faded into a bright smile. He was a handsome man in his mid- to late fifties, by my guess, with brown hair that was starting to grey and striking green eyes. The way he wore his suit hinted at a strict exercise regime, though I’d guess running instead of the gym.

  I never would have recognized him if he hadn’t been in his own office building. We’d only met in passing once or twice, and I wondered why my mother had invited him to the party. My father clearly had no respect for him. It told me he must have a good standing in the community, regardless of my parents’ personal opinions. I would have to tread carefully here.

  “Good morning,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  I found it interesting that last night he’d come to celebrate my birthday and today he had no idea who I was.

  “I’m Fiona Gates,” I said. “You were at my party last night.”

  His expression collapsed, his gaze dropping to the papers in his hand. “I was. I’m so sorry your evening ended on such an awful note.”

  “And I’m sorry you lost your partner,” I said. “I wanted to stop by to offer my condolences.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “It couldn’t have come at a worse time. We’d just taken on a few new clients, and I don’t know how I’m going to process them all on my own.” His raised a wide-eyed gaze to meet mine. “That sounds horrible, I know. I’m trying to stay focused on the business this morning so I can get through it all.”

  While his grief appeared sincere, I’d been fooled by that trick before. There was also the fact that he’d already tried to paint over her name. “You’re clearing out her office? Can’t that wait until you’ve got things a bit more under control?”

  “Business doesn’t pause for death, unfortunately.”

  “Have the police been to see you yet?” I aimed for casual empathy, a deep concern for his well-being and state of mind.

  He seemed to buy it. “They came this morning. I don’t know what they hoped to learn from me. Although I was at the party last night, I barely saw her. We spent most of the evening on opposite ends of the room.”

  “Do they have any idea who did it?”

  “Not that they told me,” he said. His brow furrowed with consideration. “Though they did spend a lot of time asking about her clients and if I could think of anyone who had a particular grudge against her. Maybe they’re leaning in that direction?”

  My interest flared, but it wouldn’t do to come off as too direct. “Wouldn’t that be awful, finding out that someone you worked with was capable of committing murder? But I don’t think so, do you? Here in Brookside?”

  “It does seem incredible,” he agreed, “but whether we want to believe it or not, someone in this town is guilty. The detective who came to see me this morning confirmed it.”

  I pressed my hand to my chest. “That is just awful. But you couldn’t think of anyone yourself?”

  “No,” he said. “No one at all.”

  “That must be a relief at least.”

  The words came out flatter than I’d intended.

  I couldn’t pinpoint the exact gesture that tipped me off. Maybe it was the way his gaze flicked to the folders in the cabinet, or the glimmer of a tic in the corner of his right eye, but in that moment I knew Ralph Goodwin was lying.

  4

  There’s something to be said for standing upside down if you want to think through a problem. Something about all that blood rushing to your head I suppose.

  So while my yoga instructor lectured us in his usual soothing tones and part of my brain focused on playing Tweedle-Dee and keeping my feet in the air, the rest of my mind drifted through Ralph’s reaction to my question.

  Obviously he knew someone with a grudge against Margery. That much couldn’t be more obvious.

  But did he think this person would go so far as to kill her?

  It was possibly a client, as the police seemed to believe — the way Ralph’s gaze had darted to the filing cabinets suggested the answer might be hidden away in one the drawers — but it was equally possible the truth sat a bit closer to home. His home.

  I understood he couldn’t take time off to sit in his expensive leather chair weeping into his client files as he got over the loss of his partner, but to be going through her notes and clearing off her desk not even twenty-four hours after she’d been murdered was more than a little cold.

  If what my father said was true, then Ralph was probably doing a little happy dance every time he closed his office door, his morning runs now accompanied by “Eye of the Tiger” and “We Are the Champions,” which he belted out on his treadmill where no one could hear him. He struck me as the type.

  Would he have opted for murder as a solution to his problem? It would have been pretty bold to poison a woman in front of a hundred and ninety-eight other people. The problem with crowds was that it meant a lot of witnesses.

  Did Ralph Goodwin — the man who jumped when I’d caught him in Margery’s office, the man who had put up with her business decisions for so many years without taking the steps to strike out on his own — really have the courage to do it?

  Then again, crowds didn’t always work to one’s disadvantage. With so many people pressed together, the flourish of bright costumes, the distraction of food and drink, it could have been the work of a m
oment to tip something into her drink with no one being the wiser.

  My doubts weren’t enough to rule Ralph out. I also couldn’t rule out that there was information lurking deep in Margery’s filing cabinets that would help me along with my search. If Ralph had been as forthcoming with the police as he’d been with me, it would be something he hadn’t wanted to hand over.

  Which meant it would still be in his office.

  As I moved from my inversion into downward facing dog, then stepped through into a strong warrior one, I knew what I had to do. The only way to make sure the truth of Ralph’s secret came to light was to pay a little visit to his office and put some of my old skills to work.

  ***

  That evening I wished my parents a good night, kissed Gramps on the cheek, and headed up to my room. After dutifully running the water in the bathroom and making enough noise for them to believe I was getting ready for bed, I changed into my black yoga pants and a long-sleeved black tee and pulled on my cross-body satchel packed with my handy burglary kit. The satchel fit snug in the small of my back, which would preventing any flopping around as I carried out my task.

  I couldn’t lie: it felt good to be back in gear again. There was something about getting ready for my late-night jaunts that boosted my confidence and made me feel like I could accomplish anything.

  No wonder it had always been so difficult to give up. Nothing else in my life offered that same sense of fulfillment.

  The fact that at the end of the night I got to come home with a new book had been another huge perk, but obviously, as the last three weeks proved, the haul wasn’t the important part.

  Relishing the thrill of the sneak, I slid open my well-oiled window, stepped through onto the sill, and made the small leap to the wide branch a foot away from the window. Years of gymnastics and parkour had removed my fear of losing the ground beneath my feet, but my heart still raced with a delicious exhilaration.

  I swung hand-over-hand to the trunk of the tree, shinnied down, and set off on the twenty-minute walk to The Eagle’s Gate restaurant where I kept Bessie, my old Toyota, parked in the back.