by Joan Hess
“Are we going to eat soon?” asked Glynnis.
William leaned across Peter to poke her. “Quiet, dear. I’m still waiting to hear if Fiona’s really a virgin. Highly unlikely in this day and age, if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you,” Julius said huffily.
I smiled at Glynnis. “I hope we’ll all be eating soon, wherever we may be. After this conversation with Edward, Salvador knew he was going to have to deal with the situation. He may have felt unsure what a DNA comparison would produce, but he had to face the possibility that it might be conclusive evidence of his paternity. Did he talk to you about it, Benny?”
Benny was startled by my question. After a moment, he said, “Not the fatherhood thing. He asked for my advice about finances. I don’t know anything about corporations and trusts, so I told him to call a financial advisor. He wanted to make sure all his money was inaccessible if he was sued down the road. All his millions tied up in neat little packages, wrapped in legal jargon.”
“He asked me that stuff, too. I told him to consult a lawyer,” Anderson said. “This is getting tedious. I agree with Glynnis that it would be nice to eat before midnight. Could you speed it up, Claire? Lanya’s steak and kidney pie is bad enough when it’s hot, but unpalatable when it’s congealed.”
I caught Lanya before she could swoop down on him and add his entrails to her dish. “I’m doing my best,” I said. “Salvador intended to prepare himself for paternity by protecting his assets. He also felt like he needed to tell you, Fiona.”
Fiona glanced at Julius, then said, “We had a discussion during the Renaissance Fair. I merely pointed out that he had an obligation to our child to provide for its upbringing and future welfare.”
Julius’s face mottled with angry splotches. “Then you are pregnant! Was I going to be the fallback if Salvador didn’t believe you? Were you planning to hastily consummate our relationship and pretend the child was premature? I am not a fool, Fiona. I tried to be tolerant when you flirted with other men, and I never questioned you when you went home early because you said you had a headache. But what about the promise we made to each other?”
Fiona shrugged. “It was your idea, not mine. Since Claire is probably going to drag Edward into this, you might as well know that he and I reached an agreement in bed. We’re getting married, and will sign a prénuptial so that when he inherits Salvador’s estate, we can split it without additional taxes. The marriage may not last long, but it’s much more convenient than contesting the division of the estate. Unlike Salvador, I went to the trouble of speaking with a lawyer. I hope you’re not too upset.”
Julius pulled back his arm to slap her. Anderson grabbed his wrist and growled, “Don’t make me drag you outside and beat you to a bloody pulp, Squire Squarepockets.”
“Don’t be preposterous,” Julius squeaked, relaxing his arm. “I was going to stand up and leave, that’s all. Let go of me.” After Anderson obliged, Julius cradled his wrist and whimpered, while the rest of us exhaled.
William waggled his finger at Julius. “We do not tolerate that sort of thing here in Avalon. If you feel the need for violence, then train to become a knight. I understand it’s very cathartic.”
“Try it again and I’ll arrest you for attempted assault,” Peter said coldly.
Julius mumbled something, but it was just as well none of us could understand him. Fiona rose and joined Edward in the corner. Benny took her seat, managing to bump Julius’s shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.
Lanya went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and a jar of mead in the other. “Refills, anyone?”
Glynnis held out her cup. “How thoughtful of you. Lady Clarissa, you said earlier that two things had happened to Salvador. We know more than we wanted about Edward and his mother. What is the second? Would you like us to guess?”
“The second,” I said, “was good news. Salvador was informed that he’d won an award, the Gryphon, for his most recent graphic novel. It comes with a hefty sum of money.”
“Oh, yes,” Lanya said. “That drunken man from Australia mentioned it, didn’t he? A black-tie ceremony in Paris. Salvador was too modest to talk about it.”
“Or embarrassed.” Benny gulped down his wine and wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “An award that no one’s heard of, presented by publishers of friggin’ comic books! Not on the same level with the Nobel in literature. All he could have looked forward to was seeing Zormurd on lunch boxes and Lego boxes.”
My stomach growled (in French, no less). “Then perhaps we should wind this up. First, I believe that Angie, or whatever we choose to call her, set fire to the house herself. She’d hired an innocent woman of a similar build and age as a housekeeper. That might have been a coincidence, but Angie must have used whatever savings she had to rent the house. She couldn’t have paid a salary for very long. As much as I hate to even consider it, it suggests some degree of premeditation.”
Fiona turned to Edward. “Your mother hired a woman in order to fake her own death? That’s monstrous. Swear you didn’t know anything about it.”
He shook his head. “Of course I didn’t. I mean, she was my mother. Sometimes she was kind of crazy, but I always thought it was because of the drugs and booze.”
“Kind of crazy?” Benny snortedģ “Kind of sociopathic is more like it.”
“How ghastly.” Lanya shivered as if a blast of cold air had blown through the screen. “Why would she want to ... do that?”
“In case her son found out she was in Farberville,” I said. “When she arrived, she was obsessed with Salvador. She’d done some research and come up with a scheme to get close to him without revealing her identity. He bought it and she began to model for him. She overheard remarks about the Renaissance Fair and wanted to find out more about it. What better way than to call and offer to help? She may not have known Edward was in town until then. At that point, she needed to avoid him, but he came to her house and threw a fit.”
“I didn’t throw a fit,” Edward said. “I just told her to leave.”
“I think you were more adamant than that. Did you threaten to tell Salvador if she didn’t leave town immediately? She was fixated on revenge, and you could have ruined everything. She faked her death, although she chose a cruel, heartless way. That’s when she moved into Salvador’s house.”
“Without asking his permission?” asked Glynnis, enthralled. “How delicious. Some of our friends in Connecticut had a hermit living in their garden shed. He was perfectly harmless, and it amused them to point him out to their guests when he prowled in the back of the garden. Percival was beside himself with excitement the first time we spotted him. Don’t you remember, William?”
“Shush,” he said. “You’re interrupting this fascinating story. Please go on, Clarissa.”
I glanced at Peter, who was doing his best to remain expressionless. The corners of his mouth were twitching, however. “Thank you, William,” I said primly. “Now let’s move on to the day of the Renaissance Fair. Salvador has been hit with the news that he is a father, and has reached some sort of decision. I don’t think we’ll ever know what he intended to do in the future, but that’s not relevant. The beehive has been poked, and its inhabitants are irrate. Salvador is at the archery range, located behind the row of booths and tents and therefore not visible from the main walkway. Visitors find him, some to shoot arrows at a bale of hay, others to speak privately to him. The various stages offer music, dancing, comedy, and skits. It’s a sunny day, and the attendees are in a jovial mood. Food, drink, entertainment, and souvenirs are there for all. At five o’clock, when the ARSE members retire to the farmhouse, Salvador does not appear, nor does he appear at the banquet at six. Edward sings the ballad, causing a certain amount of consternation. The announcement of Salvador’s death overrides it.”
“We were all there,” Anderson said, yawning.
“Yes, we were, and so was Edward’s mother.”
I had their at
tention. Peter was the only one who wasn’t gaping at me, but he was clearly surprised. I didn’t know how to elaborate without tipping off my prime suspect. That, and the fact that I had not one iota of proof. I needed it to be true because it was the key to her murder, as well as Salvador’s. I had no choice but to trust my instincts, if I wanted to get the matter resolved before the charming country inn flipped off its lights.
“Yes,” I continued with an admirable display of confidence, “she dressed as a medieval bag lady. The allure of the Renaissance Fair was too strong for her to resist, and she knew she would never be recognized. I can’t say for sure how she got there, but I think if the police want to interview their two hundred and something witnesses, they’ll find someone who saw a perfectly normal woman walking along the road and gave her a ride. Once there, she dressed in garb. She was then free to stroll around the fair.”
“That was my mother?” Edward said. “I saw her, and I guess everybody else did, too. A lot of people dress up in weird outfits for these things. I just assumed she was ...”
I gave him a chance to complete his sentence, but he looked away. “We saw her, but more importantly, she saw the person who took the battle-ax to the archery range to murder Salvador.”
“None of the witnesses saw anybody carrying a battle-ax,” Peter said.
I tried not to sound condescending, although I may have not been entirely successful. “No one would if the guilty party took the ax from the Royal Pavilion and went behind the tents to the edge of the woods. The scrub pines and brush would provide cover until the person reached the bales of hay. Then it was just a matter of waiting until Salvador took a break to collect stray arrows. Angie was likely to have been lurking nearby, spying on Salvador.”
“And just watched when…?” said Fiona.
“Let’s say she chose not to intervene. She may have been eavesdropping when Salvador asked some of you about burying his assets in trusts and corporations. She couldn’t count on his generosity toward Edward or even a lawsuit for back child support, but it was probable that Edward would inherit. Until the estate was put through probate, collecting blackmail from the murderer would provide a steady income. She met her victim in Salvador’s studio on Sunday night around midnight. Her proposal was not well received, shall we say.”
“This is speculation,” Fiona said. “You don’t know what she saw—or who. How long do we have to put up with this farce, Lieutenant Rosen? I’ve lost my appetite and would prefer to leave.”
“No, no, no,” said William. “I’m on the edge of my seat. This is quite as exciting as a mystery novel, although in this situation, the culprit is more likely to be a page than a butler. Do go on, Clarissa.”
“Are you implicated, Fiona?” asked Glynnis, peering hopefully at her.
“Of course not!” she snapped.
Benny looked back at her. “It makes sense. You didn’t know what you could count on from Salvador after you had the baby. Being the legal guardian of what you thought was his only issue would allow you to get your hands on his estate, once he was dead. Edward’s announcement ruined that, but you didn’t waste much time coming up with an alternative scheme.”
“Shut your bloody trap!”
He wiggled his tongue at her. “Lady Olivia of Ravenmoor is violating the code of civility. Tsk, tsk.”
“Can it, Benny,” Anderson said.
“You gonna make me?” he taunted, wiggling his tongue at Anderson for good measure. “I should have whomped your butt in the final battle, but Lanya had told me what a jerk you were and I lost my temper. Why don’t we have a rematch in the yard, this time without armor?”
“You say when, asshole,” Anderson snarled.
Lanya elbowed me from behind. “Get on with it before this escalates further. They’ve both had too much to drink.”
“I noticed,” I said dryly. “Listen, please. I never accused Fiona of killing Salvador. Benny, would you like more wine before I continue?” I watched as he grabbed the bottle and took a drink. “You may be hoping that I’ll accuse someone else, but I’m afraid that the metaphorical arrow is pointing right at you.”
“Why me?” he said as wine dribbled onto his beard like drops of blood. He banged the bottle down on the coffee table. “Salvador and I were old buddies.”
“You really shouldn’t have mentioned that. From what I’ve heard, you were the one who made up fantastic action scenarios with warlords and wizards. Salvador needed plots like yours, not his trite efforts that wouldn’t sell. Did you come up with the name ‘Zormurd’ yourself, or was that Salvador’s only contribution?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He stole your stories, your characters, your entire fantasy macrocosm. He became rich and famous, albeit in a limited circle, while you played poker in a hut in the sand. And to top things off, he confided in you that he was going to take steps to protect his assets if he lost a lawsuit. You couldn’t even sue him. You must have been seething.”
“I started making up stories about Waldsenke when I was a kid. I was Zormurd, and Lady Maves was my girlfriend back in sixth grade. When she started sharing her lunch with a kid named Dwayne Pendark, I made him the villain. I could never draw them, so I just wrote about their adventures. Salvador loved the stories so much that I gave him all my old notebooks. He promised me that if he ever succeeded, he’d share the money with me. When the time came, he claimed that he’d merely used some of the names and settings, but the ideas were his own. Yeah, I was angry, but it was a long time ago. It doesn’t prove I killed him.”
I made a face. “No, it doesn’t. Lieutenant Rosen has been complaining about the lack of forensic evidence, but this was a particularly messy way to kill someone. Some of the blood must have splattered on the murderer, yet not one witness noticed it. You can wash your hands and face, but it’s very difficult to get bloodstains out of clothes. I think Lieutenant Rosen will find those stains on the street clothes you were wearing under your armor. You cleaned yourself up before you came to the banquet. Did you do the same earlier, before you put on the armor for the championship bout? If you didn’t, there will be smears on the inside of the armor as well as on the clothes.”
Lanya gave him a horrified look. “You did that to Salvador because of his silly comic books? Oh, Benny!”
“They weren’t his,” Benny said coldly, “and they weren’t silly.”
William cleared his throat. “Actually, they were. I leafed through one while I was picking up an order at the mall bookstore. The anachronisms were glaring. Several of the weapons were not developed until the sixteenth century. I fully expected to find one of the characters using a flashlight in the swamp.”
I intervened before Benny could respond. “There was nothing anachronistic about the battle-ax. Did Angie materialize while you were putting on your armor, or did she wait until you went to Salvador’s house the next day to hunt for your notebooks? You knew I was there, since my car was in the carport. If I’d come an hour later, would I have been the one to find her body?”
Benny poured the last of the wine down his throat and stood up. “I’m leaving. Everybody just sit there until I drive away, okay?” He staggered into the kitchen.
Peter went to the back door and motioned to an unseen figure. Jorgeson nodded at me as he stepped out of the darkness. After a brief whispered conversation, Peter let the door close and turned around. “Benny will be escorted home and asked to hand over the clothes and armor. If he does not comply, he’ll be held until we get a warrant.”
“Is that it?” demanded William, his eyes popping with eagerness. “Shouldn’t you shoot him or something?”
“I’ll look into a firing squad in the morning,” Peter said. He held out his hand. “Your carriage awaits, Lady Clarissa.”
I took his arm, as befitting my title, and we swept down the back steps as if we’d both been coronated.
“You were out awfully late,” Caron said when I came into the kitchen the next
morning. “You make such a big deal about me calling or leaving a note. Don’t I deserve the same courtesy?”
“Yes, dear, you do.” I started a pot of coffee and nibbled on the last stale doughnut while I waited. “I’ll do better in the future.”
“Yeah, right. Was Mr. Valens pleased that we’re going to work on his stupid production?”
“I didn’t have a chance to tell him, and if I were you, I’d let it go. He was in a nasty mood last night, and it may not improve for a long time. I do have some good news, though. Miss Thackery won’t be teaching AP history in the fall, so you don’t have to worry about the midterm paper.”
“That means we’ll get stuck with Mrs. Collins. She makes her upper-level classes memorize poetry and recite it in front of the class. One of the senior girls fainted in the middle of an Emily Dickinson sonnet. Too pathetic.”
I tossed the remainder of the doughnut in the trash and poured a mug of coffee. “You’ll need to get the reading list as soon as possible and get busy before school starts. You’re going to miss three weeks in October.”
Her brow lowered. “Why?”
“You and Inez, if her parents agree, are coming along on the honeymoon. Peter brought it up last night and we talked about it for a long time. It will be a wonderful opportunity for us to see something more of the world, and very educational.”
“Oh?” she said. “What if I don’t want to go on your honeymoon? What am I supposed to do—sit in a hotel room and watch movies while you two…act like newly weds? I’m old enough to stay home by myself for three weeks. You can call every couple of days and check on me. I’ll call Sergeant Jorgeson if a serial killer tries to break down the door. Go on your own honeymoon with Peter, and leave me out of it. The idea’s gross.”