The Minstrel and the Masquerade

by Lila K Bell

  I was so caught up in these thoughts as I came through the front door, I didn’t notice my mother until she started yelling.

  “Fiona Adeline Gates.”

  At my full name, my toes curled and my heart carried out a double beat. It didn’t matter that I was twenty-five years old — when Mother spoke those three words together in that particular tone, I knew I was in trouble.

  “Please tell me the things I’m hearing about you are someone’s idea of a bad joke. Please tell me you haven’t been going around town accusing friends of this family of having affairs.”

  My mouth fell open. At first, I had no idea what she was talking about or how to respond, but then I remembered Joseph and Kelly Marley, their expressions of horror and fury as I’d hurried out of the house.

  I guess they hadn’t decided to keep the scandal to themselves.

  “The man just lost his sister-in-law,” Mother continued, not giving me a chance to speak. “He called your father this morning to ask that you stay away from them. What have you been doing, Fiona?”

  I was just grateful she was too upset to use her usual pet name for me. I didn’t think I could handle “Fifi” in the middle of all her rage.

  Charlie came to sniff Mother’s hands, his ears and tail drooping at her anger, but she crossed her arms and edged away from him. He gave up on her as a lost cause and came over to me. I, not being heartless, rested my hand on his head to rub his ears.

  The best move here would have been for me to keep my mouth shut. I should have reassured her that she was right. Someone was spreading rumours because I’d gone to their place to offer my condolences and maybe something I’d said had been misconstrued. Heck, I should have told her I’d lied about the affair because I was interested in Joseph Marley. I think it would have horrified her less than the truth.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t feel like lying today. On the contrary, I wanted to see the expression on her face when I told her exactly why I’d gone to speak with him.

  So I told her the truth.

  “I have reason to think he might have killed Margery,” I said. “I went over there to ask a few questions to see if I could confirm it. I didn’t accuse him of having an affair. He admitted to it when I presented the evidence. That’s completely different.”

  “That’s ludicrous,” Mother said, shoving her hands through her thick brown curls. Her makeup had begun to smudge in the corners of her eyes, making her look a little bit like the bride of Frankenstein. Considering this was a woman who was so much a stickler for appearances that I often worried she’d morphed into a wax statue of herself, it revealed just how troubled she was by this turn of events. “He’s one of us. We don’t do things like commit murder.”

  I tried to overlook her blindness to her own circle, but couldn’t refrain from saying, “But having huge blowouts about their secret affair in the middle of a party is par for the course.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” Mother said. “You’re embarrassing your father — you’re embarrassing me — and I want it to stop. Now. I don’t know what silly notion you’ve got in your head that you’ve started playing detective, but it comes to an end tonight.” I opened my mouth to argue with her, but she held up a hand to cut me off. “I don’t want to hear it. Now go upstairs and go to bed. Tomorrow, you can help tidy the house. The Tierneys are coming over for dinner, and I want this place looking spotless. On Friday, we’re going to Margery’s funeral. You had better hope your actions this week haven’t made it awkward for the family.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

  I stared after her, my mouth open. I couldn’t believe she had just brushed off the fact that Joseph Marley might have killed his lover because he was one of “us.” As if that mattered. As if the rich couldn’t kill just as easily as those who weren’t so well off.

  They were squally capable. They could just afford to get away with it.

  Shaking my head, I went into the sun room to grab my book, Charlie padding alongside me, and jumped on finding Gramps and Bea sitting on the couch. He had his crossword puzzle on his lap, and Bea’s fingers hovered over her knitting, but both were staring at me.

  It wasn’t such a huge distance from the sun room to the foyer. There was no doubt they’d heard everything.

  Heaving a sigh, I collapsed into my father’s armchair. Charlie rested his head on my knee, and I continued scratching. At least he didn’t care how I spent my time.

  “What have you been up to, Fi?” Gramps asked.

  I squirmed in my chair, uncomfortable under their close attention. Until now, I’d only hinted to Gramps about my new hobby. Although I was sure he would approve of crime solving over thieving, it would still be too risky for his tastes. I’d wanted to protect him. But now, thanks to some people’s big mouths, I found myself confessing to the entire family at once.

  “I might have been poking around in something that doesn’t really concern me,” I admitted.

  Bea released a slight groan and set her knitting aside.

  “Is that really a wise move, chickadee?” Gramps asked. “The police are doing their job to figure this out. Maybe it’s best to leave it with them.”

  “I’m with your granddaddy on this one, sweetpea,” said Bea. “The way you explained it to your mother in there, it sounds like you’re trying to find out who murdered Ms. Brooks.”

  I looked from one to the other, trying to figure out how to put this in a way that would make them understand I wasn’t about to let this go while at the same time downplaying the danger. “She was murdered at my party. I have a certain amount of curiosity about who might have done it.”

  That’s all it was. Satisfying a bit of curiosity. They didn’t need to know about my restlessness, or the fact that poking my nose into strangers’ lives was keeping me from sneaking into their homes and disappearing with their valuable books.

  “Fi,” Gramps said. I recognized that tone of exasperation stemmed from concern, so tried not to be offended. “You’re getting involved with murderers, here. There is no guarantee you’ll be safe.”

  I tried for a smile. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Most of the people I’m talking to aren’t murderers.”

  Both his and Bea’s expressions darkened at my attempt at levity, so I cleared my expression and leaned forward. Charlie huffed at being ignored and went over to lie down on Gramps’s feet. “I promise I’ll be careful and won’t get in over my head.” I rose from my chair and crossed to the couch, giving them both kisses on their cheeks. “And I promise I’ll keep you posted on whatever I learn.”

  As I left the room and headed up to bed, I couldn’t prevent my smile from returning. I understood and appreciated their concern, but although they might be afraid for me, neither of them had been able to hide their interest in hearing whatever I might bring to them.

  ***

  Thursday morning, I woke up with a sense that I was running out of time. It had been four days since my party, and with every passing day, I felt as though my chances of finding answers were slipping away.

  Without getting out of bed, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the news to see if the police had announced anything about the case, but the Brookside Gazette was still full of speculation and a few hints that local law enforcement wasn’t working its best case because of Margery’s status in Brookside. I doubted Detective Curtis would let a bit of money and privilege get in her way, but it was interesting to know how highly the media thought of divorce lawyers.

  That the police were still on the hunt gave me the motivation to keep searching, so I rushed through breakfast, bid Gramps a good day with a kiss on the top of his thinning white hair and another promise to be smart and careful, and headed out to speak with Ralph.

  I was stopped at a red light in the middle of downtown, a few streets away from Ralph’s office, when a familiar figure walked out of a glass-walled high-rise. Ryan Clark. In a suit, complete with red tie. A leather satchel was pulled over his he
ad, and he looked more like a civil servant than the leather-clad bar-patron I knew him to be.

  What was he up to?

  I scanned the sign on the building, but it didn’t narrow down the options very much. It was an office building full of dentists, financial advisers, lawyers, and insurance companies. So either he’d been arrested, was trying to get a loan, or really wanted to impress his dental hygienist.

  As I watched, he hurried down the steps and got into the driver’s seat of a green Honda. Getting insurance for a new car? Maybe, but I couldn’t see him turning in his Ducati for this family-friendly sedan.

  A car honked behind me, and I realized the light had changed. I kept an eye on the Honda as I drove through the intersection, but Ryan never spotted me. A moment later, I turned the corner and he was out of sight.

  I filed this occurrence beside his strange behaviour first at the bar and then in my car the other night. Was it some form of midlife crisis causing bizarre personality shifts? I wanted to ask him, but decided to let it go. There were still some mysteries I was willing to turn away from. For now.

  I drove the rest of the way to Ralph’s building and pulled up on the street outside. Today, the sign out front had been officially changed, now advertising Ralph Goodwin, attorney, with no hint that he’d ever had a partner.

  Parked in the driveway was a hauling truck, “We-Shred” written in large yellow letters on a blue background across the side. As I walked toward the porch, the front door opened and two men in blue uniforms came out with three massive boxes on a dolly. I stood out of the way as they manoeuvred down the stairs and headed toward the truck.

  Once they were out of the way, I went inside. The door at the top of the stairs was open, and I guessed Ralph was having the rest of Margery’s office emptied. Was he considering taking the larger upstairs room for himself now that his partner was gone? It would also be a good place to rent out to someone else. There were nothing but financial opportunities for him now that Margery was out of the way.

  I approached his office on the ground floor and heard him in conversation with another man. The door was ajar, but neither figure was visible from where I stood. For a moment I remained outside, debating whether I should wait or come back later, but when the second man raised his voice loud enough for me to make it out, a tingle ran down my spine. I recognized that voice.

  Squaring my shoulders, I gave a quick rap on the door, and it swung open at my touch. I casually leaned against the door jamb and crossed my arms.

  “Well, well,” I said. “Isn’t this an interesting turn of events.”

  In front of me, Ralph Goodwin rose from his chair, his face flushed bright red. To the right of the desk, Court McCallister stiffened.

  “What are you doing here?” Ralph asked. “This is a private appointment.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said. “I just wanted to stop in and let you know the new sign looks great. It gives you a real sense of professionalism and autonomy.”

  Ralph frowned. “It was already on order by the time Margery died. I’d always planned to buy her out, as I believe I told you the last time you were here.”

  I allowed myself a small smile at his immediate defensiveness. Not to mention the outright lie.

  “And I understood you weren’t in a financial position to do anything of the sort.”

  Ralph’s face flushed a deeper red, and the increasingly familiar feeling came over me that I should walk away. Just like with Marley, I was pushing too hard, moving into the realm of guesswork that would come back to bite me in my rounded posterior. Better to leave and see if I could prove what I wanted to say. There would have to be a bill of sale for the sign somewhere, right? Some way of finding out when Ralph bought the sign and whether he actually could have afforded to buy Margery out.

  But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to bite my tongue. Not when the answer seemed so close.

  “Did Mr. McCallister’s commission help you toward your goal?” I asked.

  “I don’t care for what you’re insinuating, Miss Gates. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of something.”

  I scanned McCallister over. His nostrils were flared in the middle of his handsome face, and his hands had formed into fists on the desk.

  Maybe one more push. Just a small one.

  “You two sure seem cozy,” I said. “Maybe your working relationship isn’t as new as you want me to think it is. After all, Margery’s death benefits both of you.”

  The change in the room was almost palpable. If I were a man, I wouldn’t have put it past McCallister to fly at me with a good deck to the face, but he held his place, his knuckles turning white as he put more pressure on his fists.

  “How goes your file, Mr. McCallister?” I asked, leaning deeper into the tension. “Have you and Ralph already worked out a deal to take the heat off your bank account? Did he agree to a hefty discount if you did something to get Margery out of the way? Did he offer to waive the fee entirely?”

  His eyes bulged, and Ralph sputtered. “You can’t seriously be standing here, in my office, accusing us of colluding to murder my partner.”

  “Of course not,” I said. It would have been silly of me to come right out and say it, but I allowed the suspicion to remain in the air.

  I’d gone as far as I was willing to go. Short of outright saying they had killed Margery Brooks, I hadn’t left myself many other paths to follow, and after this I doubted I would be welcome back here.

  Regret threatened to grab hold of me. I hadn’t played this well at all, and now any information these two might have would likely be lost in this room, covered under confidentiality clauses and their willful determination never to see me again.

  This is why there are professionals to do this, Fi. Time to leave it to them.

  “Ralph took over my file before Margery died,” Court said, surprising me down to my toes. His voice was gruff with restrained fury, but in spite of his anger he obviously felt the need to clear the air. “She refused to see reason or make any sort of compromise. Ralph agreed to work with me. That’s the end of the story.”

  “Maybe,” I said, moving more carefully now. “But you can’t deny that both of your lives are a lot easier now that she’s gone.” Before either of them could say anything else, I gave them a bright smile. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  I held my head high as I walked back to my car, wanting to make sure I came across as confident if they happened to watch me through the window. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice the shake in my legs or the way I couldn’t catch my breath.

  I had come close to crossing a few lines in there. Confidence could take me a long way, but arrogance would only lead to trouble. And possibly getting me sued for slander. The fear on their faces could have been because I’d come close to the truth, but it could also be me projecting my hopes.

  Maybe Ralph was telling the truth and he’d just taken over McCallister’s file.

  But I wouldn’t know for sure until I’d pushed my way to the bottom of things, and I was more determined than ever to see this through, not only to reach the answers, but to prove I actually could.

  13

  It felt like ages before I finally reached the car.

  I sagged into the driver’s seat and waited a few minutes before starting the ignition. For what must have been the eightieth time, the scene that had just passed played through my head, and though my previous reactions had run the gamut from pride to hilarity, at the moment I was firmly entrenched in shock.

  I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I’d pretty much accused someone of murder based on nothing but suspicions. It could have blown up in my face so easily, and they would be well within their rights to call Detective Curtis and charge me for harassment.

  Looking back, however, hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that, I didn’t see how it could have played out any other way. They way they acted when I walked in, as though they’d known being found together would raise quest
ions.

  And the truth was, none of my theories were far-fetched. Based on everything I’d learned, they were equally capable of murdering Margery. On their own it might have been a stretch, but together? It fit perfectly. They both had the rage and the motivation. Court showing up at the party to have it out with Margery made him almost a too-obvious candidate for having done the deed himself, but there was nothing to stop Ralph from dosing Margery’s drink while Court caught her off guard and kept her distracted.

  The play-by-play was so clear, so plausible, the scene played across the backs of my closed eyelids like a movie.

  If they hadn’t done it, I’d get them to buy me a lottery ticket. To have all their dreams come true by coincidence was beyond lucky.

  Once my adrenaline died down and my heart slowed, I started the car and drove toward Sybil’s place. Having moved forward on one line of questioning, I wanted to hear more about what Emily had to say about the sixth server.

  But when I knocked on the door, it was Sam who stood on the other side.

  “Fi, hey,” he said, his blue eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to pick up Sybil,” I said. “We were going to check out the record store together after school.”

  The lie sounded flat to my ears, but Sam didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

  “Don’t let Mom hear you say that,” he said with a groan. “She think Syb’s collection is big and expensive enough as it is. It’ll take a couple of trucks to move it out of here when she gets her own place.”

  I smiled, remembering those days well. Most of my CDs had now migrated to different homes and thrift shops, but at the height of my collection, it had taken up full bookcases.

  “I’m sorry to say, though, she’s not home,” Sam said, jerking me back to the present. “She had a dentist appointment this afternoon and then Mom’s taking her out for dinner.”