Treacherous Toys

by Joyce

  “No. She doesn’t.” Chase was suddenly behind us. “That’s why you two were waiting for me to finish my rounds before you came up here. Right, Jessie?”

  “Of course,” I lied with a smile. “We were going to wait for you at the entrance. I was about to mention that to Christine.”

  “Of course you were.” He smiled back and put his arm around my shoulder.

  “We’re going to be diplomatic about this, right?” Christine looked at the two of us with a beginning-to-panic expression on her face.

  “That’s the plan,” Chase assured her. “If we even have a hint that either Livy or Edgar—or anyone else, for that matter—could be involved in Chris’s death, I’ll call the police.”

  “Did you talk to Detective Almond this morning?” I asked him.

  “He’ll be here sometime today—unless we have to call him sooner.”

  Christine seemed satisfied that we weren’t both completely crazy. I didn’t bother mentioning my version of the plan—which didn’t involve Chase, who could be a stickler for the rules, and which had me apprehending the killer myself, if I found him or her—since Christine seemed so relieved with Chase’s version. Maybe Christine wasn’t a maverick like me. She was probably a better-safe-than-sorry girl.

  Gus Fletcher was at his post today in all his seasonal attire. He was a big man, broad shoulders and wide hips. He was wearing his usual helmet and armor, but he’d tucked a sprig of mistletoe into his breastplate. “Good morning to all of you.” He swept a slight bow and kissed Christine’s hand.

  While I was watching him with Christine, he managed to tweak my butt. I yelped and slapped at his hand. “You need to lay off,” I yelled at him. “I don’t know why they haven’t fired you for that.”

  “Because I’m too good-looking, and who else would want this job?” He laughed at his own joke and grasped Chase’s hand and arm in a manly clasp. “Good morning to you, too, Bailiff. No offense to your lady.”

  Chase wasn’t smiling when he said, “Good morning, Gus. You and I haven’t sparred for a while, have we?”

  Gus frowned. “No, we haven’t. And I’m not partial to the idea either. The last time we sparred, I sustained a most delicate injury—for weeks. I had to have a pillow when I sat down. My apologies to you and your lady.”

  I would’ve liked to have seen the sparring, but Chase seemed satisfied with the apology. “Is the queen in?”

  “Unless they brought in a chopper that picked her up from the roof. These days, anything is possible.”

  We left Gus at the entrance to the castle and walked past the Main Hall where the King’s Feast was held every Sunday night. Visitors waited in line here to enter the arena where the jousting, eating, and other entertainment took place.

  There was faux Renaissance art, tapestries, and suits of armor decorating the area. The visitors were not allowed past the entrance and into the private quarters of the king and queen unless they had a special invitation.

  After walking through the heavy, stud-embossed door, we entered the residence area, where the art and tapestries were real and expensive. There was central air and heating in this part of the castle, with wide-screen TVs in every visitor’s suite. The carpet was plush underfoot, and the accoutrements were fit for royalty.

  I knew where everything was here. I began my career as a kitchen wench in the castle. I was glad to have escaped that drudgery soon after. Most people didn’t linger long in those base jobs. Livy was an impossible employer with her daily tantrums and demands.

  We passed Rita Martinez, who was the exception to the rule. She’d been head of the kitchen staff for as long as the Village had been open. She wasn’t in the best of moods, which wasn’t surprising.

  Chase hailed her, and she gave him a quick nod of respect. “Is Livy up yet?”

  “Don’t mention her name to me,” she spat back. “She was impossible before she was pregnant. There isn’t a word to describe what she’s become. But she’s up and receiving visitors, Sir Bailiff. Good luck.” She muttered a quick “Good to see you, Jessie,” then was on her way.

  “Maybe we should come back later,” Christine said, starting back toward the door.

  “It’ll be fine,” Chase said. “It’s much better than it sounds.”

  That was only a moment before the door to Livy’s bed chamber opened and a full serving tray complete with cups and plates was thrown into the hall. It just missed us.

  “We refuse to eat this mush again. Take it and feed it to the pigs or the prisoners in the Dungeon.”

  Nine

  A chambermaid and both of the ladies-in-waiting scurried out immediately after. The chambermaid was swearing under her breath. Lady Barbara, who’d been at the Village as long as I could recall, said, “I’m not getting paid enough to do this!”

  But Chase was brave. He knocked at the door and peeked around the corner into Livy’s chamber. “Your Majesty? I was wondering if I could have a moment.”

  Livy’s face was red from crying. She smiled when she saw him. “Of course! Come in, dear boy. There’s no one I would rather see.”

  She didn’t look as enthusiastic about seeing Christine and me. “You, we know.” She pointed to me, then turning to Christine, added, “You look familiar, but we don’t know you.”

  “Could we sit down, Your Majesty?” Chase asked. “We have something important to discuss with you.”

  “That would be wonderful, Sir Bailiff. Come. Take a seat. Someone order tea for us.”

  All three of us quickly denied wanting any food or beverage. We’d all seen the tea set flung out of the door.

  Olivia, wearing a flowered robe, flounced down on her velvet sofa and waited to hear what Chase (always one of her favorites) wanted to say.

  “We have a problem, Queen Olivia.” Chase’s tone was respectful and never gave a hint that he might be about to accuse her of taking part in a murder. “We’re trying to investigate what happened to Chris Christmas.”

  Olivia’s fake eyelashes looked like spiders moving up and down as she rapidly blinked. “We are afraid you have wasted your journey here, Bailiff. We have no knowledge, beyond what we have read in the newspaper. We have heard gossip but pay no attention to such drivel.”

  “We believe the police may not know enough about this matter,” Chase continued. “We believe Father Christmas may have been willfully murdered by someone in the Village.”

  Livy’s head fell back against the sofa. Huge, gulping sobs shook her heavily pregnant form. “Are we never to lead a normal existence? When will the past ever stop knocking upon our chamber door? Oh! Nevermore.”

  With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe, it was a pretty good speech. I glanced at Christine, who appeared to be more amazed by Livy’s words than Chase and I. But we had lived with the theatrics that went on in the Village—especially with the king and queen. After a while, you became immune to it.

  “Does that mean she’s guilty?” Christine whispered to me.

  “Who knows?”

  Chase was at the queen’s side, trying to revive and console her. She cried pitifully into his jerkin. I didn’t mind that so much. But when she started running her hands up and down his back, I knew things were getting out of control.

  I pulled him away from her. I didn’t know if he hadn’t noticed her advances or what, but it was time for someone else to take over. “Queen Olivia, we know you had an affair with Chris.”

  She sniffled but seemed coherent. “It is true, but that was many years ago.” Her tear-filled eyes gazed at Christine. “We know you now. You are Chris’s wife. We are terribly sorry for cavorting with your husband.”

  In an unsettled voice, Christine said, “It was a long time ago, Your Majesty, long before Chris and I even met.”

  “We also know that you cavorted with the second Father Christmas.” That was a long shot, but I had a hunch.

  “It’s true.” Livy looked up at me and smiled. “We were unable to resist the outfit, you see. All that fur and jolly ti
dings. It quite affected our mind.”

  Chase shrugged, giving credence to my theory. “And you hired Edgar Gaskin to be at the Village at the same time as Chris and his family. Why was that, Your Majesty?”

  Livy blew her nose on her lacy handkerchief. “He threatened to expose our affair to the king. Harry knew about Chris. He forgave us that years ago.” She whispered, “He doesn’t know about Edgar. We are in a delicate state for such information to become public knowledge. When Edgar asked to come here, we hired him and gave him a room in the castle.”

  Since Livy and Harry’s bedroom exploits were legendary, none of us were too surprised by her confession. Hiring Edgar probably seemed the lesser of two evils. It hadn’t been easy convincing the king that the baby she carried was his.

  “What do you plan to do with this information?” she asked, her tone a little more regal.

  “We are investigating who might be involved in killing Chris,” I explained, keeping Chase an arm’s length from her. The woman was insatiable. “We believe that Edgar could be involved in his death.”

  Queen Olivia sat up at that information, her rosy lips parting on a smile. “Well go forth then, my good people, and arrest the oaf. We would see him in the Dungeon before the end of day.”

  “We’ll do our best, Your Majesty,” Chase said. “We’ll try not to involve you in what we learn, but we may have to.”

  “Do what you have to, my good Bailiff! We would appreciate if it were over before our baby is born.” Livy went into a crying fit again. We left her chamber, reluctant ladies-in-waiting Barbara and Jane going to check on her.

  “I guess you were right,” Chase said. “It’s not too much of a stretch to imagine Edgar killing Chris.”

  “It all fits together,” I agreed. “But I don’t know if we should clear Livy of this yet. Especially considering she was involved with both men.”

  Christine looked a little overwhelmed. I tried to comfort her—not only had she lost her husband, but she also had to endure our continued conversations about him. It couldn’t be easy for her.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said with only a hint of a sniffle. “I’m used to Chris’s lady friends popping up now and again. But what in the world did he see in her? She’s bordering on crazy.”

  “I guess that was before she was queen,” Chase said.

  “Not that she hasn’t had plenty of action since she became queen,” I reminded him. “Don’t ever get that close to her again. She’d jump your bones right now, pregnant or not.”

  “What do we do now?” Christine asked as we emerged back in the watery sunlight.

  I carefully avoided Gus as we walked by him. I didn’t trust him even if he had apologized. “We talk to the police and tell them what we know.”

  Christine looked at the little Christmas watch pendant pinned to her bodice. “It’s almost eleven. I have to get the children into the workshop for Father Christmas’s tour. Then we’ll be upstairs for the picture taking until lunch break.”

  “I’ll give Detective Almond another call,” Chase said. His radio went off—they needed him for the upcoming joust. The black knight had taken ill, and they had no one to fill in for him.

  “I guess that will make us all free for lunch,” I said. “Maybe Detective Almond would like to have lunch in the Village.”

  “We’ll see.” Chase smiled and kissed me before he headed down the cobblestones for the Field of Honor on the other side of the Village.

  “Has Chase said if he’s identified the runaway knight who came at us yesterday?” Christine asked as we headed toward Squire’s Lane and the Christmas manor houses.

  “No. I’m sure he’s working on it, but he hasn’t updated me on that yet. Whoever it was probably hasn’t been at the Village for very long. The problem is that they’ve taken on so many new people for the season. When I looked at the employee records, I was surprised at how many there are. Adventure Land must expect a huge crowd.”

  Those words had barely left my lips when we caught sight of the line of visitors stretching from the manor houses all the way through the Main Gate. Bringing the holidays to the Village—along with Father Christmas—seemed to be a good idea.

  Christine’s blue eyes flew wide open. “I wish Chris could have been here. I’m sure it’s the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen. I’ll just go and get the children.”

  We walked through the mostly patient parents and children queued up to see Father Christmas. There were several residents giving out flyers for other areas of the Village, no doubt trying to piggyback on the success of the Christmas theme. Milton, a good-looking knight who was a regular from the University of Minnesota, was smiling and chatting with the ladies in the crowd.

  Alex, one of the Merry Men from Sherwood Forest, was also trying to entice some visitors to head for the trees. Marcus Fleck, usually assigned as the Black Dwarf, was dressed in castle finery as he gave out invitations to the King’s Feast on Sunday night.

  Of course, the pesky fairies (in seasonal fairy colors) were out in force trying to move some of the crowd to events at the other end of the Village, such as the upcoming joust at the Field of Honor, the programs at the Stage Caravan, and the wild bird acts at the Hawk Stage.

  “This has to be the most colorful place I’ve ever been,” Christine said as we reached the basement workshop. “And that includes all the Santa Land parks, too.”

  I was about to answer as she opened the door. The sight that hit me was so unbelievable, it left me speechless. Whatever I’d been about to say flew completely out of my head.

  Christine’s expression was one of utter shock. She rushed in, crying, “Oh no! Oh no!”

  All of the children surged to the center of the room. They, and the workshop, looked as though they’d indulged in a paint fight. Everything and everyone was covered in blue, red, yellow, and green paint. The smallest child, Faith, was crying as she lifted her arms to be picked up.

  “What in the world is going on?” Christine sidestepped Faith’s tearful entreaties and walked right up to Merry Beth and Jolly. Nick, who was somewhere between them in age, stayed away from that spot. “I can’t believe you two let this go on. You know they expect us to be making toys down here when Father Christmas comes in a few minutes. What are we supposed to do now?”

  Jolly stepped forward. “How about we don’t act like nothing happened? Dad is dead. He was murdered. We don’t want to be good little elves for everyone else’s benefit anymore. Merry Beth and I are tired of wearing these stupid costumes and making toys all the time. Can’t we just be a normal family for once?”

  I could see Christine was taken aback by Jolly’s complaints. She looked at Merry Beth. “You feel this way, too?”

  The girl nodded. “We’re supposed to be grieving, Mom. Not laughing and pretending we want to make toys. We’re not really elves. We have feelings. Like when is Dad going to be buried? Are we having a day off for his funeral or what?”

  I could see two bright red spots of color rising in Christine’s otherwise pale face. She clenched her hands into fists. “We don’t have the luxury of taking time off to mourn your father right now. And he can’t be buried until the police release his body. We have to keep working or we won’t eat. Adventure Land has let us stay on despite your father being gone. We have our parts to play.”

  The two kids standing close to her were still angry. I could see it in their mutinous faces. But they put it aside, and everyone worked together to clean up the mess.

  I wasn’t very surprised at Jolly and Merry Beth’s outburst. The children were right—they’d lost their father and they needed time to grieve. But I understood Christine’s concerns about trying to make ends meet, too. They were all probably still in shock from the events of the last few days.

  We could hear the crowd coming down from the manor house, with Father Christmas and carolers in the lead. Most of the paint was gone from the walls and floor. Toys covered up some other spots. The remaining splotches looked like just another pa
rt of the workshop mess.

  Christine told the children to go upstairs and get cleaned up. Joy and Star asked if they shouldn’t stay and help make toys. Both of them had blue paint in their hair.

  “Not right now,” their mother said. “Jessie and I will handle this. You go upstairs with your brothers and sisters, take a shower, and change clothes. We all need to be at the photo shoot in thirty minutes. Help Merry Beth with Faith and Holly.”

  When the basement door opened, the kids were gone. Christine and I looked up and smiled at the crowd of visitors who’d flooded into the room. The carolers kept singing and by now had been joined by some of the Merry Mynstrels in their holiday gear.

  “Welcome to my toy shop,” Edgar Gaskin said to the group in his loud, dramatic Father Christmas voice. “As you can see, my elves are hard at work making toys for all the children of the world.”

  One little boy who was holding a candy apple looked around and said, “Are these all the elves you’ve got? I think you need to hire a few more if you want to make that many toys.”

  Father Christmas laughed it off, but I could see the irritation behind his happy smile. He continued leading the visitors around the workshop, but without all the children at their tables in various stages of toy making, it was a pretty quick tour.

  When it was over, the crowd went back out the door, followed by the singers and music makers. Edgar stayed behind and closed the door.

  “What was this supposed to be?” he demanded. “Where are the children? I felt like a complete fool. I thought you understood why you got to stay here, Christine. No kids, no contract. Adventure Land only kept you on because I felt sorry for you. Don’t let this happen again.”

  Christine was angry, but she kept her mouth shut. I knew she had no choice with eight hungry mouths to feed.

  Thankfully, I wasn’t in that position. “Give her a break,” I said. “All of them are doing the best they can in this situation. Act like Father Christmas and be a little forgiving.”

  He turned his evil eye on me. “You aren’t one of the kids, are you?”