by Joyce Lavene
Perilous Pranks
By
Joyce and Jim Lavene
A Renaissance Faire Mystery
©Copyright 2013
by
Joyce and Jim Lavene
All rights reserved
Cover art by Emmie Anne Studios
http://www.emmieannestudios.com
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Murderous Matrimony - Chapter One
About the Authors
Chapter One
Wanda Le Fey was dead.
In the immortal words of Charles Dickens: “There can be no doubt about that.”
She was also blue—deep blue, a dark shade, not a nice sky blue—from the tips of her toes to the top of her flaming red hair.
I had something to do with the blue part, which was why I was at her cottage in Renaissance Faire Village and Marketplace.
I was wondering why she wasn’t screaming and running all over the Village looking for me. She had to know that I was the one who’d put the blue dye-pack in her shower head.
I swear it was non-toxic. It was just a prank—the best prank ever—but it shouldn’t have killed her.
Was anyone going to believe me?
I studied Wanda again. She was half-in and half-out of the shower. There was a long red gash that looked like a knife, or sword wound, in the center of her chest. Blood was everywhere. I guessed that her attacker must have surprised her as she was getting out of the shower.
Her eyes were still open—those cold, baleful eyes that had driven me crazy the last few years.
Wanda had been the Village nurse, but a meaner, nastier person would be hard to imagine. And it wasn’t only me. She seemed to have it in for everyone.
Now it seemed someone had it in for her too.
Pat Snyder, who played William Shakespeare every hour from ten a.m. to six p.m. on the Village Green, peeked around the open door to the cottage.
“Well?” he whispered. “Is she blue? Where is she? Why haven’t I heard her cursing you?”
“There’s a slight problem. She’s dead.”
He crept into the bedroom and stared at Wanda’s body for a minute while he absently stroked his triangle-shaped beard. It was a pose he assumed quite often as Shakespeare. “This is bad, Jessie. This is very bad.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I’m the one who dyed her blue! Who do you think they’re going to accuse of killing her?”
“Definitely a bad business. You should call the Bailiff, or the police.”
“I thought of that.” He was no help at all.
“I have to go. The Main Gate is open.” He made his excuses. “Visitors will want to see me.”
With that, he was gone.
Big surprise. No one wanted to be around Wanda when she was alive. Dead, she was even less desirable as a companion.
Shakespeare was her ex-husband. I’d told him, and a few others, about my prank. That could make them all accomplices.
Standing there with Wanda’s dead body made me shiver. It was a terrible death, even though I hadn’t liked her. Something about the helplessness of this poor, blue woman in her shower made me realize that she was more than simply evil Wanda Le Fey. She was a victim.
A victim whose killer the police would be looking for shortly. I needed to get out of there!
A white space on her wrist caught my attention. I recognized it as the place she’d usually worn a leather bracelet with a remarkable turquoise-colored stone set in it. I’d always admired it.
I glanced carefully around the bathroom. There was no sign of the bracelet. Yet she had to be wearing it when the dye dropped on her in the shower, or her wrist would be blue too. The showerhead still dripped blue dye.
Curious.
“Jessie?”
I almost jumped out of my skin when Chase Manhattan—Bailiff, Protector of the Village, and my fiancée—called my name. Far worse, I put my hand out and made a big print on the glass shower door.
I was going to pay for that!
“What are you doing?” He glanced at Wanda’s body. “What happened? I thought you were dying her blue. Did she have some kind of allergic reaction to the dye?”
“Not unless that reaction included a big knife being stuck in her chest.” I pointed at the knife wound without moving closer. “I came to see why she wasn’t on the cobblestones, shouting for me. The front door was open. I found her like this.”
Chase went over and put his finger on Wanda’s throat. “No pulse. She’s cold too. She’s been dead for a while. I have to call the police. Don’t touch anything else. We’ll wait outside until Detective Almond gets here.”
“Okay.” I put my hands in the pockets of my long blue skirt. It was meant to mock Wanda’s embarrassment at being blue. It should’ve been the best prank in the world. Instead, it was beginning to look like the prank may have backfired on me.
Chase called the police. We went outside and he hugged me, mussing my short, straight brown hair. “Everything is going to be okay. It was supposed to be a joke. The other part has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m not sure Detective Almond is going to see it that way.”
Chase looked more like a pirate than the Village equivalent of a police officer. He was six-foot-eight, two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle wrapped in a leather vest and britches. He wore his long, brown hair in a single braid and had a gold earring in one ear.
He was the chief of security for the Village. The Ren Faire could get a little wild sometimes, with 10,000 people a day passing through our Main Gate.
“Even he won’t think you killed Wanda,” he said. “He knows about the pranks that go on here all the time.”
“He also knows that Wanda and I hated each other. He’s gonna like me for her murder.”
“You watch too much TV, Jessie. Detective Almond will look at all the evidence as it comes in and come to a logical conclusion, like he always does.”
I wasn’t as convinced of that fact as Chase was, but that was a basic difference between us. Chase always looked for the best in people. I always looked for ways to survive around them.
I knew Detective Almond was going to think I killed Wanda. My best defense was trying to figure out who had actually killed her.
I had no idea where to start. Even though I couldn’t think of anyone who liked Wanda, I couldn’t think of anyone who disliked her enough to kill her either.
“I have a dress fitting, and I’m expecting my loom today for the museum.” I glanced at my wrist, forgetting momentarily that my watch was at our home in the Dungeon.
Those of us who work at the Village—shopkeepers and actors— weren’t allowed to wear modern watches or carry cell phones while we were working. The Village was supposed to represent a true Renaissance experience.
I could argue with some of what Adventureland, our parent company, considered ‘true’ Renaissance, but that was another story.
“I think you should be here if you want to make a good impression on Detective Almond,” Chase said. “It’s only going to make him cranky if he has to look for you. You know he hates walking around the Village.”
I didn’t want to tell Chase that I had an awful feeling that Detective Almond would arrest me on the spot as soon as he heard the circumstances of Wanda’s death. Th
e only chance I had was to find her killer—before he could lock me up and throw away the key.
Chapter Two
Chase and I were getting married in about a month. Despite his belief that I should wait there for Detective Almond, he also knew it could take a while for him to get there. The police didn’t like coming out to the Village. They called it ‘the crazy place’. That was why they had trained Chase to take care of things.
Playing on my need to go to another fitting for my wedding gown—what sane bridegroom-to-be would deny that?—I promised to come back to Wanda’s cottage as soon as he sent one of his security people for me. He kissed me and let me go.
I didn’t want to lie to Chase, and technically, I hadn’t. I was supposed try on my wedding dress again that day at Stylish Frocks, the shop that made all the costumes for the Village. But knowing my time was limited, I went to find Shakespeare instead. I figured if anyone knew who’d killed Wanda, it would be him.
Also, I couldn’t quite cross him off of my suspect list. He’d hated Wanda too. Maybe when he’d found out about my prank, he thought it would be a perfect time to kill Wanda and blame it on me.
I liked Shakespeare. I didn’t want to think he could kill anyone, but I knew that I didn’t kill her.
Minstrels and flower girls were lining up at the Main Gate to welcome our visitors. There would be music and flower petals for at least the first few hundred people at ten a.m. After that, jugglers would trade places with minstrels, and Robin Hood and a few of his Merry Men would indulge in a little swordplay. The day would pass with everyone taking a turn at the gate.
By closing time, there would have been fools, knaves, and varlets waving goodbye to the last visitors and bidding them return soon. We needed them if we wanted to continue our crazy existence.
I knew Shakespeare would be at his place at the podium on the Village Green. He’d be writing an ode with a big quill pen to some pretty girl in a tight, overly-filled bodice. He’d spout poetry and snippets from Shakespeare’s plays. He was very good at his role.
But he wasn’t at his stone podium when I got there. Mother Goose hadn’t seen him, and neither had King Arthur, who was on his way to take the sword from the stone.
Shakespeare was probably afraid the police would want to question him. I didn’t blame him. Nearly everyone in the Village had secrets they didn’t want dragged out in the open.
I was scared too, even though I didn’t have any secrets that would interest anyone. The idea of being in jail on my wedding day wasn’t very appealing.
It wasn’t a large village, and I knew where he lived. The sooner I spoke with him about Wanda’s death, the better for both of us. It’s not good to be uninformed when talking to the police.
“There you are, Lady Jessie.” My assistant, Manawydan Argall, bowed to me. “I’m afraid the ruffians who have delivered the loom won’t allow me to sign for it.”
Manawydan (I called him Manny) was fresh out of college with a degree in the arts. He was a short, African-American man with neatly trimmed hair and large glasses. He was always punctual, always knowledgeable, and a snappy dresser besides. His clothes were Victorian rather than Renaissance, but he always looked nice. And he smelled wonderful— like flowers, sunshine, and fresh air.
I was the director of the museum that would feature arts and crafts from the Renaissance. My brand new Ph.D. was in historic arts and crafts, with my dissertation being the Proliferation of Medieval Crafts in Modern Times. I’d studied and apprenticed with almost every craftsman in the Village. I’d made baskets, arrows, hats, glassware and swords.
It was still hard to believe that I had a full-time job working at the Village. I didn’t have to teach history classes at the University of South Carolina anymore. I could be with Chase all the time. It didn’t get much better than that.
The vertical loom was one of the centerpieces of our new exhibit about tapestry making. It was from Pennsylvania and had been used in the early 1700s. It was made of rough-hewn lumber and would have cost the Village a fortune, but the owner was letting us borrow it. He would also be there for our grand opening where he would be weaving for the visitors.
My hunt for Shakespeare would have to wait. “I’ll sign for it. Let’s get this over with.”
I thought my size twelve feet and long legs would leave Manny in the dust, but he kept up without breaking a sweat. We ate up the space between Shakespeare’s podium and the manor houses near the gate at Squire’s Lane.
The first visitor through the Main Gate was wearing a gorilla suit. Dressing up in Renaissance style meant different things to different people. Behind him was a high-born lady in a beautiful purple gown with a silver girdle. She was with a knight in full armor.
That was going to get a little hot by the end of the day.
Most people were in Myrtle Beach on vacation when they visited us. They wore what we call street clothes—shorts, jeans, bikini tops, and T-shirts. Some of their sandals could be considered authentic Ren Faire gear. That was about it. Many bought or rented costumes while they were at the Village. It wasn’t necessary to dress the part to have a good time, but I thought it helped get into the spirit.
Manny and I walked around a madman in the street. Madmen were respected members of the community. Their entertainment value was tremendous, especially when no shows were going on.
They wore britches and shirts with holes in them, frequently rubbing themselves with sand or dirt. They hit pots and pans together and grabbed at ladies’ skirts. Kids loved them.
“You’re sitting in front of the museum.” Manny pointed out to the madman. “Would you mind terribly moving one way or the other?”
Dave the Madman refused. “This is where the guild told me to be today. Maybe you should take it up with them.”
“I’ll do that.” Manny made shooing motions with his hands. “In the meantime, get away.”
Dave grinned. “I’m not going anywhere.” He banged his pans together and rolled around on the ground like—well—like a madman. “Good morning, Lady Jessie. Your beauty lights up the day.”
I smiled, enjoying the compliment. Visitors were starting to watch us. “Good morning, Sir Madman Dave. How does the morning treat you?”
A pretty lady in a pink brocade gown, holding a matching parasol, dropped some change into Dave’s pot and blew him a kiss.
“Quite well, my lady. Please give my regards to the Bailiff.”
I liked Dave, even though he was a madman. He might graduate to becoming a knave or a varlet in the same guild, if he stayed for a while. He could even move up into the Forest Guild with Robin Hood or the Magical Creatures Guild with Merlin the Magician, if he played his cards right.
But he was probably only there for a short time, like most secondary characters. The Village was filled with college and high school drama students. Very few stayed permanently.
Manny was patiently waiting near the front door of the manor house in his pointy-toed slippers. “This may look bad for the museum.”
“The museum isn’t even open yet. Even if it was, seeing madmen and musicians on the cobblestones is part of the experience.”
“I see.” He nodded. “These circumstances are a bit unusual.”
“You’ll get used to it.” I patted him on the shoulder. “You might even want to be a madman someday.”
He shuddered and opened the door for me. “I think not.”
The four burly men, who’d carried the large old loom from the parking lot to the museum, were waiting. They didn’t look happy about it either.
The delivery men moved the heavy loom into place. It was a difficult process to get the loom where it needed to be. Manny wasn’t much help. He expected the legs of the loom to fit exactly where we’d made the chalk drawings for them.
If looks could have killed, Manny would certainly be dead.
I signed the document for the four men after examining the loom to make sure it was still in good repair. “Thank you, gentlemen. Please stay on
at the Faire if you can, as my guests. We appreciate all your hard work.”
“Are you kidding me?” The biggest of the four, and the one who seemed to be in charge, glanced around the museum. “This place looks like the loony bin to me. I had a buddy who visited here one day with his girl. He never came out again.”
It sounded like the end of a bad horror story.
I inclined my head in what I hoped was a graceful and ladylike gesture. “It happens frequently that visitors decide to stay with us, sir. For many, our lives here are better than the ones in the real world. What, perchance, was your friend’s name?”
“His name was Ralph. I think he calls himself Rafe now. He’s a pirate, or something.”
“Yes. Rafe is the king of all the pirates on the Queen’s Revenge. I shall tell him that you asked about him.”
“Whatever.” He looked around again and gestured to his helpers. “Let’s get out of here.”
While Manny documented the receipt of the loom, I admired it and the rest of the tapestry exhibit we’d managed to put together so far. There was a great richness and history to what we were trying to do. It was different than the rest of the Village. People could learn here, as well as enjoy themselves.
I ran my hand along the rough wood of the loom, thinking about the hands that had worked on it. I imagined the tapestries that had been produced on it.
Beside the loom were glassmaker’s tools that had been donated by Roger Trent from the Glass Gryphon, a shop in the Village. He was also one of the Village craftspeople who would demonstrate his skills at the museum when it opened in November.
His wife, Mary Shift, was a Gullah basket weaver. She’d promised to spend a day here too. I’d learned to weave sweet grass baskets with her.
My foot scuffed something on the hardwood floor. I looked down and saw a glint of color where it didn’t belong.
It was Wanda’s missing bracelet.
Of course, there was blood on it, and I’d put my hand into it. The smell of fresh blood made me want to vomit.
It looked like the real killer was trying to frame me for Wanda’s murder.