by Nancy Warren
“Emily,” he said in a comforting tone. “She’s an amateur psychic at a village fair. No doubt you somehow let slip that you have an aged mother, and she took an educated guess.”
“She didn’t say Mum will die within the year, she said she’s dying now, of cancer. I can’t take the chance that she might be right. We have to go.”
Since her voice rose at the end with a quiver that suggested she was close to tears, her husband said, “Let’s go across the road for a nice cup of tea. We’ll phone your mother and see how she’s faring. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
He glanced at me then, but I think both of us knew he’d very soon be on the road to visit his mother-in-law.
I was about to have a word with Madame Violetta when an anxious-looking woman of about seventy wearing an old-fashioned house dress with knee socks and sandals walked up. Seeing no line, she said, “Is the psychic free now?”
“Yes.” Her name was Dierdre Gunn. I took her two pounds and ushered her in.
A plump, blond woman of about fifty arrived with a dark-haired friend about the same age. She paid her two pounds and said, “I know it’s just a bit of fun, but it’s for a good cause.”
She looked so happy, I almost warned her to be wary, but then I thought Violet couldn’t come up with too many bad fortunes in a row. It would be like tossing coins and getting heads turn up endlessly, if heads were bad news.
I put their names on the list. The blonde was Elizabeth Palmer and her friend, Nora Betts.
While they waited their turn, they chatted to each other and to me. Elizabeth said, “I had such fun at the white elephant. Usually, it’s a bunch of rubbish, but there were some good things there this year.”
I thought of the poodle lamp and reminded myself that everyone’s taste was different. Fortunately, the brown paper bag she was carrying was too small for a lamp. She saw me looking. “It’s for my husband. He’s always wanted a pocket watch.” She drew out a round silver watch on a chain. The case featured an interesting design engraved on it, sort of like a vine of grape leaves. How was it some customers found gorgeous watches and I got caught up by kitsch? “It’s for our silver wedding anniversary, you see. I’m ever so pleased with it. Of course, it was a bit more expensive than most of the items there, but it’s all for a good cause, and this was really a bargain. It’s sterling silver. You can see the hallmarks.” She showed me the four small symbols stamped into the watch. They certainly looked like sterling hallmarks, not that I was any expert. She obviously didn’t think I knew much, either, so she pointed to the lion with a raised paw stamped into the back of the watch case. “That means it’s British sterling.” Then she pointed to an anchor symbol. “I think that means it was registered in Birmingham. The next one is a date stamp, but I’m not sure what a ‘D’ means. This is clearly an old watch, though. And then the DE is the mark of the watchmaker. No idea who he was,” she finished cheerfully.
“Wow. You know a lot about silver.”
“Not really. My husband’s interested, so he shows me watches in antique shops that are always too pricey for us to afford. I guess all that looking finally paid off.”
“Does the watch keep time?” I asked, more, I think, for something to say than that I really cared.
“Yes, quite well.” And she snapped open the case. The watch was, indeed, keeping perfect time, as I could tell since my mobile phone showed the same time.
“It was an excellent buy,” her friend Nora said. “Jason will be so pleased.”
Violet’s most recent customer emerged from the tent and blinked as though unaccustomed to sunlight.
“Next,” came the deep tones of Madame Violetta, and I ushered in Elizabeth with a quick, “Good luck.”
“Excuse me,” I said to her friend and followed Violet’s last customer, who had gone about twenty steps and was now leaning on a tree as though she needed the support.
“Mrs. Gunn? Is everything all right?” I asked.
She blinked and then focused on my face. “Oh, it’s you. You’re the assistant.”
“Yes. I hope Madame Violetta didn’t give you bad news?” Though it was written all over the woman’s stricken countenance that she had.
“She told me that Billy’s going to die.”
Billy wasn’t the only one who was going to die if I had to put up with much more of this. “I’m so sorry. Is that your husband? Son?”
“Billy’s my budgie. He’s been with me six years now. He’s off his food a bit and hasn’t been so lively, but he’s young yet for a bird.” She sounded so sorrowful I could hardly bear it.
I said, “Madame Violetta is only someone from the community who’s filling in for Madame Tatania. I doubt she’s very good. Honestly, I think she’s making things up.”
She nodded. “Well, it’s a mean trick if she is. I’ll go home right now and check on poor Billy.”
As she hurried across the road, I tried to think of a spell to prolong bird life. I drew a blank, but I seriously wished Billy a long and happy life.
I returned to my post and added three more people to the list. We were now booked an hour ahead. Vi would be pleased.
We had quite a long line of people waiting when the formerly cheerful-looking Elizabeth Palmer stumbled out. My heart sank. “Did she tell you something good?”
She looked as though she were coming from a funeral, not a fun little fortune-telling. “She said I mustn’t cross water or I’ll die.” The woman put both hands to her chest. “It’s our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary next month. We’re going on a cruise.” And then she burst into tears.
I felt terrible to be standing outside this tent of misery, taking people’s money. “Look, Madame Violetta isn’t really a fortune-teller. Please don’t let her spoil your day. Would you like your two pounds back?”
She waved my offer away. “I need to talk to my husband. I wonder if it’s too late to cancel our trip.”
I put on what I hoped was a soothing fortune-teller’s assistant’s smile and said to the line of frightened-looking people, “Excuse me for one moment.” And I slipped into the tent. Violet was adjusting the scarf around the fishbowl when I came in. I glared at her. “What are you doing to these people?”
She looked up at me in surprise. “I’m telling them what I see in their futures. That’s what fortune-tellers do.”
I shook my head so hard the silk scarf slid down over one ear. “No. It is not what fortune-tellers do. Especially not in a village fair. They tell single women they’ll meet a tall, handsome stranger. They tell anxious-looking folks that they’re going to get good news very soon. You’ll go on a journey across the sea is another common fortune. You got that right, but you don’t tell the punters that they’ll die when they get to the other side.” My voice had started to rise, so I quieted down so as not to alarm the waiting customers more than they already had been.
Violet seemed to be growing quite comfortable in her new role as Madame Violetta. She settled back in her plastic lawn chair and put her arms out, waving her palms over the upside-down fishbowl. “I must be true to my art.”
“Violet, that woman is thinking about canceling her twenty-fifth anniversary cruise with her husband. All because you told her that if she crosses water she’ll die.”
Violet looked relieved. “I’m glad. She should cancel that trip. Honestly, Lucy, I saw death and water in her future.”
I felt uncomfortable. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“And what about those other poor women? The one who only wanted to see if she’d find a good date, the one who now thinks her mother has cancer and the lady whose bird is going to die?”
Violet made a dismissive motion. “The first one has low self-esteem and terrible taste in men. I told her she needs to work on that. That’s positive, right? That woman’s mother is in the last stages of cancer. And that bird is going to die. Probably today.”
“I don’t think you’re quite getting this fortune-teller thing. For a couple
of quid, all they want is something mysterious and exciting in their future. The single ones want to think an attractive man will come into their lives, and the married ones want to come into money. Mothers want to hear that their children will be successful and famous. People who hate their jobs want to be told they’re about to win the lottery. And nobody wants to know that their beloved pet is going to die.”
She looked petulant. “All right. But I’m not telling any lies.”
“You don’t have to. Everyone must have something good in their future that you can see. Just keep the bad stuff to yourself.”
“Fine. But I did see death and water in that woman’s future.”
I put my hands on my hips. “How specific was your vision? Maybe she’ll live to be ninety-five and drown in the bathtub. Do you really want her to spend the next forty or fifty years terrified to set foot on a boat?”
She adjusted her turban. “No.”
“If you want me to continue as your assistant, you need to start giving out brighter fortunes.”
She glared at me. “You’re awfully bossy for an assistant.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “I wonder where I got that notion from.”
Chapter 4
When I came back outside the tent, Nora, the friend of the woman who was going to die if she crossed water, was nibbling her lip and looking toward the center of the village green. “She’s so upset. She said to leave her alone, but I wonder if I should skip my fortune and go after her?”
In a soothing tone, I said, “You go in and have your reading. I’ll go and talk to her.” And then I dropped my voice to a near whisper and assured her that Madame Violetta had already indicated the person waiting outside was going to get some good news. In fact, I was positive that from now on, every customer was going to receive a good fortune.
She nodded, looking relieved, and then walked into the tent. I knew I had at least fifteen minutes before I needed to be back.
I told the next person in line that I was just going to refresh my water bottle, which, in fact, I did need to do, and that I’d be back before it was her turn. The people in line nearly all knew one another and were happily chatting away as I left.
Violet was always telling me I needed to work on my craft, and this was a perfect opportunity to practice a forgetting spell. If I could get Elizabeth alone for a minute, I was fairly certain I could erase in about two minutes the damage my cousin Violet had done.
I practiced the forgetting spell in my head.
I went around the corner of the tent and looked around for Elizabeth Palmer and soon caught a glimpse of her. She had her hand shading her eyes and seemed to be looking for someone. I had a terrible feeling it was her husband or perhaps her travel agent.
I hurried to follow her. With so many people at the fair, she kept disappearing behind family groups and huddles of teenagers pretending this was all beneath them. There was a sudden crash of drums. I jumped, as I think everyone in the vicinity did. I glanced around and discovered the Forest of Wychwood Pipe and Drum Band was warming up.
The band members had gone all out and were wearing bright red uniforms and tall, black busby hats with gold piping. They looked like the Queen’s Guard. One guy in the center banged an enormous drum. It must have been four feet in diameter. He was also on the larger side, probably six foot, three or four inches, and he drummed with such humorous flourish that people began to laugh and draw near.
I would have loved to go and watch, but I was conscious of the time. I needed to find Elizabeth, wipe her bad fortune from her mind, then refill my water bottle before Violet was ready for her next client.
I glanced around, looking for the blond woman. I couldn’t immediately see her and, as she had done, I shaded my eyes with my hand and scanned the area ahead of me.
I began walking in the general direction I thought she had taken when suddenly I heard a scream. Even over the noise of the pipe band, the sound carried, high-pitched and terrible.
I began to run toward the sound. I wasn’t the only one. From all sides, those of us who’d heard the wail of panic and despair heeded the call.
Now I could see the screamer. Tall, thin and blond, she windmilled her arms. “Help me. Help me!”
I sprinted across the grass and heard the hollow knocking sound as my shoes hit the wooden bridge over the stream. On the other side, as my feet hit grass, I came to a halt.
I could see now why that woman was screaming. The poor woman who had been ready to celebrate her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary would not be going on her cruise after all. Her life’s journey was over. She lay on her back, her sightless eyes staring up at the cloudless sky.
An arrow was sticking out of her chest.
A man I didn’t know fell to his knees by her side and checked her pulse. He glanced up and shook his head. “She’s dead.”
The woman who’d been screaming initially screamed even louder now. The pipe band played on, heedlessly, and in the distance, I could hear the occasional thwack of arrows hitting the targets at the archery field. Across the way, Punch was fighting with Judy and children were laughing.
But around the dead woman was a circle of hushed silence and, as more people began to realize what was going on, that circle spread like ripples in a pond after a heavy stone has been thrown into it.
I couldn’t seem to think. My head was buzzing. She’d been so alive only minutes ago. How I wished that Violet hadn’t given her that stupid fortune or I had caught up to her more quickly. I was so sad that this poor woman had ended her life worried that she would die if she crossed water.
Then, with a horrified shiver, I realized that she had walked across the wooden bridge over the stream and, almost as soon as she reached the other side, she’d been struck by that arrow.
Violet had been right. She had crossed water, and then she had died.
Chapter 5
As more and more people became aware of the tragedy, the fête acted like a body dying of frostbite. It froze bit by bit, leaving the inner organs for last.
So the archers dropped their bows as soon as they realized what had happened. The play area shut down as mothers and fathers rushed to gather up their children. People left their tents to gather around. The last areas to finally cease functioning were the marching band, the Punch and Judy, and the pie stall.
As an unnatural hush spread over the fairgrounds, it was disconcerting to hear a band playing military marching songs. The song petered out in mid-march, so I could hear the screeches of laughter from the children sitting watching the Punch and Judy show, and then, finally, all I heard was calls for “steak and kidney, mushroom and vegetable, curried chicken, lovely home-baked pies! Come and get ’em while they’re hot!” And then, from the same voice, “What? Blimey!” And even the cries from the pie seller ceased.
I waited by the body, not because I knew this poor woman, but in case the police needed me. I imagined Detective Inspector Ian Chisholm would soon show up. He’d known me for a while now, and he could trust me to tell him the truth and to give my observations in a coherent manner.
The officious Hilary Beaumont, the fête coordinator, came rushing up, red in the face, her eyes bulging as though it were an outrage that something so dreadful should happen on her watch. When she’d confirmed that there was, indeed, a dead woman in the middle of the village green, she cried, “Oh, whatever shall we do? Whatever shall we do?”
Her hysteria began to infect others. I decided to set her a task so she could do something more useful than panic. “Find some people you trust to form a perimeter to stop people coming closer. The children shouldn’t see this.”
“But the police?”
“We won’t disturb the body.”
She nodded and ran away. I had thought she might try to assert her authority, but she was too happy to get away from the sight of death to argue with me. Within minutes, a ring of adult men and women were creating a ragged circle and stopping any more people joining the crowd.
> I didn’t know much about death, but I suspected from the little blood that had come out of the wound that Elizabeth Palmer’s end must’ve been very quick.
While we waited for the police, I could see parents gathering up their children and beginning to walk home or head to cars. I looked around for the organizer and saw her talking in urgent tones with the woman who ran the white elephant sale.
I didn’t need my acute hearing to make a pretty good guess at the subject. I willed Hilary Beaumont to look at me, and when she did, I beckoned her over. Reluctantly she came close enough that I could say, “You’ve got to stop people leaving. The police will be here soon, and they’ll want to interview everyone.”
As her shock ebbed, her officiousness returned. She held her clipboard as though it were a badge of office. “Who put you in charge? You’re just the fortune-teller’s assistant.”
I held on to my patience the way a toddler holds on to a balloon. With slack fingers. I could feel my control sliding away from me. I said, with forced calm, “You must know I’m right. At the very least, you need to get names and phone numbers of everyone who was here when this woman was tragically killed.”
Fortunately, her friend from the white elephant came forward. “Oh, poor Elizabeth. What a terrible thing. My goodness, yes. We’d better start with the archery people. One of the archers must have accidentally turned around just as the arrow was about to go off. We’ve never had anything like this in the forty years we’ve been running this village fête.”
She glanced around and told Hilary Beaumont that they’d need to get the rest of the fête committee to help them. She seemed to have the matter well in hand, and Hilary listened to her without arguing.
A Range Rover with tinted windows drove slowly past and stopped behind the archery area. I thought for a moment it was the police, but no one got out of the car. There was no siren. It was as quiet and evasive as a creature of the night. And even as I had that thought, a chill went down the back of my neck. I immediately realized who it was.
