I beeped to relock Stella and climbed dutifully inside. We’d had this discussion more than once. I always lost. He always drove. Like chauvinists did.
The interior of Jake’s truck was spacious. I felt like a child in my dad’s big chair. Country music CDs lined the sun visors. Mud caked the floor mats, and everything smelled like camping.
Jake drove like a maniac.
I ignored it as long as I could. “Must be nice not to worry about speeding tickets or anything that jumps out in front of you. Is that why you added the grill cover? To keep the things you demolish in this behemoth from scratching the paint?”
He took the exit to the Faire and slowed to normal speed. Barely. “I would have turned the radio on, but I thought maybe you’d like to sing.”
I glared. With any luck, the flush of embarrassment didn’t resurface on my cheeks. “No, thank you.”
“What was that you were crooning about this morning? Bass?”
“Stop it. New subject.”
He flipped his turn signal and steered into the line outside the Faire parking lot. “How’d Nate meet the Surly Wench girl?”
“He’s at the Faire all the time. He knows everyone.”
“That’s good to know. So, he didn’t meet her while nosing into my case on John Francis?”
I scoffed. “Please. Don’t be nuts.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He flashed his badge at the parking attendant and rolled into the grassy field without paying.
We bounced over grooved and pitted earth to a place not meant for parking, just outside the castle gates.
“You know this isn’t a parking space, right?”
He got out and opened my door. “You’re awfully concerned about the rules until they apply to you.”
Accurate. “Fine. Who do we question first?”
Jake shut the door behind me and tapped his marshal badge. “We aren’t questioning anyone. You agreed to introduce me to the vendors. I’ll do the rest. I figure if you can walk through the Faire with me once, make some introductions, smile, look like you like me, then you’re done. Services rendered. I’ll make another lap and talk to everyone on my own.”
I adjusted my glasses and pulled a foot of brown curls over one shoulder. “Whatever.” I had plenty of time to talk to vendors when he left. “Have you looked into the financials for John Francis and George Flick?”
We moved toward the gates. He flashed his badge.
A pair of lovely damsels in soft blue velvet gowns and floral headpieces curtsied as we passed. I nodded magnanimously.
“You said Flick wasn’t worried about their finances, but did you check?”
“I’ve got that under control.”
“So, not yet?” I waved to my family gathered at the new Guinevere’s Golden Beauty display. “I took a look last night. The business is fine. It’s not making fat rolls, but it’s doing better than plenty of others. The partner’s personal finances seem legit. He’s comfortable. Here’s where it gets weird. John’s financials were a mess. His business and his partner are okay, but he was barely paying his bills. What do you make of that?”
Jake waved to my fast-approaching sister and her husband. “Did you get all that information legally?”
“Mostly.”
Jake dropped his head forward.
Bree skipped the last few steps to my side and grabbed my hands. Her lavender-and-vanilla perfume took me back ten years. “You’re brilliant. Anyone who says differently is a liar.”
“Who says differently?” Probably her.
“Never mind.” She tugged me toward Dad. “The gypsy carts are a hit and you know how Mom and Dad love gypsies. They were upset when we walked in. They saw the wagons and poof! The frowns disappeared.”
Tom met us halfway. “Like panties at a brothel.”
She whacked his middle. “No more brothel jokes.”
Tom raised an eyebrow and wrote something in his notebook.
Jake closed in on the gypsy wagons. “You did this?”
Brilliant afternoon sun obliterated the autumn chill and warmed my cheeks. “Yeah. They’re rentals for parties, but I figured we could use them as storefronts until the booth is rebuilt.” As an added bonus, they came dressed for Christmas.
The largest of the wagons had three wooden stairs and windows on either side. Shoppers could walk through the wagon for an authentic gypsy experience. The two smaller wagons flanked the large one, creating a crescent. The smaller wagons were strictly for displays. No one allowed on board. All three were lined in twinkle lights, adorned with thick scarlet curtains and dusted with a shimmery coat that resembled a winter’s frost. The wrought-iron luggage racks mounted on top were decked in holiday greens and red faux berries.
Grandma had set up a table as her point of sale in the center of the semicircle. I’d hired a stage setter to cover every inch of the display surfaces with silk scarves, arrange the products and hang an array of crystals on fishing line. The company also painted a new sign for the display and mounted large golden flags with our logo. Stage setters were my new superheroes.
Nice as the wagons looked, something was missing. “Where are the customers?”
Bree released a sigh. “It’s a little slow, but that’s to be expected after yesterday’s bad press. We’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t convinced. A scan of the area showed a hearty crowd of eager shoppers, nearly all of which had bags.
“Never mind that for a second.” Bree pointed to Dad. “What do you think of him?”
“Dad? His gypsy costume finally coordinates with the display?”
“No, silly.” Bree smiled. “What do you think of Adam?”
“Who?” Jake asked.
Bree’s eager expression waned. “It’s nice to see you, Jake. You’re here because of what happened to John, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Satisfied, she turned back to me. “Adam is the accountant I told you about. From the brothel. I met him last year. You must remember him. He’s the man talking to Dad.”
Jake chortled.
Man was a generous interpretation. The fellow talking to Dad was my height with excessively curly white-blond hair and freckles. “Is he twelve?”
Tom leaned his head over my shoulder from behind. “He’s twenty-six. Graduated top of his class in business finance and makes a nice living at Wade and Thomas. He’s smart. Funny. Travels.”
“He’s tiny,” I whispered. “Not that I’m judging, but he’s really small. I bet I could wear his pants. Young, too. Does he know I’m pushing thirty?”
Jake stepped closer. “You don’t look thirty.”
“You only think that because you’re over thirty.”
He shrugged. “You want me to run a background check on him?”
“Like I can’t do that on my own?” I glared into his pompous face. “You have such a hero complex. Are you so desperate to rescue someone today that you’d resort to internet research to get the job done?”
He matched my hostile stare. “Are you so determined to not need help that you’d yell at people who try?”
“Yes,” Bree butted in. “That. All day. That.”
I glared.
She and Tom stepped away, whispering heatedly.
Adam looked in our direction. “Hi, Mia.”
I walked the other way. “Tell Grandma I’ll be back in a few minutes, Bree. I’m introducing Jake to some regulars first.” I grabbed his hand and pulled. “Come on.”
He shook me off when we hit the dusty path along storefronts. “Hey, I wanted to see you meet Adam.”
“Mia! Jake! Wait up.” Nate’s voice carried over lively minstrel music in the courtyard where merry maids and men bowed and bobbed. He handed a brown cloak to Jake. “I believe this is
for you.”
“Thanks. I think.” Jake buttoned the cloak around his neck. “You’re meeting the girl from Surly Wench for coffee?”
Nate glanced my way. “Yeah. Why?”
Jake clapped him on the back. “I think I’ll join you. Nate can take me from here, Mia. No need to keep your family or Adam waiting.”
Nate stared. Conflict rumpled his forehead. “Uh. Umm. I don’t know. It was kind of a date. Not really a three-person sort of occasion.”
Jake pushed Nate forward, steering his too-tall frame away from me. “Feel free to report back to your captain later, but this isn’t my first rodeo, and I know exactly what the two of you are up to, so let’s get moving. You can introduce me around the Faire when we’re done with Kenna.”
Nate submitted with a helpless look over one shoulder.
I hiked my skirt off the ground and headed back to my family.
Dismissed like a peasant.
Chapter Ten
I marched to Grandma’s checkout table and hooked a basket of product samples over one arm. Who asked for someone’s help, then dumped them before they started helping? I took a few steps before a new idea hit me.
Jake wanted to play games with me? Well, I had news for him. I wasn’t having it. He had a shiny badge and questionable attitude. I had chutzpah.
I freed my cell phone from my pocket and texted Nate. “Who, by the way,” I informed the phone, “is my accomplice, not Jake’s.” Try to record the conversation so we can analyze it later.
I sent the message and looked up in time to see Grandma materialize in front of me. “Ah!” I stopped on one foot. “Hey! I almost tripped over you.”
Grandma glared while I fumbled for a reason.
“You wouldn’t even be the first person I fell on today. Ask Bernie.”
Grandma stretched and curled thin wrinkled fingers. “Hand it over.”
I dropped my cell phone into her waiting palm. “Fine.”
The phone crowed.
“Wait!”
She whirled away. “After we’re finished here.”
Dang it. “How are sales today?” I asked her retreating figure.
She turned her head in the direction of charred grass where our booth had stood yesterday. “We need a recovery plan. Fast.”
I lifted my chin and put on a happy face. “On it like a bonnet.” I’d work on the murder investigation while drumming up business. I could mentally multi-task like no one else. Obsessive overthinking and a lifetime of painful introversion were occasionally useful. “I put a call in to Petal this morning.”
She spun to look at me. “And?”
“She was in meetings all day.” Though her assistant may have lied about that. Uh-oh. This could be worse than I’d thought. “I’ll try her again first thing tomorrow.”
A pair of tree faeries peeked around a wide oak and waved. Their faces were painted in shades of green and blue, like leaves and the sky. Body shimmer coated every inch of exposed skin which, considering the weather, was extensive. Their iridescent wings reminded me of Tinker Bell. I waved back. I’d always admired the faeries, unafraid of showing their figures like that. Even if I was a size zero in a training bra, I wouldn’t be caught dead in body paint and a few strategically placed leaves. Inhibitions were the building blocks of my life.
Mom hated the faeries on principle. She thought they lurked and ought to put some clothes on.
I made a circuit through the Faire, offering samples and planning my next move on the case.
“No,” shoppers said as I extended the free products they’d gobbled up twenty-four hours before. Every answer was the same. “Uh-uh. No thanks. Get away from me with that!” They shook wide-eyed faces. Waved their palms in big “Don’t even come over here” warnings when I made eye contact. Their whispers crawled over my skin as I passed by like the town leper. My stomach knotted at the implication.
Our company was going down if I didn’t get the newswoman to re-cover the story with facts. First, I needed facts. Otherwise I’d look like someone trying to cover up her crime. Negative public opinions spread like wildfire.
Nate better have a ton of information to share. I didn’t see his big ginger head anywhere.
Across the common, Bree rushed from the brothel carrying a bright orange flower.
I pointed at her. “If you stick that in your cleavage, I will pull it out.”
She stopped a foot away and locked both palms in the curves of her waist. Her black satin corset and boots were topped off with a red ruffled miniskirt that opened in the front. The giant scarlet plume in her hair danced happily in the breeze. “It’s for you.”
“Oh?” I accepted the pretty rose. “It’s gorgeous. Why orange?”
“Coral.” Her sudden cat-that-ate-the-canary look tamped my enthusiasm.
I’d said something wrong, or right, depending on which side of the mirror you were standing. I waved the flower at her. “Why are you giving me a coral rose? Be specific.”
“It’s a secret message.” She rocked her hips, as if she was an actual showgirl.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Don’t you want to know the secret?”
“Can you stop shaking your ass first?”
Her perfectly sculpted brows rammed together. “This is a message in the language of flowers. A coral rose means desire. Adam sent it.”
I leaned around her for a look into the building she’d bounced out of. Inside, Adam waved.
Bree added a tiny toe tap to her bouncing hip. “Isn’t it romantic?”
“No. It’s weird and a little forward.” Desire? Really? “I haven’t even met him.” I followed Adam’s gaze across the dusty path to Bree. “Oh. Yeah. He’s staring at you.” Typical. Basically my life story.
“What are you talking about?” She turned in a circle. “You met him last year when I did. I’m almost certain I introduced you. I’ve told him all about you, and he wants to get to know you, but you’re being a pill.”
“Adam is inside the brothel watching you shake your assets out here in that teeny tiny outfit. This is high school all over again.” I handed her the creepy rose and headed away.
“Wait!” She caught my arm. “I think you’re wrong, but we can talk about it later. Come to the magic show today. Please?” She used her giant eyes on me. False lashes dusted her brows. “You won’t regret it. Mom and Dad are going. It’ll pick up everyone’s spirits after a dismal day of sales.”
“Maybe. First, I have to get people to trust we won’t kill them with hand cream and ask around about John’s death. I may also have to rescue Nate from Jake’s evil clutches.”
She bobbled her head. “Great. Bring them too, but come, okay? Promise.”
“I’ll try.”
“If you come, I won’t try to hook you up with any man for the rest of the month.”
“Fine. I’ll stop by the show, but I can’t promise Jake or Nate will join me.”
She bounced on her toes and wiggled her way back to the brothel.
A month? Either that was a bold-faced lie or the magic show was going to be phenomenal. I went back to the wagons and exchanged samples in the basket. Maybe they’d go for the full-sized lip balms we gave away at conventions. “I’m making another round.”
Grandma drew a curved line in the air above her mouth. “Smile.”
I smiled my way along the path outside shops and vendor booths, ignoring the charred rectangle where our booth had stood. A few looky lous snapped photos of the wreckage with their phones.
Adam’s lust rose circled my brain. Who couldn’t appreciate a message in the language of flowers? It was a cute gesture for our setting. Too bad his effort had nothing to do with me.
I stopped outside the Tilted Tulip florist. A painted sign anno
unced half-price roses.
Cheapo.
I went inside and leaned on the counter. Tilted Tulip had a regular retail setup and rented the spot all year around, weather permitting.
“Good even, milady. May I be of some assistance to ye?” A burly man with a handlebar mustache and pointy beard sat on a stool arranging asters and Russian sage. His name badge said Duff.
“Hi. I’m Mia Connors. I’m also Queen Guinevere at my family’s booth, Guinevere’s Golden Beauty. Did you hear about what happened yesterday?”
He stopped working and gave his crowded shop a cursory scan. “Aye. I saw your booth on the news.”
“I meant what happened to John Francis.”
“The reporter said it was poison.” His cartoonish red facial hair and over-the-top Scottish accent were a bit much. Like interviewing a pirate living abroad.
“That’s probably right. I wish I knew who would want to hurt him. Did you know John?”
He scooted back on his stool, suddenly playing it cool. “I might’ve seen him around.”
According to Jake, Mr. Flick thought he was seeing more than one woman. Maybe he sent them flowers. “Did he ever shop here? Did he order flowers?” If I had the names of women John courted, I’d have an instant suspect pool.
“Nay. He never ordered anything from me.”
“Does anyone else work here? Are there records of purchases I can see? Maybe you could check the last month for me and let me know if John was here.”
Duff crossed stubborn arms over his chest. “Nay.”
A couple with heart eyes and armloads of wildflowers joined me at the counter.
I patted the edge and excused myself. “Okay. Thanks for your help.”
I offered lip balm samples to shoppers as I moved along the path toward the back of the fairgrounds. No one accepted.
Maybe John wasn’t a flower-sender, but he was definitely a flirt, and Duff seemed like he was hiding something.
A couple stumbled away from the privies with red cheeks and unkempt hair.
“Bingo.”
The privies were always busy. Aside from patrons in need of a restroom, Faire regulars and workers used the area behind the port-a-potty trailers as a place to get out of character, have a smoke and drop the Elizabethan speech.
A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic Page 9
