Wicked Weaves

by Lavene, Joyce

  He looked up at that. “What do you mean?”

  “I think there might be some question of how Joshua really died.” I watched for his reaction.

  “He was strangled, right?”

  “Yes. But the police have to wonder how Mary could’ve killed him. I mean, she’s a little bit of nothing to hold down a man Joshua’s size and strangle him.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Maybe she drugged him or something. Not saying Mary was involved, because I don’t believe she could hurt anyone.”

  “I don’t, either. I suppose the big question is, why would someone want to kill Joshua?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe because he wasn’t supposed to be here. We know his brother, Abraham, talked to Mary before we found Joshua’s body. Maybe he was worried about what Joshua had to say.”

  It occurred to me that I was alone in the shop with the door closed and that Roger could be a killer. Did I want to confront him like this, or would it be better when I had Chase and several police officers behind me? I didn’t want to become part of the investigation.

  “Maybe.” My best bet would be to pretend I hadn’t seen the monk’s robe in the side room and get out of there. “I guess we may never know.”

  “You mean the police don’t have any idea?”

  “Not as far as I know. I like that color on the fairy.” I pointed to one of his creations. “I wish I could find nail polish that color. Does it have a name?”

  He laughed. “I’ll be glad to find it for you.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I played with my hair and looked as vacant and stupid as I could. Maybe it wasn’t a feat of bravery to get out of there alive, but I didn’t intend to lose my life over this.

  “All right. I’ll talk to you later, Jessie. If you hear anything else, I’d appreciate it if you let me know. I like to keep up with what’s going on, even if I’m not part of it anymore.”

  I couldn’t resist asking, “Why did you leave the police department, Roger?”

  “It’s a long story. Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about, sweetie. We’ll just say there was an unfortunate accident. It was best for me to leave.”

  I ran out of the Glass Gryphon. Roger might’ve shot someone and gotten away with it. Was strangulation too far a leap from that? I slammed the door behind me going into Wicked Weaves. Mary looked up from where she was displaying baskets. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I think Roger might be the killer.”

  She laughed. “You think Roger killed Joshua? Yesterday, you thought it was Jah or Abraham. Make up your mind, child. They all didn’t kill him.”

  I thought it was best not to tell her what I knew about Roger. It might only endanger her life further. I looked out the front window, but there was no sign of him following me. Apparently, I’d been able to pull off the dumb-girl persona.

  I had to call Detective Almond again. He had to come out and investigate Roger before he could get rid of the monk’s robe.

  As if in answer, a police car pulled up beside Wicked Weaves. I ran outside to welcome them and point them in the right direction.

  It was Detective Almond this time. He nodded to me as I reached him. “Miz Morton. Is Miz Shift in the shop?”

  “Yes!” I was delighted he was taking an interest. “I have some news for you. I think we may have solved the case.”

  “That’s funny, because that’s why we’re here,” he said. “I’m here to pick up Miz Shift and take her back to the office for further questioning.”

  Fifteen

  I was sure I hadn’t heard him correctly. He didn’t say he was taking Mary in. “You don’t understand. I have a real suspect. You should be questioning him instead of her.”

  He kept walking. I followed him into Wicked Weaves, pleading my case. “Mary may seem like a good suspect. Granted, she knew Joshua, and he was strangled with her basket weaving. Well, really my basket weaving. On the surface, that looks suspicious. But surely we’ve gone beyond the surface of what’s happened here.”

  He stopped walking and stared at me. “What are you talking about?”

  I took a deep breath. Patience was never my strong suit. “I’m talking about Roger Trent, the glass blower. He has a monk’s costume in his storage closet. I’m sure your officer must’ve mentioned that someone has been skulking around the Village in a monk’s robe.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me, young woman. There was a man on stilts dressed like a tree out there. I’ve seen everything from some boy wearing pink long johns to a woman half naked riding a horse. Don’t expect me to take exception to someone in a monk’s robe.”

  “You know Ham the blacksmith was attacked by someone wearing a monk’s robe, right?”

  “Again, how many people have monk costumes out here? If we take everyone in who dresses weird, we’ll be questioning them all day.” He smiled and shook his head. “Besides, what would his motive be? We know your friend, Miz Shift, was divorced and hadn’t seen her husband in years. We have information now that suggests she was involved in him being so drunk he couldn’t stop her from strangling him to death. Leave the police work to the professionals. You go on and do whatever it is you do here.”

  I was glad I was wearing my linen skirts again. I couldn’t imagine how he’d look at me if I were still dressed as a troubadour with all those bells. He started walking again, and Mary met him in the shop.

  “Is there a problem, Detective?” she asked with her head held high.

  “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me. We have some questions that need answering. I hope it won’t take long.”

  She nodded, then looked at me. “Jessie, I have that class of 4-H kids coming in to try their hand at basket weaving today. Will you teach that class for me?”

  I seriously wished there was someone standing behind me whose name just happened to be Jessie, too. Unfortunately, I was alone in the shop with them. She couldn’t mean what she was saying. I knew she wouldn’t want me to teach something I was only moderately learning myself.

  Detective Almond took Mary’s elbow, and they started out the door together. “Wait!” I stopped them. They both looked back at me. “You’ll need your shawl. I’ll get it for you.”

  I wasn’t sure what good it was going to do to prolong the inevitable. Detective Almond was intent on taking Mary with him. She didn’t seem likely to run out the back door when he wasn’t looking.

  I brought her shawl to her and whispered, “Maybe I should just tell the kids you couldn’t be here, and they can come back later.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re a fine apprentice. You’ll do good.” She took the shawl from me and smiled. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll be back in time to do it myself.”

  “But Mary—”

  “Hush! Quit your weeping and wailing now. I got to go, and you have to take care of this place for me. You can do that, Jessie. I believe in you.”

  I watched them walk outside and get in the car. Part of me wanted to lock the shop doors and run away. I couldn’t take her place. It was ridiculous.

  But the instant the police car was gone, residents from the shops around Wicked Weaves poured in, wondering what was going on. “Was Mary arrested? Will the shop close? Will the baskets be at least half off?”

  They were mostly stupid, nosy questions. I felt like grabbing a baseball bat and hitting each one of the questions back at them. Instead, I answered the best I could, and when I looked up, the twelve 4-H club members were standing in the shop, staring at me.

  “I hope we’re here at the right time.” Their advisor was a tall, thin woman in an elaborate satin gown that looked like her prom dress.

  “This is as good a time as any,” I told her. “Take the kids into the backyard, and we’ll get started.”

  I panicked for a minute as I watched their little bodies walk back out and get ready for an experience that could warp their brains forever. What did I know about basket weaving? My fingers were still sore from poking them with palm strips and black
rush. Trying to be Mary wouldn’t work. Trying to be me was even scarier.

  Finally, I fell on a compromise between the two. I had worked as an educator for many years. I could teach, even if it wasn’t exactly history. I picked up one of Mary’s shawls and wrapped it around my shoulders, then stuck one of her new corncob pipes in my mouth. I walked outside to greet my class with renewed confidence.

  “The first thing we have to do,” I told them, passing out lengths of sweetgrass, “is cut all the sweetgrass to the same length.”

  One little girl’s hand shot up. “Why do they call it sweetgrass?”

  “Smell it. It has a very sweet smell. The slaves who created these baskets used simple words to describe what they saw and used in this country.”

  I explained the tradition of Gullah basket weaving the way Mary had explained it to me. “I have a bone for each of you.” I passed out the smooth spoon handles. “You start your basket by tying a knot in the bottom, then work the grass around the knot in a circle. This basket weaving we do today will only be sweetgrass, but as you can see from these other baskets, there are many different types of materials that can be used.”

  It seemed to be going very well for me. The words flowed out as I guided my students and gave them a short history lesson on the Gullah people. Their little basket bottoms were showing promise when a voice from the door behind me stopped us.

  “You cannot teach these children to weave in our tradition,” Abraham declared with fiery intensity. “Where is Mary Shift?”

  “She had to go away.” I tried to stay calm. I wished there was some way to call Chase. I wished Detective Almond wasn’t such an idiot. I wished I had a gun or a sword or some weapon to keep Abraham where he was. The best I could do was keep the 4-H club from knowing what was going on.

  “And she left you here to teach these children?” The disdain in his voice was enough to slide the ground out from under my feet.

  But I pulled Mary’s shawl a little closer and held her pipe in my hand. “She left me here, sir. I’d appreciate it if you’d let us get on with the class. If you have a problem with me teaching this, you can complain to Mary when she gets back.”

  “I don’t think he needs to do that.” Ham came around him through the door. “I’ll stay and help teach. Everything will be fine.”

  The two men glared at each other. I noticed Abraham wasn’t wearing a monk’s robe. But I knew he had one. He was still my best suspect for what had happened. He had plenty of motive, as far as I was concerned. If the police would open their ears, they might think so, too.

  Ham came down and sat in the circle with us. I remembered Mary talking about the men from her home making baskets to catch fish. Abraham could’ve made that basket weave that killed Joshua as well as Mary or me. He probably knew what I was thinking, too. With a dour frown and a grunt, he left us there in the sunlight.

  “I’m sorry that happened,” Ham said. “Mary asked me to come in and help her this morning so she could tend to the shop in case you couldn’t be here.”

  “Thanks.” The shop bell rang as customers came in with the opening of Renaissance Faire Village for the day. I left him teaching the 4-H kids, divesting myself of the shawl and pipe that had given me courage.

  There was a constant rush of customers that prevented me from going back out to listen as Ham explained about basket weaving. I would’ve liked to have heard it from another source. Sometimes it paid to have more than one teacher. But it didn’t work out that way.

  Ham came into the shop as it was almost time for the first joust of the day, which meant most customers deserted the shops to watch the knights. He reminded me a lot of Mary in the way he held himself and the way he spoke.

  “Thanks for rescuing us.” I offered him some water.

  “I’m sorry I was late. I was expecting to find my sister here. Is she with Jah?”

  “No.” I explained about Detective Almond. “He won’t listen to me. He thinks Mary is the perfect suspect.”

  Ham shook his head. “I don’t know how anyone can meet her and think she could kill anyone. Especially not Joshua. She always loved him, even when he let her go.”

  “I guess there’s the whole thing with finding out he’d lied to her about Jah,” I suggested. “What made the two of you end up here, anyway? It seems like a strange place for you.”

  “I suppose we have skills suited to another time.” He shrugged. “It’s been so long, I don’t even remember how we decided to come here.”

  “You left home with her?”

  “I did. I wasn’t married. I didn’t want her to be alone. Jah and Joshua meant everything to her. She never cried. I could see she wanted to fall on the ground and never get up again. But she kept going. When Joshua told us Jah had died, I thought she would die, too. The idea of him growing up in our home with our traditions was the only thing that had kept her going.”

  “And he’d lied to her so Abraham could raise their son.” I hated it, but I had to agree that Detective Almond wanting to question Mary again about what had happened made some sense. “I think they might’ve caught on about the funnel.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Mary bought a funnel from Merlin. I think it may have been used to force alcohol into Joshua. Then he was strangled.”

  Ham pondered the idea for a moment. “They’ll never prove it. Mary didn’t kill Joshua. You may be right about Abraham or even Jah himself. But my sister isn’t capable of killing.”

  I agreed with him. I hadn’t known Mary a long time, but I could feel she was a good person. How could anyone look at her life without realizing that? She was the wronged party. And it was possible someone had set her up to take the fall for Joshua’s death.

  “Do you think Abraham could’ve killed his brother?” I asked.

  “I feel like I don’t know anything about my home anymore. I’ve been gone for so long. I thought it was a magical place when I was growing up. It was full of stories and games. Then I found out Joshua had tricked Mary and had given Jah to Abraham. How could he tell her Jah was dead? Didn’t he realize what she would go through?”

  “Mary doesn’t think it’s possible because Joshua and Abraham were brothers.”

  “Brothers kill each other, too.” Ham looked down at the wood floor. “How sad it is that we should have this conversation. I don’t know why Abraham or anyone else would come after me, but we may all be in danger until this is over.”

  “I hope we can find the answer quickly. It’s getting creepy being in the Village at night, not knowing what’s going on.”

  We parted company when two customers dressed like archers entered the shop and began exclaiming over the baskets. Ham was right. We might all be in danger. I had to talk to Chase about setting a trap to catch the killer.

  “No, we can’t set a trap for the killer.” Chase’s voice was loud, carrying easily over the top of the crowd at the Pleasant Pheasant.

  I expected people to turn, look at us, and wonder what was going on. But this was Renaissance Faire Village. It was just as likely we were rehearsing a skit for the next day as discussing a real-life killer. “We could do this,” I coaxed. “We could put our heads together and come up with a way to catch Roger or Abraham or whoever is behind all this.”

  “What would that be like?” Fred the Red Dragon, without his costume, asked. He used his bread trencher to sop up some gravy that he pushed around on his plate. “I mean, how would you trap someone if you didn’t know who you were trying to trap?”

  “I’m not sure.” I was getting angry that Chase was ignoring my plan and I was discussing it with Fred. “I only know there has to be a way.”

  Arlene, wearing clothes instead of her Lady Godiva bodysuit, tossed her real blond hair and looked at me with her open mouth crammed full of grapes. “Police do it all the time. My daddy is a policeman in our hometown. We don’t have much crime, but that’s because we work smart. We don’t mind trapping a speeder or a killer.”

&n
bsp; Have I mentioned how much I hate sitting across from Arlene when she’s eating? The fact that I was listening to Arlene talk about something rational disturbed me even more. I covered my face with my hands; it blocked out the half-chewed grapes and gave the impression that I was upset. Both were good things. “We need a plan.”

  “We don’t need a plan,” Chase argued. “We’re not the cops or the Scooby Gang. We need to sit tight and let the police handle it. We get enough little stuff going on here every day. None of us is capable of taking on a killer.”

  “And if you did,” Sir Reginald announced his entrance by hitting his tankard of ale down on our table, “the police wouldn’t be able to use it. The killer would be free before you got back to the Village. Chase is right. Stay out of it. You don’t see Livy up in arms about it, and she was the first one there.”