by Thea Cambert
“I love the way Blue Valley welcomes the faire every year,” Gabby said as she looked into the window of the Waxy Wick, Marge Hartfield’s handmade candle shop, which was bedecked with fancy carved candles in the signature colors of the faire banners that now lined Main Street—yellow and green for Richard the Lionheart, and red and blue for his crafty brother, Prince John. One door down from there, Trinkets, Blue Valley’s favorite souvenir and doodad shop, had a grouping of posters in the window touting the special, limited-edition flavors now being served at its ice cream counter.
“Ooh. The King’s Sprinkles sounds good,” said Owen. “Or Fairy Dust Dutch Chocolate. Yum.”
“Look! The Gothic Trolls have a flavor named after them!” said Alice, pointing at the poster featuring a scoop of green ice cream with jellied chunks of something purple throughout, perched atop a chocolate-dipped cone. “Gothic Trolls Chunk . . . Hm. Not sure about that one. But the band will love it.”
The Gothic Trolls were a band that played the medieval fest every spring. The rest of the year, they played at parties, weddings, and festivals, and were the favorite musical group in Blue Valley.
Just then, the blare of sirens sounded, and a police cruiser came tearing down the street from the direction of Phlox Street, where the station was located.
“What’s happening?” asked Little John.
“Look! They’re stopping at the museum!” Alice said, picking up her pace and hurrying down the block to where Officer Dewey had just leapt out of the car and was running into the open door of the Heritage Museum.
“Dewey, what’s happening?” Alice suddenly heard a familiar sound and turned to look across the street, but saw nothing. She grabbed Owen’s sleeve. “Did you just hear . . . bells? Like jingle bells?” she asked.
“Nope,” said Owen, whose full attention was on the museum. “But I think I can hear the pounding of Officer Dewey’s heart. Poor guy! With Ben and Luke out of town, our little police force has dwindled significantly.”
“Dewey, what’s—”
Before Alice could finish her sentence, Pearl Ann Dowry came running up, screaming for help. She had her purse in one hand, and her corgi, Polly, tucked under the other arm. It was hard to tell who was more disturbed—Pearl Ann or Polly.
“I just—I think—I don’t know what to do!” Pearl Ann wailed. “There was—over in the alley next to the spa! There was a prowler! I was horrified! I hit him in the head!” She held up her enormous purse. “I ran out here and saw the police car. Please come and help! He’s in the alley! I think he’s unconscious!”
Pearl Ann owned Blue Beauty, right next door to the museum. A scattering of trees and an alleyway ran between the two buildings. As Dewey and the whole group of onlookers walked with Pearl Ann, trying to calm her down and make sense of what had happened, she revealed that she’d just closed the spa and come out the back door into the parking lot when she saw a shadowy figure stumbling down the alleyway, babbling in a frightening, nonsensical way, and she’d hit him in the head with her purse in a valiant effort to protect herself and Polly.
Just as they approached the alley, they passed Mayor Abercrombie, hurrying down Main Street in the opposite direction, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Mayor Aber—” Alice started to call out to him as he passed, but then noticed he was busily typing something into his phone. “Strange,” she said to herself. The mayor didn’t usually walk by without saying hello. She glanced back as she followed the rest of the group and saw that the mayor’s attention had been caught by the flashing police lights, and he had, indeed, stopped and was talking to the other officer who’d come along with Dewey.
Alice turned her attention toward the alley, which was deep in shadow, tucked as it was away from the lights that lined Main Street.
“Is he still here?” Pearl Ann asked as Alice moved forward through the crowd to have a look.
Cellphone flashlights were flipped on, and within a few seconds, a dark mass could be seen, crumpled on the ground next to the side wall of the spa.
“Who is it?” Alice heard Little John asking.
“Call an ambulance!” Gabby said.
There was a pause as Dewey, who’d been kneeling next to the body, rose to his feet. “Too late,” he said quietly. “It’s Damon Huxley. And he’s dead.”
Chapter 5
“So, there was a robbery . . . and now . . . there’s a dead guy.” Little John sat down with a heavyhearted thud on one of the benches that sat along Main Street.
“The Scarlett Lady,” Alice said, shaking her head in disbelief. “It wasn’t even in Blue Valley twenty-four hours, and now it’s gone?”
“Gabby and I came to the museum early this afternoon,” said Little John. “We didn’t even know about the necklace—although we did see it. We came to see the old photos of the faire from years past.” He pointed at one of the museum windows, where a grouping of photos was artfully displayed. “The display is really well done. We encouraged our whole staff to stop by and see them.” He put a worried hand to his forehead.
“Alice, could you phone Ethel Primrose?” Dewey called from where he was standing, near the alley, talking to the paramedics. “Do you have her cell number? She’ll want to get over here.”
Alice, who did indeed have Ethel’s number, dialed, her eyes settling on the worried face of Little John, who was looking at Gabby.
“It’s happening again,” he said quietly to his wife. “It’s the curse.”
Ethel answered her phone, sounding a little out of breath, and when Alice told her that the Scarlett Lady was missing, it sounded as though she dropped the phone, yelped out a quick, “Gotta go!” and then picked up the phone. The line went dead.
Five minutes later, Ethel came running down the sidewalk at top speed, tapping all the way. “I got here as fast as I could!” she said, stopping to catch her breath.
“Ethel, are those tap shoes you’re wearing?” Owen asked.
“Of course they are,” said Ethel. Now that she was closer, Alice could see that she was wearing shorts, black tights, tap shoes, and a t-shirt that read Blue Valley Tappers across the front. “I was in the middle of my tap dance lesson down at Blue Valley Fit. Please tell me the necklace isn’t gone!”
“It’s not,” Dewey said, coming around the corner from the alleyway. He held up the necklace, and even in the evening light, the huge diamond sparkled brilliantly.
“Oh, thank heavens!” said Ethel. “Where did you find it?”
“In the pocket of the dead man in the alley,” said Dewey.
Ethel’s hand flew to her heart. “Dead man? Who—”
“Damon Huxley. Looks like he stole the necklace, then died,” said Dewey as the ambulance slowly pulled out of the alley and moved on down the street.
“The dead guy stole the necklace?” Little John had gotten to his feet and moved forward. “Oh, gods be praised!”
“Ms. Primrose, I’m sure you’ll want to put this back in its proper place.” Dewey handed over the necklace. “Let’s go inside and talk about how this happened.”
Ethel nodded, and began walking toward the still-open door of the museum. “Wait,” she said, suddenly stopping, holding the necklace in the light. “Something’s very wrong here.”
“What is it?” Owen asked.
“The Grand Ole Gal is here. But all of the little rubies that surrounded it are gone!”
“Are you sure?” Dewey asked, as everyone went inside the museum to see better in the light.
“Look at it!” Ethel said, holding out the necklace so that everyone could see.
Sure enough, the Grand Ole Gal was secure, but all of the little spaces in the setting around it were completely empty.
“Get on the phone and have the paramedics check Damon’s clothes. Very carefully,” Dewey said to the other officer, who nodded and exited the building.
“Are you going to arrest me?” asked a tearful Pearl Ann, who was still holding a now-squirming Polly.
&nbs
p; “Arrest you? Why?” asked Dewey.
“Because I’m a killer!” said Pearl Ann. “I killed Damon with my purse!”
“Oh, Pearl Ann,” said Dewey, shaking his head. “No one thinks you killed him with your purse. I don’t know what killed him, but the coroner, Zeb Clark, will figure that out. Meanwhile, I’m going to have you come outside and give me a full statement. Okay?”
Pearl Ann nodded, comforted that she wasn’t headed for the slammer, and followed Dewey outside.
“What a tragedy,” Ethel lamented, looking at the empty glass display case where the necklace had been housed. “Almost no one got to see the Scarlett Lady. And now . . . Now she’s just the Grand Ole Gal.”
“Isn’t there an alarm system in the museum?” Alice asked.
“Yes, and apparently it worked just fine,” said Owen, who’d been listening in while Dewey briefed the paramedics. “That’s why Dewey came rushing down here. The alarm’s wired to the front door. The police were alerted the instant it went off.”
“But then the timing doesn’t make sense at all,” said Alice.
“I know!” said Owen. “I mean, I don’t know a lot about jewelry, but surely not just anyone can dislodge, like, a hundred rubies in the few moments it would’ve taken Dewey to drive a block to get here from the police station. There’s no way Damon would’ve had time to disassemble the necklace between entering and exiting the museum.”
“Unless he didn’t come in through the door,” Franny said thoughtfully. “Maybe he just left that way.”
“Oh, boy. I think you’re right, Franny. Look,” Alice said, pointing.
Everyone turned and saw the large open window on the side wall.
“Is that window wired to the alarm system?” Alice asked.
“No,” said Ethel with a sad sigh. “But in our defense, it’s not as if the Heritage Museum normally houses anything anyone would want to steal. In all these years, we’ve never had even a hint of a break-in.”
That was true enough. Mostly, the museum owned copies of old photos, blueprints of the historic buildings in town, antiques that told stories of the various phases of Blue Valley’s history . . . These artifacts were valuable in their own way, but not exactly hot commodities on the black market.
“The window isn’t broken,” Franny observed. “Could it have been left unlocked?”
“I check all of the windows and doors every single day,” said Ethel with a sniff. “It’s part of my closing-up-shop checklist.” Then she paused. “Except today.” Ethel sat down in a nearby chair, her head in her hands. “I was running late for my tap class. How was I to know the window was unlocked? I’m sure I checked it yesterday.” She groaned. “What was I thinking? How could I have been so careless?”
“So, Damon came in through the window, wisely avoiding the alarm . . . but then went out through the door, tripping the alarm?” Alice said, confused.
“Looks that way,” said Owen. “But, it doesn’t make sense at all. If he was going to steal the necklace, why on earth would he take the time to remove all those little stones? That’s crazy.”
“I guess someone else must’ve done that, then,” said Franny, matter-of-factly.
“What do you mean?” asked Alice.
“Think about it. What if two people knew about the necklace and planned to steal it? The first person came in through the window, took the little stones, and then the second person—Damon—came in and swiped the Grand Ole Gal.”
“And then ran out through the front door, setting off the alarm,” Owen finished.
“Why would someone go to the trouble of taking the little stones only?” asked Alice. “Why not just steal the whole necklace?”
“I haven’t figured that part out,” said Franny.
They all sat in silence for a moment.
“You’re sure that window was locked yesterday?” Alice asked, turning to Ethel.
“Positive,” Ethel said with a resolute nod.
“Since the window isn’t broken, someone who was in the museum today must’ve unlocked it.”
“You might be on to something there, Alice,” said Ethel, perking up a bit.
“You said only a few people got to come and see the Scarlett Lady,” said Owen. “Can you remember who?”
“Yes, I can,” said Ethel. “My memory is like a steel trap, but sometimes it takes me a while to recall the details.” She closed her eyes and mumbled, “Now let me see . . .” Her eyes snapped open again. “Damon was here!” she said. “And then there were a few of the faire people. There were you two, of course,” she said, nodding at Little John and Gabby.
“Yes, we were here,” said Gabby. “But I didn’t see anyone else from the faire.”
“No, some others came later. Two men and a woman, I believe? And Ida Baenzinger and Jane Elkin—they’re close friends of mine, and I invited them personally.”
“Is that everyone?” asked Alice.
“Actually, for the Heritage Museum, that constitutes a busy day,” said Ethel. “Oh—and neither Ida nor Jane could’ve broken in tonight.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Little John.
“Because they’re both in my tap class. We’ve all been down at Blue Valley Fit for the past hour and a half.”
“And we’ve all been at the Smiling Hound for at least that long,” said Alice, motioning at the rest of the group.
Little John let out a long sigh and looked at Gabby pointedly. Alice noticed Gabby give a tiny, worried nod.
“Ms. Primrose, could you come outside for a moment, please? We need to ask you a few questions,” said Dewey from the doorway. “We’re going to need you folks to clear out of here for now. This is an official crime scene.”
The whole group lumbered out onto Main Street and began slowly walking back in the direction they’d come. It seemed to Alice that a year had passed since they’d window-shopped after dinner. She saw Gabby squeeze Little John’s arm.
“You two seem troubled,” Alice said. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” Little John blurted out.
“John, my love, I’m sure you’re wrong,” said Gabby in a soothing voice.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Owen asked, stopping.
“This isn’t the first bad thing that’s happened in a town we’ve visited,” Little John said. “I think the faire is cursed.”
Chapter 6
After saying goodbye to Little John and Gabby, Alice, Owen, and Franny hurried back to their apartments so that Alice and Owen could grab their overnight bags, along with Poppy, before making the short trip out to the lake for their slumber party at Franny’s.
Before long, they were in Franny and Ben’s cozy kitchen, popping popcorn and melting butter.
“Should we watch The Diabolical Mastermind or Return of the Vengeful Goblins Part Two?” Owen called from the living room.
“We just saw a dead body, Owen,” Alice answered. “Maybe something a little less spooky.”
“The Haunted Garden?”
“Perfect.”
Alice and Franny came in and plopped down on the couch with the huge bowl of buttered popcorn and Owen joined them. Luke’s dog Finn and Poppy had become fast friends almost from the moment Alice and Luke had introduced them, and they came to the sofa as a team to beg for their share of the popcorn.
“I still can’t get over the fact that Damon is dead,” said Alice. “We just saw him this morning.”
“I know,” said Franny.
“It’s ironic, about the necklace,” said Owen, his mouth full of popcorn. “All those little red stones gone, and the big honkin’ diamond safe at the museum.”
“At least they saved the most valuable part,” said Franny.
“It’s such an unusual diamond—the Grand Ole Gal,” said Alice.
“Ethel said it’s one of a kind,” said Franny. “And not just because it’s huge. She said it’s almost flawless.”
“I have a theory,” said Owen. “If it’s really one of a kin
d, it’d be hard to sell, wouldn’t it? I mean, everyone would know it was stolen. Those little red stones, though. They’d be easy to sell because they’re not that special. You could sell them off a few at a time, maybe.”
“Well, unless Damon was some kind of an eccentric jewel collector, he must’ve thought he could sell the Grand Ole Gal,” said Alice. “Is that where his money came from, do you think? From thievery?”
“That would explain how he buys mansions and drinks for everyone but never works a day,” said Owen.
The phone rang.
“It’s Ben,” said Franny, putting him on speaker phone.
“You okay, sweetie?” he said, his voice tense with worry. “How’s the baby?”
“We’re both just fine,” Franny promised.
Alice and Owen added their own reassurances that Franny was safe and sound.
“We got the whole story from Dewey,” Luke chimed in. “We’re coming home first thing tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Alice.
Finn, hearing the voice of his master, gave a little enthusiastic bark.
“Hey, Finn. Good boy,” said Luke.
“Poor Pearl Ann,” said Alice.
“Yeah. She thinks she killed Damon with her purse,” said Owen.
“From what Zeb says, it wasn’t Pearl Ann that killed him,” said Ben.
“Really? What did kill him?” asked Alice.
“Now you know I’m not going to give you any details while the investigation is open,” said Ben. “Let’s just say that Dewey had ingested something that didn’t go well with the copious amounts of alcohol he’d apparently been drinking.”
“We could’ve guessed the part about the alcohol,” said Owen. “We saw him having a high old time at the Hound.”
“You mean, like he ingested a drug?” asked Alice.
Ben sighed. “Yes, like a drug,” he said. Then, changing the subject, he told Franny how much he was looking forward to going with her to the faire the next day and elicited promises from Owen and Alice that they would watch Franny like two protective hawks.
