“I’M NOT DEAF YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Edna squeezed the last pair of socks into a tight ball and set it into the left portion of her sock drawer, making sure it didn’t touch the white socks lined up on the right side of the drawer. There was nothing worse than a sock drawer that wasn’t divided into ‘colored’ socks and ‘white’ socks.
“Edna?” Heather’s voice filtered through the door, “I thought we weren’t going to use any more bad language? That’s what we agreed?”
Edna gently slid the drawer closed and straightened the lace doily on the top of her dresser. With one last glance around the room to make sure everything was in its place, she reached for the doorknob.
“I’M COMING OUT, YOU SWINE, SO MOVE BACK!” She shot a parting glance at the bare mattress where Abbey used to sleep and opened the door.
Without waiting for any more of Heather’s prattle, she moved towards the day room, where Mr. Chow stood with his penis peeking out through his zipper.
“Put him away before I chop his head off,” Edna whispered as she passed him. Mr. Chow gave her a nervous glance and stuffed himself back into his pants.
Lynn stood at the white board and looked up as Edna entered the day room. “Hello there, Edna.”
“Why do you call her Edna and the rest of us ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mrs.’?” a shrill voice shot out from the back of the room.
“Well, Cher, it’s because…”
“Liza. Can’t you tell the difference between Cher and Liza?”
“No,” Lynn shook her head and winked at Mr. Rix, “not when they’re both so beautiful.”
“Oh, okay,” Mr. Rix said, patting his hair into place.
“Like I was saying,” Lynn began again, “we have received an invitation to be part of the festivities at the Faire held on the grounds of the Bastille. I thought it would be a good outing for us.”
“What are we going as?” Mrs. Bailey asked, petting Fung Shi.
Lynn stifled a laugh. “The Freak Show” didn’t seem an appropriate title. “I have some ideas, but what are yours?”
“Well, I ain’t doing anything stupid like wearing those dumb costumes,” Mrs. Bailey said defiantly. “I don’t want to look like no retard. Neither does Fung Shi. He’s very sensitive.”
This from a woman who ran around naked and had an imaginary… what was Feng Shi, anyway? “It’s all in the spirit of fun, Mrs. Bailey.”
“I know!” Mr. Rix screamed, straightening the Liza wig. “I can do Katharine Hepburn from Lion in Winter”!
“If he does that, then Peter gets to go in costume too!” Mr. Chow unzipped and whipped out his peter and began wagging it. “Look at me! I’m King Arthur!”
“Everyone?” Heather’s voice erupted from the corner, “Let’s not get crazy?”
Too late, Lynn thought, as Mrs. Bailey stood and began stripping. “Let’s spread some joy!”
Lynn sighed. It was going to be a long day. When she felt the tap on her shoulder, she jumped.
“Oh, Mr. Graves.”
“He touched you.” Mr. Graves voice sounded raspy and worn.
“Who did?”
“The Angel of Death,” Mr. Graves croaked.
Lynn looked at him, wondering what to say. Finally she decided on, “If he had, Mr. Graves, wouldn’t I be dead?”
He shook his head and pondered her, his eyes boring into her. After what felt like an eternity of silence, she opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “I will go.”
“Go where?”
“To the Faire,” he said and walked away.
“Are you sure?” Lynn asked, ignoring the bedlam in the day room. “You hate going out in public.”
He spun around to look at her. “I can see Death through his disguise. I need to protect Abbey.” He paused for a moment then continued, “And you.”
Lynn felt suddenly guilty. She had made a promise to Mr. Graves last week to check up on Abbey. How could she counsel the patients to follow through on promises if she wasn’t going to do it herself? What kind of role model would that be for them? Did it matter? Yes, she decided firmly, it did.
46
His teeth completely mutilated the end of the straw before Mathers realized he was chewing on it. He pulled the fragments of plastic from his tongue and flicked them into the bag with the rest of the fast food wrappers. He gathered up the stray French fries, unused catsup packets, and dirty napkins and shoved them in the bag as well. Janet and Sal would kill him if they ever found out he ate drive-thru burgers rather than go back to their house for ‘real food,’ so he double-checked the interior of the car for stray sesame seeds before opening the door and walking to the trash can.
He was positive Abbey and the aunts were involved with the dead bodies of both Sarah and Elfi Reisner. What was Abbey’s role? He brushed the remnants of salt from his trousers and headed back to the car. Elfi Reisner, the second body found, turned out to be the grandmother of Sarah Reisner, the first body found in the glade. What were the odds? Both women were known as the ‘black sheep’ of the family, famous for their late-night carousing and flagrant disregard of the rules; both cut from the same cloth. That much explained why they weren’t reported missing until weeks after their disappearance. But what was their connection to the Bastille or the Emerson family?
He sighed and got back into the car. If he couldn’t find the missing link soon, then he would have to close the case as unsolvable. There was nothing he hated more than closed cases that didn’t feel closed. He sat behind the wheel and rolled over the theories. One: The two
Reisners were murdered and Abbey was directly involved. This was impossible. Elfi Reisner died before Abbey was born and Sarah’s death occurred while Abbey was placed in The Meadows. This led to theory number two: The two Reisners were murdered and Abbey knew the killers. This was much more plausible. Perhaps the aunts were the guilty parties and young Abbey stumbled across something that would indict the old women. In an effort to discredit her, the crazy aunts placed her in The Meadows. Not only would anything Abbey said come under scrutiny, but it would also provide the aunts with privacy and time to cover their tracks. Something in The Meadows (Lynn’s counseling, perhaps?) jogged Abbey’s memory and now the horror of the act was coming back to her. This caused the aunts to pull the girl from the loony bin and bring her home.
He glanced around the intersection, letting his eyes wander over the landscape. This didn’t feel right. He spotted a dented, rusty Ford making an illegal left-hand turn into the driveway of the Dairy Queen. There was a time when he would have rushed to apprehend the driver, intent on fulfilling his duty as…
Dairy Queen. He ran into Lynn, Abbey’s therapist, coming out of the Dairy Queen, didn’t he? When was that? The days blurred together lately. He remembered how stunning Lynn looked in her heels and dress, and how her hesitant, darting eyes belied the calm voice she used when she spoke with him about the women of the Bastille. What were the words she used? ‘…the air seemed…tense.’ And ‘… we all have our secrets.’
Did the therapist know something she wasn’t telling him? He rolled his eyes in disgust. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Lynn knew something! That’s why she acted so oddly the first time he interviewed her last week! She must have been trying to raise his suspicion without betraying her ethical responsibilities. Damn, what an idiot he was. She was on to information about Abbey and her relationship with the aunts back then. Why didn’t he pay more attention? Because he was tired. Because he wasn’t listening. Because he was distracted by the way her dress was cut off her shoulders and dipped into her chest. Damn! That dress left little to the imagination.
Maybe he’d be in luck and she’d have it on the next time he saw her. Right. Like his luck was that good. When was the last time he had a date, anyway? A year? Two? Pierced tongues were nice, but the Vermont winters got awfully cold. He started the car. He needed to get a move on. He needed to talk to Abbey without the aunts.
47
“Over here!” Tomyris screamed, s
winging her sword at the tall tattooed man in a loincloth. He stumbled into the stone wall of the hallway as Boo grabbed him from behind. The man yelled in surprise as Boo’s strong arms swung him around and threw him back into the Tapestry, where he merged into the thick fabric with a whoosh.
On the opposite end of the hall, a black Frisian reared and flailed his hooves at a gray stallion standing half in and half out of the wall. As the Frisian’s front legs came down on the stone floor, two of Tomyris’ Sulakis rounded the corner and leapt at the stallion, fangs bared. The stallion’s eyes opened wide in a look of horror as it backed up into the wall and disappeared into the embroidered portrait of the Crusades.
“Is that all of them?” Boo’s voice belied her exhaustion.
“Yes,” Tomyris answered, replacing her sword on the wall and adjusting the feathers in her hair. “Fuck! I lost my earring.”
“Damn the jewelry!” Boo hissed, descending upon her.
Tomyris strode within inches of Boo’s face. “I like my jewelry.”
“Ladies!” Eleanor spat as she rounded the corner. “Enough!” She reached out and laid her hand upon the Frisian. “Let us do what we can with that fissure before anything else slips through time.” She pointed to a gash in the Tapestry that cut through the embroidered soldiers of the Crusades and continued for several inches into a picturesque scene of a young redheaded woman sitting next to a grey stallion.
No sooner had the words left her mouth then the redheaded woman in the picture stood, stretched, and stepped towards them. As the tiny body became larger, a foot emerged from the fabric, followed by the body. Within moments, she stood in the hallway looking around in amazement.
“Hello, Eleanor!” She waved at the rest of the group and grimaced when she spotted Boo. “Boudicca.” “Luna,” Boo hissed.
“Luna, dear,” Eleanor said, resting her hand on the young woman. “It pains me to be the one to tell you this, but you must return. It is not yet time.”
Luna looked at her in surprise. “But…?”
“Dear, it is a long, tired story.” She pointed to the Tapestry and
Luna followed Eleanor’s gesture.
“Good Lord! The Tapestry is torn! Eleanor, did you see the rips in the Tapestry?”
“Nothing escapes your keen sight, does it, dear?” Eleanor droned.
“Those should be fixed, should they not?”
Eleanor smiled weakly and nodded. “We still have four days.”
“Four days?” Luna shook her head. “Oh, dear. But there is little that Eleanor of Aquitaine cannot do.”
Boo coughed and Eleanor shot her a harsh look. Luna patted Eleanor on the shoulder. “Should I go now?” Eleanor nodded and gestured to the Tapestry. Luna waved to Tomyris, grimaced at Boo, and stepped into the wall.
“Ruth, please see to it that the larger of the repairs are sewn up first. We can seal them later.” Eleanor turned and headed down the corridor. “Tomyris,” she called over her shoulder, “please find Abbey. It is time for drastic measures.”
48
Abbey felt them watching her. One moment she stood gazing at the private landing strip and the next her skin crawled with gooseflesh and a chill shimmered down her spine. When she turned around, the only things watching her were Fire and Water, standing at opposite ends of the corral. Those two horses hated each other. It took no brains at all to see that. Just yesterday, she walked in to find Fire biting Water’s neck. Why did the aunts keep them here?
As she stood watching them, Fire reared up and crossed to the opposite side of the corral. Water, on the other hand, trotted over to the fence and moved his head up and down while stomping his foot in the turf. Abbey went to him and he laid his head on her shoulder.
She suddenly felt like riding. She hadn’t been on horseback since she and Boo rode the trails a few days ago and that trip was not at all relaxing. During the whole ride, Boo harassed her about posture, form and speed, all the time bombarding her with questions about The Meadows. For God’s sake, the woman visited The Meadows herself several times! Why all the questions?
Abbey looked around and found herself alone. Could it be possible that she had escaped the watchful eyes of her aunts? Where was Fred? She hadn’t seen him since the night Tomyris’ dogs were injured in the woods. She missed the man. They hadn’t spoken often, but the brief conversations they shared relaxed her and left her wanting more. She enjoyed his quirky sense of humor, low-pitched belly laugh, and crooked smile. She wished she could remember what their relationship was like before her accident, as he felt so…familiar and safe. She grabbed a pair of reins from the hook near the door and decided against lugging the saddle from the tack room.
She hoisted herself on Water’s back and set out into the woods.
49
Within this ten-acre area of the Bastille, the answer to his case sat waiting to be discovered. He could feel it.
Mathers backed up to the newly strung rope bearing the sign: FAIRE WORKERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT and retraced his steps.
An arch constructed from tree limbs and tied together with vines stretched across an eight-foot-wide path that signified the entrance to the Faire. In four days, the town’s invited guests would line up outside the ‘Market Square’ to greet the ‘Royal Gatekeeper’ and receive an entrance medallion. This year’s theme was “Peasant Craftwork” and the Gatekeeper would be Mrs. Collins, the owner of the town’s only specialty bakery. Mrs. Collins’ contribution to the Faire would be her own idea of a “Peasant Craftwork”: her freshly baked sourdough dinner roll strung on a length of hemp rope. He wondered how the theme of “Craftwork” related to dough on string, but he didn’t have the heart to question poor Mrs. Collins, who relayed the idea to the reporter while grinning at the photographer through a face full of flour.
The townsfolk who weren’t on the VIP list were vendors and had already invaded the glen with their tents and signage. From where he stood, Mathers could see a dozen canvas tarps with little wooden signs with the names: Glenburn’s Glop (baked goods from old lady Glenburn who made the best blueberry pies in the county); Dorne’s Delusions (how in the hell Betsy Dorn would pass off her new age crystals and incense as ‘delusions’ he had no idea); Sucking Sappy (sounded more like porn than candy); and Michael’s Miracle Mudd (an overpriced facial cream he himself had purchased for the Secret Santa gift last year and later found in the booking department’s bathroom. Apparently they preferred their Miracle Mudd with a bit of toilet paper). Several other unnamed tents stood empty, waiting for the big day when their owners could haul wares from the stores on Main Street to the tables under the trees. Dominating the scene, smack in the middle of the acreage, was a large, round canopy of brown burlap with a single sign: ALE. He guessed that in the fifteenth century there wasn’t much to do besides drink and make babies.
The rest of the grounds looked like a movie set. Colored fabric ran from tree to tree to establish the boundaries of the Faire and a makeshift walkway of tree bark meandered through the maze of vendor tents. To his left, back behind a small clump of firs, was a line of Honey Buckets pathetically camouflaged by branches of pine trees. In front of him at the other end of the glade was the spot where Janet found the bodies. A small stage for musicians stood over the spot where the corpses were found, directly underneath a magnificent ancient oak tree whose trunk split just at eye level.
This year, the sewing circle was set up under the trees far from the center of the Faire. He could see twelve three-legged wooden stools set up in a circle around a short, round wooden table. One of the highlights of the Bastille’s Faire was when the women of the Bastille came out of the huge stone mansion dressed in full Renaissance regalia and sat for the entire day chanting, humming and sewing some kind of Tapestry made of black fabric with small pictures embroidered into it. Apparently it was rather old, as every year the ladies would repair the Tapestry while the townspeople watched. For some reason, it was a huge hit. The area around the sewing circle was packed shoulder to shou
lder with spectators. Apparently, the invited VIP group included a herd of closet quilters.
Not that being invited to the Faire was that difficult. In fact, Mathers didn’t know of anyone who wasn’t invited. He always assumed the term ‘invite’ made the event that much more appealing to the townspeople, getting them to open up their wallets and buy some of this junk that they wouldn’t think of buying should they see it downtown. Regardless, the Faire was always a hit with the locals, as every year people made plans to attend. People seemed to crawl out of the woodwork for this shindig; there were always more Faire-goers than Faire-workers.
He stood at the musician’s stage, looking up into the massive old tree. Could anyone have shimmied out on the tree’s limb and dropped the bodies onto the ground? The tree, while old, still seemed sturdy enough to hold a slightly built woman like Tomyris or Abbey. He examined the tree closer. The rotten portion of the trunk, where the main trunk split into two large branches, emitted a foul stench that smelled like spoiled shit. As he poked into the crevice with a pen, a swarm of flies lifted into the air and he waved them away to prod at a nest of some kind, built into the rotten piece of wood. Nothing seemed odd at all.
The snap of a twig behind him rang out like a shot. He spun around, reaching inside his coat to grab his gun.
“Detective?”
“Abbey?”
The young woman smiled broadly and walked towards him, leading a horse that seemed too huge for her to manage. He noticed she rode with no saddle.
“What are you doing here, Detective?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
“You might,” she said, stopping only when she was a few feet from him. “But you will not, as I live here.”
Another snap of a twig sent them both reeling around this time.
“Must have been an animal.” Abbey’s voice was even and metered; emotionless.
“Must have,” Mathers said.
“You still feel the connection between the two dead women lay with my family.” Her eyes bore down on him.
Guild Of Immortal Women Page 15
