The Minstrel and the Masquerade

by Lila K Bell

  “What are you saying? Who are you that you think you can come into this house and accuse me of these things?”

  “Are you saying it isn’t true?” I asked. I was pushing too hard. I’d come here on a whim and jumped into this man’s face. But I’d smelled weakness and gone for it. How could I back down when I believed I was so close to some real answers? So I drew in a deep breath and, more calmly, said, “I’m not here to make you admit to anything. Consider it a warning. I’m probably not the only one to know about this. You might as well come forward and tell the police what you know. Do what you can to get them off your back. I’m here as a friend, Mr. Marley. I don’t want to see you get dragged down because of a couple of photos, some gossiping servers, and a bunch of misunderstandings.”

  My attempts to reassure him I wasn’t out for blood had the desired effect in that he no longer seemed to want to strangle me. That was the best I could say for him.

  He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping over his tan. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and braced both palms against the counter.

  Part of me wanted to back off. I could leave him with the warning and walk away, let him choose to find me if he wanted. If he was about to blow up, I didn’t want to take the brunt of his anger. But despite my better judgement, I was a hound that couldn’t let go of its catch.

  “I’m sure whatever those girls heard, it wasn’t what was actually said, right?” I was his buddy now, on his side. Whatever he confessed was safe with me. “You were probably asking her to pitch in for Kelly’s Christmas present and she was being cheap. Now it’s all blowing out of proportion. So why not talk it out and get it off your chest? That way, when the police come by, you’ll know what to tell them. I’m sure you didn’t kill her.”

  “Kill her?” he asked, and there was so much heat in his voice that I took a step backward. “Of course I didn’t kill her. I loved her! She wanted to end the relationship and I was begging her to change her mind. That’s what we were arguing about. It had nothing to do with her murder, or with you, so get out of here. Now.”

  There was a creak on the stairs to my right, and I whipped around to find Kelly Marley standing at the bottom. Her blue eyes were wide, her face as white as the robe she wore. Her hand clung to the banister so tightly the blood had rushed out of her knuckles, and her mouth hung open.

  “Kelly. Oh my god, Kell, I’m so sorry,” her husband said.

  I didn’t wait to hear how she reacted. Before either of them remembered I was there, I hurried out of the house and ran back to the car.

  11

  Sybil refused to let me speak with Jenn the Server without her, so the next day I spent the morning and afternoon running errands. I went to my pilates class with Lucy, Jeannie, and Frances, which was a great way to expend some of my impatient energy.

  I don’t know why I was so on edge. It might have been the revelation that Margery Brooks had been sleeping with her sister’s husband, or that he was so desperate to hang on to her that he might have gone too far.

  I’d seen the passion in his eyes when he’d confessed the reason for their argument. It was not the expression of a rational man. If she’d turned him down, it wasn’t much of a leap to believe he might have fallen into the “if I can’t have her no one can” mentality.

  And the expression on Kelly’s face when she’d come downstairs…

  As far as I know, I’ve never been cheated on. I did the breaking up with most of the men I’d dated between high school and now — the few there had been. Because of that, I couldn’t truly empathize with the pain she must have felt on discovering the betrayal of the two most important people in her life, but I could come close. I swear I heard her heart shatter into a million pieces.

  It was hard not to feel guilty that I’d been the cause of adding pain to her grief.

  If I’d listened to the warning bells in my head instead of letting my gut do all the talking, I wouldn’t have even been there at all, let alone pushing Joseph to reveal his deepest, darkest secrets.

  On the other hand, if I hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have discovered what could be the clue that revealed the entire mystery. And Kelly wouldn’t keep getting lied to.

  My conscience had become rather muted over my years of thievery, and I wasn’t overly pleased to discover it had started to revive.

  The only solution I saw for my inconvenient guilt was the distraction of chatting with Jenn the Server about why she’d skipped out halfway through the evening. And since I wasn’t allowed to do that until this afternoon, I put all of my energy into exercising my muscles, strengthening and stretching, ensuring I was in prime shape for this new course I’d set for my life. If I had any more balconies to climb, I wanted to make sure I could handle it without plummeting to my death.

  If I’d been hoping to hide my twisted emotions under a veneer of my usual cheer, my hopes were dashed as soon as I got home.

  “What’s wrong?” Bea asked the moment she spotted me. She and Charlie were just coming in from the backyard. At the sight of me, the beagle tore across the marble floor and reached me with a series of hops. I had to admit, there was something really nice about coming home to unconditional joy. As though his happiness hadn’t been complete until I walked through the door. I was starting to understand what all the fuss was about with these dog creatures.

  “Wrong? Nothing.” I devoted my attention to giving Charlie greeting pets, very intentionally not looking up until the silence could no longer be ignored.

  Bea raised an eyebrow but said nothing except, “Follow me.”

  Charlie stayed by my side, demanding more scratches, as she led me into the kitchen. Now, the kitchen is a very dangerous place to be with Bea Thompson. It was where she plied her deadly trick for getting whatever information she wanted: her Brookside-famous chocolate chip banana bread.

  Seriously, the federal government could learn a thing or two from this woman.

  She cut a thick slab and set the plate on the table.

  “Eat,” she said. “Talk.”

  I looked up into the large brown eyes staring back at me, full of love and concern. Bea had been with the family for five years. My parents tolerated her because she kept Gramps out of their hair, but besides that had very little time for her. They didn’t know she had two boys under fifteen, one of whom was an excellent soccer player, the other a playwright who had already written and directed three high school plays. They knew she baked, but didn’t know she consistently won contests around the city for her strawberry rhubarb pies.

  The day she’d come into our house, I’d known she was something special. She smelled of rubbing alcohol and sugar, hugged in a way a mom should, and always had an open ear and a shoulder to cry on.

  So how could I refuse her such small requests when she made them? No matter how reluctant I was to say anything but thank you.

  I sat at the table, Charlie taking his place beside me — no doubt hoping for something to fall on the floor thanks to Gramps — and took a bite of the banana bread. My eyes rolled toward the ceiling in bliss. The bread had been touched by angels. It was the only way I could explain it.

  “Not much to say,” I said after I swallowed. “I found out that someone I know had her life torn apart by her husband and sister. Hit me harder than I would have expected.”

  See? If anyone had told me before I met Bea that baked goods could be an effective truth serum, I would have laughed.

  Bea sighed and shook her head. “Too often people don’t think about who their decisions hurt. I hear people say these sorts of betrayals happen more in this day and age, but I don’t think that’s true. Selfishness is as much a human trait as compassion. It leads to all kinds of mistakes.”

  I sniffed and took another bite. “You’re telling me.”

  “But don’t take it on yourself. You can’t change how people behave. Better to look to your own heart.”

  I quirked an eyebrow and hid my smile. “Are you calling me selfish?”

&nbs
p; “My girl, I don’t know anyone as wrapped up in her own life as you are. But since I know you’re capable of great kindness and depth of feeling, I still hold out hope that you’ll start using them for good one of these days.”

  Bea brushed my hair behind my ear and gave me a wink, which I returned.

  I could have told her that the new reason I was out of the house so often was an attempt to bring some closure or justice to Brookside, but somehow it seemed like bragging.

  There was also the fact that my motivations weren’t entirely altruistic.

  Bea wasn’t wrong about me, but at least I now felt like I was on firmer footing than I was before I’d stumbled on the scissors sticking out of Barnaby Coleman’s chest.

  Sounds of movement came from upstairs, and she rolled her eyes. “I guess I’m back to work. What is going on with your granddaddy this week? He’s moving like he has ants in his pants.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I blame the dog.”

  I looked down at Charlie, who whimpered and cocked his head.

  “Sweet Charles? Why?”

  “Gramps has wanted a dog for as long as I can remember. Now he has one. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s eager for the whole dog experience. The walks. The toy throwing. His room is probably the last place he wants to be these days.”

  Bea hmphed. “Never thought I’d be tiring out an eighty-three-year-old man with a one-year-old puppy. I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  She headed upstairs, and I leaned back in my chair as I polished off the rest of the banana bread and stared at the clock until it was time to pick Sybil up from school.

  I was leaning against Mercy by the time she came outside, surrounded by people who looked to be keeping their distance from her. She hugged her satchel against her chest, headphones tight over her ears, and though she appeared content in her solitude, I had to wonder how much of her happiness was an act.

  My presence drew a few gazes, some interest in my car, a few puberty-struck young gentlemen scanning me over in my black jeans and fitted T-shirt, my sunglasses, my blonde curls grabbed by the autumn breeze.

  I let them enjoy the view without paying the least bit of attention in return. Instead, I called for Sybil, and a few expressions of surprise cut through the crowd, more than one of her peers impressed and a little jealous that she should be singled out. She smiled at the sight of me and picked up her pace, pulling off her headphones as she got closer.

  “I didn’t think I’d hear from you until later,” she said.

  “No time like the present, that’s what I say. Plus I got bored waiting for you. How was school?”

  Sybil shrugged. “Fine, I guess. It was school.”

  When it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it, I turned the subject to my reason for being here.

  “Where are we headed?”

  At this, Sybil perked up. “Jenn was talking this morning about how she had a shift at her other job this afternoon, at the record store. You know Vinyls on First Street?”

  I snorted. “Kid, I grew up in Vinyls.”

  I steered Mercy through the downtown streets and pulled up in front of the old music store that had been around since my parents were kids. Although it was called Vinyls — and, indeed, had seen a resurgence in vinyl sales in the last ten years — they catered to all kinds of music lovers, with a small DVD section as well. The owner was a grizzled man by the name of Abraham, and his son, Tucker, was taking up the reins, just as eager to keep things running as his father.

  Jennifer Leeds stood behind the counter, wearing a black Iron Maiden T-shirt. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, her chin resting in the palm of her hand as she flipped through a magazine. This early in the afternoon, the store was usually filled more with students playing hooky than any interested buyers. Her primary role would be to make sure they didn’t run off with anything in their backpacks.

  I knew that because it had been my job once upon a time. For the three weeks I’d lasted.

  “Jenn?” I asked.

  She looked up, her brown eyes filled with boredom and a hope that I’d come to relieve it.

  “Yes?” Her gaze flicked to Sybil.

  “My name is Fiona Gates,” I said.

  “Alice in Wonderland.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

  “That’s right. I wanted to talk to you about the night of the party.”

  She rolled her shoulders. “I already talked to the police.”

  “I’m not the police,” I said, leaning my hip against the counter. Sybil hugged her satchel closer to her side, and I guessed there were more photos tucked away within. She might not be a girl scout, but she always seemed to come prepared. “I’m just a civic-minded member of the community who wants to help get to the bottom of things. I understand you left partway through the evening?”

  Jenn’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What?”

  It was obvious she didn’t want to talk to me any more than she probably wanted to speak with the police, but that was why I’d brought a partner with me.

  I glanced at Sybil.

  Her eyes widened as she registered that I was passing the ball to her, and a flare of panic passed over her face. It faded almost as quickly, and she cleared her throat and rested her hand on the counter. “We spoke with Emily and Carolyn at the hotel. Emily said you had to leave early, so someone came in to replace you. That’s why there were six servers on the floor around the time Margery Brooks was poisoned instead of the five scheduled to work that night.”

  I bit down on my urge to laugh at her serious tone. She was trying, and she’d nailed the question I hoped she’d ask. I just couldn’t handle how adorable she was in her attempts to go full Law & Order on this girl.

  I also couldn’t argue with results.

  With the claim laid out in front of her, Jenn stood up straight, her expression offended. “Those gossipy little — they’re going to get me fired telling lies like that.” I didn’t feel too sorry for Emily and Carolyn. They hadn’t exactly impressed me with their generosity of spirit, and to find out they’d fudged the truth didn’t come as much of a surprise. “I was there all night. I don’t know what Em’s talking about.”

  While I might have pushed harder with the questions, Sybil pulled the photos out of her bag and set them on the counter, one of each of the servers. “Do you know who they all are?”

  Jenn looked at me, but I just shrugged. This was Sybil’s game now.

  Jenn looked around the room, possibly hoping there would be something in the shop that needed her attention, but when everything proved quiet, she let out a huff and leaned over the photos.

  “This is me. I know because I spilled flour on my pants in the kitchen. I tried to wash it off, but you can still see it on the leg here.” She pointed to a patch of faint white on her trousers. “This is Emily. She tried to do this French twist thing with her hair, but an hour into shift it came undone. The boss got upset with her for not having her hair pulled back per regulations.” The crease between her eyebrows deepened. “This would be Caro, and this is Jeremy. Hard to tell sometimes, because he wears his hair long, so it looks a bit like mine. And with the tails, it’s hard to tell male from female. And then…” She stood over the remaining two photos. Both of them showed people with short brown hair pulled back. Due to the collar on one of them, it was difficult to say if the hair was long or short or even the gender of the server. “One of these is Amber, but I couldn’t tell you which.”

  “And you have no idea who the other server might be?” I asked.

  When Jenn remained confused, Sybil said, “Emily mentioned someone named Rayna?”

  Jenn shook her head. “She wasn’t supposed to come in.” She raised her gaze to meet mine. “I remember now that I saw the sixth server on the floor. I thought it must have been some scheduling confusion, because they weren’t there for very long. I never even thought to mention it to the police, it was so insignificant. Should I call them and tell them?�
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  Part of me hated the idea of sharing my lead with someone else, but the practical part of me — the part that knew I was butting into places I should leave well enough alone — knew it would be the right advice to give. “Not a bad idea. Call the station and ask for either Detective Curtis or, if she’s not available, Officer Sam Robinson. I’m sure they’ll be grateful for the tip.”

  Sybil packed up the photos and tucked them into her back. I couldn’t get a good look at her face from the angle I was at, but I guessed she had a pretty smug glint in her eyes. Well deserved, too.

  “Thanks, Jenn,” she said.

  “No problem.” But the young woman’s glazed eyes spoke to her discomfort with the fact that someone sharing her uniform might have been the one to take a woman’s life.

  On our way out, Sybil bent her head close to mine. “So what’s next?”

  “Next, I take you home,” I said. “It’s dinner time, so the hotel will be too busy to pin Emily down and ask her about the sixth server. But the next free afternoon we have, we’re going back there. Someone’s playing games with us, and I’m just stubborn enough to keep going until we have the truth.”

  12

  By the time I got home, I was eager to get back in the chase. McCallister and Marley were both shaping up to be ideal suspects, and I still had a few questions for Ralph Goodwin before I ruled him out as well.

  And now there was this extra caterer on the scene. Was he or she working with one of the people I already had my eye on, or was it a new suspect altogether? Was it possible someone from the party had stepped out, changed costumes, and returned with the poisoned vial in hand?

  Or was Jenn right and the extra server was simply a scheduling error that had resulted in an extra person being on the floor for part of the night? I supposed the easiest way to find that out would be to speak with the kitchen manager, but I would explore other avenues first. From what I’d glimpsed of him the other day, he was more likely to call the cops on me for disturbing his kitchen than willingly answer my questions.