Wicked Weaves

by Lavene, Joyce

  “I thought you said the police don’t have anything, and I could go.”

  “You could, if you trust me.” He smiled and took my hand. “These fingers deserve to be punctured by sharp-edged grass and needles again. I can make that happen.”

  My heart—and the rest of me—was melting. There was no going back from those kisses. I didn’t know how Chase felt, but I wanted more. I wasn’t likely to get more of anything with me in prison and him back in the Village, surrounded by pert little fairies and lonely ladies-in-waiting.

  Besides, what was the worst that could happen? If Chase wasn’t really a lawyer, he’d get in trouble, not me. I wouldn’t be any worse for the opportunity. “Since you put it that way, get me out if you can.”

  He grinned, dark eyes making me wish we were somewhere more private. “I’ll be back in a flash. You stay right here and try not to get in any more trouble.”

  “Ha-ha. I hope your legal skills are sharper than your sense of humor.”

  But before he could leave me, Detective Almond and a man in a blue suit, who introduced himself as the assistant district attorney, walked in and shut the door behind them. A woman with a tape recorder sat down in one corner of the room.

  I hoped no one else was planning to join us. The room wasn’t made for that many people and I was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

  After introductions all around, we sat down at the little table Chase and I had recently occupied. The two men from the city stared at me intently. I could feel the frown lines coming back on my forehead.

  “Miz Morton,” Detective Almond began. “I’m sure you’re trying to help your friend, Miz Shift. But the best thing you could do for her now is tell the truth. She may be sick. She may need help. She won’t get it unless you tell us exactly what happened.”

  I started to open my mouth and tell them I would never betray Mary, no matter what they did to me, but Chase spoke before I could get myself into more trouble. “My client has already told you everything she knows about what happened.”

  The ADA smiled in a slimy way that made me want to take a shower. “I’m sure your client wants to help us punish the one who did this terrible thing. We’d like to hear the story again from her.”

  “I don’t see much point in that when you already know what she’s going to say.”

  “We’d like to hear it anyway.” The ADA nodded at Detective Almond, and they both looked at me.

  I was ready to tell them everything I knew, starting with kindergarten and working up through college. There was no secret worth spending time alone with these two men. But before I could spill everything, Chase put his hand on mine. “I’ll allow her to give you a short statement. Then we’re leaving, unless you’d like to file charges against her.”

  “Nobody’s talking about filing charges right now,” Detective Almond said. “This is part of our preliminary investigation. We’ll take a statement from her, and then she’s free to go. We may need to speak with her later, depending on how our investigation proceeds.”

  Chase nodded. “She’ll leave you her cell phone number where you can reach her.”

  “I’ll need a permanent address, too,” the ADA added.

  “We can do that.” Chase looked at me. “All right, Jessie. Tell him briefly what you know about Mr. Shift’s death.”

  I could tell by the way he said briefly that I was supposed to keep it under one or two sentences; maybe 125 words. That’s all. They didn’t need any more.

  But when I opened my mouth, it all came tumbling out: “My brother, Tony, owes me a hundred dollars, and I know I’m never going to see it. He’s got some slutty fairy this year that’s going to suck up all my money by the end of the summer. If that’s not enough, I spent months getting ready to make baskets for the beginning of my dissertation on Renaissance crafts, only to find myself making change and conversation in Wicked Weaves when I’m not poking my hand with sharp grass and bleeding all over the baskets.”

  “Maybe that explains the dried blood we found on the basket weave.” Detective Almond nodded to the ADA, and they both took notes. “Would you be willing to give us a sample of your blood?”

  “Not without a court order,” Chase answered.

  “That won’t be hard, Solicitor,” Detective Almond promised. “Some cooperation would go a long way right now.”

  “Are you talking about a real blood test?” I asked. “Or a finger prick? I could do the prick but not the whole needle thing. I really hate needles. I think it’s because I had so many shots when I was a kid. I was sick a lot, and we were always going to the doctor.”

  I saw the shocked, deer-in-the-headlights look on their faces. Even the clerk couldn’t seem to write it all down. But I couldn’t stop myself. “Now we have a dead guy. We weren’t sure if he was dead at the Village, and Chase had to touch him. He almost fell on me, and I got out of the way in time. Then Mary says it’s her weave that strangled him, but not her weave as in she didn’t personally strangle him. And really I don’t know how a little tiny woman like that could strangle that great big man or when she would’ve been able to do it.”

  I drew a breath to start again, but Chase stopped me. “That’s fine, Jessie. I think they got all they need. In the interest of cooperation and because my client is innocent, she’ll allow a blood sample.”

  “But only a finger prick,” I reminded them. “If you show me the basket weave, I can probably tell you if it’s mine.”

  For the next hour, they got a sample of my blood and brought the pathetic looking piece of basket weave in for me to inspect. It was definitely one of my failures. I guess that’s why Mary never actually claimed it. But she must have known. Maybe she was trying to protect me. “This is mine. That’s why it looks like Mary’s, because I’m learning from her. But if you’d ever seen her work, you’d know the difference. You might want to take a look in the trash can outside Wicked Weaves. That’s where this came from.”

  Another hour passed as they compared my blood to the blood on the basket weave. I glanced at Chase, who stayed with me through the ordeal and wished they’d left us alone for a while. But someone was with us the whole time.

  Detective Almond finally came back in the room. “Looks like you’re free to go, Miz Morton.”

  I was starting to get into the whole process. “Are you sure? There are a lot of really weird things going on out at the Village.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. But those things will have to keep while we conduct this murder investigation. We appreciate your help.”

  I tried to say more, but Chase and Detective Almond hustled me out of the room. Before I knew what had happened, I was outside in the sunshine on the front steps of the police station. “You did it! You got me out!”

  “I think you did it by yourself,” Chase said. “I think they were afraid to keep you. Do you know the meaning of the word brief?”

  “I don’t care.” I twirled around in my heavy linen. “I’m free! And I didn’t incriminate Mary.”

  “Are you saying you did all that on purpose?”

  I grinned. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “That makes me feel better. I wish it could stop my ears from bleeding. Next time, warn me, and I’ll stuff cotton in them.”

  “What about Mary?”

  “I’m going to get her out, too. You find someplace nearby and stay put. I’ll find you when I’m done. This may take a little longer. I have a feeling she can’t talk as fast as you.”

  “Thank you, Chase. I’m really glad you came for me.”

  “You’re welcome. But next time, do what your lawyer tells you.”

  “Okay. Go get Mary.”

  I watched him walk back into the police station before all the strength left my legs and I had to collapse on the green grass next to the stairs. A man with a poodle smiled at me in a strange way and said, “I’m sorry. Buzzy went right there, and you sat down before I could pick it up. Would you like a paper towel?”

  I went inside an
d cleaned the poop off of my skirt. I couldn’t do much about the smell, but at least it was clean. I knew the costume keepers wouldn’t be thrilled when they saw a dog poop stain on the linen. As I was drying the skirt with a hand dryer in the bathroom, a woman smiled and asked me if I was at the police station for a historical event. “I visited Old Salem,” she said with a ditzy smile. “Is that the same thing?”

  I explained the difference between the Civil War and the Renaissance as I finished drying my skirt. “You should come out sometime. It’s really nice out there at the Village.”

  The woman said she’d try to visit, and I started thinking about how the news of Joshua’s murder was going to affect tourists. People expected fake things to happen at the Village, but real-life death was completely different. I hoped it wouldn’t mean the end of Renaissance Faire Village.

  I walked back out of the police station, hoping Chase would be out there with Mary, but no such luck. That’s when I decided to sit down and practice my plaiting with some of the taller grass.

  I didn’t want to think how this event had altered my relationship with Chase. The logical side of my brain said that I was overwrought and emotional. That explained my jumping him when I saw him. The other part of my brain said it was about time. Of course, I had to worry about what Chase thought. He didn’t seem to be resisting. He seemed to enjoy the experience as much as I did. But how could I know for sure?

  The trick to basket weaving, which I was still trying to master, was holding everything together in your hands while you put it together with everything else. It sounds easy. It doesn’t even look hard when you see someone else do it. But you almost need three hands to pull it off.

  I pulled up some longer pieces of grass, made them equal lengths, then plaited them together like a braid. I made several braids, then worked at putting them together with other long pieces of grass. Of course I didn’t have my bone and nothing to stitch with because the grass kept breaking. I guess that’s why Gullah women never used fescue to make baskets.

  I looked up and noticed that I’d attracted a crowd around me. There were murmurs of how interesting it was to watch me and what a good idea it was for the county to hire a historical reenactor to sit outside the courthouse. I smiled and chatted with them, explaining that I was from Renaissance Faire Village. Some of them threw some coins and dollar bills into the billowing folds of my skirt.

  This was all right! I’d never thought about taking my show on the road. Maybe I could make some money on the outside of the Village.

  Just as I had those thoughts, an officer stopped to see why everyone was standing around. “Have you got a vendor’s permit?”

  “No.” My crowd began to disperse. So much for making some extra money.

  “You need a permit to sit outside and solicit money.”

  “I wasn’t soliciting, Officer. I was working on my basket weaving and people were watching me. I didn’t realize they were throwing money.”

  “That’s the worst excuse I’ve heard all day. Do you have a permit or not?”

  I was about to tell him what I thought about his request when Chase came down the station stairs with Mary at his side. “Wait! There’s my lawyer!”

  The officer waited there until Chase saw me. He explained why I couldn’t be there taking money from strangers under the guise of basket weaving. “If she’s gonna dress like that, she’s gonna raise a crowd. We can’t have that around the police station.”

  “I understand, Officer. We’ve been looking for her all morning. Believe me, once we get her back to the hospital, she’ll be adequately sedated.” Chase looked at me significantly, and the officer looked, too.

  “Okay. I understand. Keep a better eye on her next time. She’ll have to turn in that money.”

  “That’s fine. Come on, Jessie. Let’s go home.” Chase’s voice was geared toward a two-year-old. He grabbed my arm, gave the cop the pitiful amount of money from my skirt, and hustled me out to where a silver car was parked.

  As he opened the door, all I could think was, You have a BMW?

  “Next time just paint a big target on your skirt,” he growled as he pulled out into traffic.

  “Chase, do you have money? I know you don’t work. Are you rich or something?” I knew I had more important things to think about, but I couldn’t get over my surprise. Who would’ve guessed Chase had a car at all? And if he had, who’d expect it to be something nice and not some ratty 1982 Dodge or something? This was a sweet new BMW.

  “Could we talk about this later?” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. Mary was in the front seat beside him. She was sniffling a little, and I realized she was crying.

  Okay. So sometimes you have to hit me in the head with a battle-ax to get my attention. “I’m sorry, Mary. Are you all right?”

  “If you don’t mind someone threatening you and asking you why you murdered your husband, I’m fine.”

  Did everyone have to have an attitude? I sighed and tried again. “I’m glad you were able to get us out, Chase. Now what?”

  “Nothing right now. Neither one of you was charged with anything. You might be called on to testify if they ever figure out what happened and take someone to court. Mary is their prime suspect. Or as they call it, their person of interest. She had motive and, according to them, opportunity, which is only being disputed by your statement that you were with her, Jessie.”

  “What does that mean, Chase?” Mary asked. “Will they come for me later?”

  “It all depends. If they find something at the crime scene that points to you, they could bring you in and question you again.”

  “Well, we know they won’t find her fingerprints on the basket weaving that killed Joshua. I think we established that it was my piece of crap weave that looked like hers.”

  “Of course my fingerprints weren’t on that weave,” Mary threw back at me. “But my spit might be, and maybe some sweat. I guess that makes us both killers.”

  “Take it easy, Mary.” Chase put his hand on hers where it lay on the seat between them. “We know you didn’t do it. We might have to come back a few times to get this settled. They’ll get tired of seeing you after a while and start looking for the real killer. Right now you’re just a convenient suspect.”

  “Maybe we should nudge them in the right direction,” I added. “Maybe if we give them a few alternatives, they’ll leave Mary alone.”

  “And how would we do that?” she asked. “You can’t accuse everyone in Renaissance Faire Village of killing my Joshua. No one knew him there. Why would anyone kill him?”

  “Someone knew him and wanted him dead for some reason.” The rationality of it hit me after I said it, but it was true. “What about Abraham?”

  “Who’s Abraham?” Chase turned on U.S. Highway 17 to go back out to the Village.

  “He was there with Mary earlier today,” I explained after telling him briefly about Mary’s past.

  She turned and glared at me. “That was told in confidence! You didn’t ask my permission to tell him.”

  “Sorry. But I thought he should know, since he’s your lawyer and everything.” I was taking some serious grief over this whole thing, and I wasn’t sure why. I’d done all I could to help Mary. It seemed to me she could be a little grateful.

  She didn’t apologize, and I didn’t push the matter. Chase shook his head. “About me being your lawyer: it worked okay for today, but you guys may need real criminal lawyers. Probably public defenders, if you’re actually accused of something.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I had fantasized about Chase for so long and it was so close to being reality. Now my fantasy was turning into a big, hairy dust ball. “You mean you wouldn’t defend us in court?”

  “I’m a consultant patent attorney. I couldn’t represent you in court. I’m not trained to do that.”

  I searched through everything I knew about lawyers, which took about fifteen seconds. “So what does a patent attorney do?”

  “We research pat
ents for wealthy clients who want to buy them.”

  “You’re not a criminal lawyer?”

  “That’s what he said, child. You should learn to listen.” Mary nodded as she looked out the window.

  “But you acted like one. The police must’ve thought you were one.”

  “I watch TV. I loved Perry Mason when I was a kid.” Chase grinned at me in the rearview mirror. “But I was thinking of myself more like Matlock when I was in there today. You throw some legalese at someone, and they think you know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s just fine.” I vowed to use my brother Tony’s lance on Chase when we got back to the Village. What was he thinking, posing as a criminal lawyer when he was really nothing more than some rich guy’s flunky? Okay, it obviously paid well. And who knew Chase had a real job and a real profession of any kind. I was actually astounded. And totally excited.