Treacherous Toys
Page 1
Praise for the Renaissance Faire Mysteries
HARROWING HATS
“The reader will have a grand time. This is an entertaining read with a well-crafted plot. Readers of the series will not be disappointed. New readers will want to glom the backlist so they don’t miss a single minute.”
—Fresh Fiction
“The Renaissance Faire Mysteries are always an enjoyable read…Joyce and Jim Lavene provide a complex exciting murder mystery that amateur-sleuth fans will appreciate.”
—Midwest Book Review
DEADLY DAGGERS
“The Lavene duet can always be counted on for an enjoyable whodunit…Filled with twists and red herrings, Deadly Daggers is a delightful mystery.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Will keep you entertained from the first duel to the last surprise…If you like fun reads that will let you leave this world for a time, this series is for you.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Never a dull moment! Filled with interesting characters, a fast-paced story, and plenty of humor, this series never lets its readers down…You’re bound to feel an overwhelming craving for a giant turkey leg and the urge to toast to the king’s health with a big mug of ale as you enjoy this thematic cozy mystery!”
—Fresh Fiction
GHASTLY GLASS
“A unique look at a renaissance faire. This is a colorful, exciting amateur-sleuth mystery filled with quirky characters who endear themselves to the reader as Joyce and Jim Lavene write a delightful whodunit.”
—Midwest Book Review
WICKED WEAVES
“Offers a vibrant background for the mysterious goings-on and the colorful cast of characters.”
—Kaye Morgan, author of Celebrity Sudoku
“This jolly series debut…serves up medieval murder and mayhem.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fast-paced, clever, delightful.”
—John J. Lamb, author of The Treacherous Teddy
“A creative, fascinating whodunit, transporting readers to a world of make-believe that entertains and educates.”
—Fresh Fiction
“[A] new, exciting…series…Part of the fun of this solid whodunit is the vivid description of the Renaissance Village; anyone who has not been to one will want to go…[C]leverly developed.”
—Midwest Book Review
“[A] terrific mystery series…A feast for the reader…Character development in this new series is energetic and eloquent; Jessie is charming and intelligent, with…saucy strength.”
—MyShelf.com
“I cannot imagine a cozier setting than Renaissance Faire Village, a closed community of rather eccentric—and very interesting—characters, [with] lots of potential…[A] great start to a new series by a veteran duo of mystery authors.”
—Cozy Library
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Joyce and Jim Lavene
Peggy Lee Garden Mysteries
PRETTY POISON
FRUIT OF THE POISONED TREE
POISONED PETALS
PERFECT POISON
A CORPSE FOR YEW
Renaissance Faire Mysteries
WICKED WEAVES
GHASTLY GLASS
DEADLY DAGGERS
HARROWING HATS
TREACHEROUS TOYS
Missing Pieces Mysteries
A TIMELY VISION
A TOUCH OF GOLD
A SPIRITED GIFT
TREACHEROUS
TOYS
Joyce and Jim Lavene
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
TREACHEROUS TOYS
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the authors
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Joyce Lavene and Jim Lavene.
Cover illustration by Ben Perini.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-58955-7
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Ye Olde Village Crier
One
Christmas at Renaissance Faire Village and Mar
ket Place was like a greeting card come to life. The Village staff had created a winter wonderland that would last about four weeks, until Christmas Eve at six P.M. There was a light snow blanketing most of the ground and the rooftops. Icicles hung from the trees.
An ice skating rink was set up in the middle of the Village Green. Already, children were skating there—amazing considering the temperature was a balmy sixty degrees. After all, the Village was located in the heart of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Even in the winter, there was rarely cold weather here, much less snow and ice.
Of course, none of it was real—from the icicles to the sparkling white snow. The skating rink was frozen from beneath with cooling coils that would maintain the six inches of solid ice even if the temperature around it were eighty degrees. I wasn’t sure how they’d managed the icicles. I knew the snow was made several times a day to keep it fresh.
There were wreaths on all the doors and candles in every window. Carolers in beautiful costumes wandered down the cobblestone streets and through the paths, adding a touch of spirit to the festive season. The scent of pine from Sherwood Forest mingled with the smell of cinnamon rolls baking at the Monastery Bakery. It felt like Christmas should in a Renaissance Village. That was all that mattered to me.
It was my first time attending the Faire during the holidays. Normally, I’d be back in Columbia teaching history and grading papers. But not this year. This year, the University of South Carolina had furloughed me for the next six weeks. I had yet to discover if I’d still have a job after the first of the year.
I probably should have gone out and looked for work that paid better, or at least came close to what I made as an associate history professor. But the opportunity to spend Christmas at the Village was too hard to pass up. I’d seen the pictures and heard the stories since I’d started coming here when I was in college. This was my first opportunity to experience it in person.
“Jessie!” My good friend and the Faire’s resident giant, Bart Van Impe, greeted me at the snowy entrance to the Village. “Think fast!”
He threw a snowball at me as I came under the Main Gate. I moved too slowly and it caught me in the shoulder. Bart, and several of the lord and lady greeters, had a good laugh at that. I didn’t mind. I was amazed that the cold wet stuff felt like real snow.
“This is great! How do they do it?” The snowball was definitely real, and a little hard. My shoulder stung where it had hit.
“Every hour, real snow falls from the castle,” Bart explained. “Maybe falling isn’t the right word. It’s more like shooting out of the castle. Sometimes you can get enough of it together to make a ball before it melts.”
“And you threw yours at me,” I joked. “How thoughtful of you.”
He threw his massive arms around me and hugged me tight, lifting me off the snowy ground. “How are you doing? Chase sent me to meet you. He was otherwise detained. You know. Everyone wants him, right?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, keeping it to myself that my car had broken down on the side of the road on my way from Columbia, my landlord was opting to change my apartment into a condo, and I was probably going to be one of a vast group of job hunters next year. Why ruin our reunion? I hadn’t seen him in months. “What’s Chase doing?”
“He was breaking up a fight over at the Dutchman’s Stage. Two of the comedians got into it. I think one of them threw a punch at Chase. Stupid man. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
That wasn’t surprising. Chase Manhattan was the Village bailiff—judge, jury, and police officer all rolled into one. He was also my boyfriend.
“It’s good to see you, Bart.” I hugged his mammoth form dressed in brown tights and a red tunic with a blazing red and white cape across his shoulders. “How’s Daisy?”
He shrugged. “She threw me out last night. She’ll get over it. That’s just the way she is. I love her anyway. I only wish she crocheted instead of making swords. It would be a lot safer when we fight, you know?”
I laughed, understanding the problem but glad they were still together. “I don’t know. I’ve heard people can be vicious with those crochet hooks.”
He laughed, his wide shoulders and broad chest heaving with the force of it. His large, plain face and sometimes deliberate manner hid a sharp intellect and a warm heart. “That’s true. May I walk with you to the Dungeon to await the bailiff, my lady?”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll check in with work. I’m apprenticing with the new toy maker. Have you met him?”
“Sure. He’s jolly and nice. Daisy said he’s as round as an apple, but I think it’s just because he wears those big red suits. They aren’t very flattering on him.”
“So he’s more like Santa than Father Christmas?”
I smiled at two of the monks I recognized from the Monastery Bakery. They acknowledged me with a nod, appropriate for them. The Brotherhood of the Sheaf made the best cinnamon rolls and bread I’d ever had. The mere smell of them made my stomach grumble.
“I don’t know. They seem to love him. Everyone really loves his toys. He has all those little elves helping him every day. It’s a nice touch for the holiday.”
The Village had located the toy maker in one of the brick manor houses on Squire’s Lane, not too far from the Main Gate. It was the first time I’d ever seen the houses open. They had dressed up the three stately homes with wreaths and lots of fake snow. There were colorful ornaments on all the nearby trees. Children were waiting with their parents in a line that stretched around Mirror Lake and up toward the castle. Obviously, a very good attraction for the season.
“I’m going to go in and say hello,” I told Bart. “Thanks for meeting me. Maybe we can have lunch or something later.”
“That sounds nice. I’ll tell Daisy you’re here. That will give me an excuse to talk to her without really talking to her. That’s the way we make up. Bye, lady.”
As usual, Bart wasn’t much help in describing what was going on. He always kind of wandered around a topic until it was hard to decide what he was talking about. It didn’t really matter in this case—I was about to dive right into the holidays. My bruised spirit needed all those well wishes and special treats that come with this time of year.
“No, you’ll have to wait in line with the others,” a heavyset woman said at the side door. She was dressed like I’d expect Father Christmas’s wife to be—deep shades of burgundy velvet with a long skirt and white trim.
She looked a little frazzled, her snowy white hair standing up around the matching burgundy velvet hat she wore. She had a pretty face with pink cheeks and bright blue eyes, silver-rimmed glasses set on her nose. It was easy to imagine her making cookies for the elves.
“I’m Jessie Morton,” I said. “I’m your apprentice. They should’ve told you I was coming for the season. I can help make toys, run the shop—”
“You’re hired!” She pulled me inside with surprisingly strong fingers. “Thank God you’re here! We’re terribly understaffed for this crowd. I don’t know what those executives are thinking! I’m Christine Christmas. Let’s get you an elf suit. You can take over the photography. Right this way.”
I didn’t exactly have photography in mind. But every apprenticeship I’d ever done had required some flexibility. I’d done some things during apprenticeships that I wouldn’t have done at any other time. I was as familiar with Lady Visa and Sir MasterCard as I was with a duster and a mop. I’d coddled lords and ladies by fetching tea, giving foot rubs, even listening to their problems. There probably wasn’t a floor in the castle that I hadn’t scrubbed.
I had no regrets. I was very close to finishing my dissertation—“The Proliferation of Medieval Crafts in Modern Times.” Once I received my doctorate, I’d be able to go anywhere, do anything. Maybe make enough money to put some aside for things like broken-down cars and electric bills, not to mention new apartment hunting. All the stresses of real life outside the Village make-believe.
I’d worked hard on my dissertation t
hrough the past few years while managing to have a good time, too. I could make and shoot arrows, blow glass, weave baskets, make hats, and forge swords (which was how I knew Daisy and Bart so well). I was even partially responsible for getting the two of them together. Playing Cupid was more a hobby, but I excelled at it.
I pulled on the ivy green tights and tunic, then stuck the Robin Hood-like hat on my head. I looked in the mirror—there was a six-foot elf with blue eyes staring back at me, strands of flyaway brown hair sticking out around the hat. I wasn’t sure if they’d be able to find any size-twelve elf shoes for me.
Christine knocked impatiently on the bathroom door. “Are you almost ready in there? These kids are going wild.”
I wasn’t really good with kids, though I’d become better while working at the Village. I got impatient with the younger variety too easily. I could handle the college kids, but sticky hands and runny noses weren’t my favorite things.
As I emerged from the bathroom, Christine gave me a quick once-over. “Those tennis shoes are going to have to do. We don’t have any adult-sized elf shoes.”
Before I could ask if she had any kid-sized elf shoes, two children came up and tugged at her skirt. They were dressed like me, except they had tiny elf shoes with jingle bells on the toes.
“Mom, we’re almost out of candy,” the boy, maybe nine or ten, said.
“And we’re completely out of coloring pages,” the girl, eleven or twelve added. She had a sprig of holly in her very blond hair.
“All right. We’ll take care of it in just a moment! Merry Beth, you take this lady to the camera. She’ll be taking pictures. Garland, you go to the workshop and pick up more candy and coloring pages. Be quick now!”
Merry Beth took my hand as Christine headed in the opposite direction. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “I hope you’ll stay longer than the other photographer they sent. He couldn’t handle it. I’m not surprised!”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Merry Beth,” I replied to the pretty girl at my side. “My name is Jessie Morton. I doubt that I’ll be here taking pictures long. I’m the toy maker’s apprentice for the next few weeks.”