by Joyce Lavene
“We should ask them,” Bart concluded. “Give them a chance to answer the question as you would any man. Honesty should always be trusted.”
Daisy pinched his cheek. “You’re from another world, aren’t you? We obviously need to lay a trap for them.”
“I can’t be part of that kind of deceit,” he added.
“That’s fine. I’ll come get you for dinner. Me and Jessie will figure this out. But keep your mouth closed. We don’t need anyone finding out what we’re doing before we spring our trap.”
We left Bart still protesting about human rights.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the Bailiff.”
“I can’t think of anything to trap either one of those men.”
“We have to figure out why the fairy was killed since she was the first victim,” Daisy said. “Any idea what caused that?”
“Absolutely none.” I couldn’t tell her that I’d been spending most of my time trying to get Chase to fall in love with me. “We’ve been too busy trying to get Canyon out of jail.”
“I might know someone who can help with that,” Daisy said. “She’s new to the Village, but I like her. Come with me.”
It had already occurred to me that not having a heart attack could have caused Sir Reginald’s personality to change. On the other hand, Lord Dunstable was still overseeing the jousts at the Field of Honor. That meant he was different too. Both men had similar personalities, as far as I was concerned. Straight-laced. Arrogant. Pompous. A little too sure of their importance in the Village.
But could that lead to murder?
I followed Daisy back down into the Village. It was barely six p.m., but all the visitors were gone. There weren’t even any stragglers that had to be asked to leave for the night, a rare occurrence. All that remained were residents and maintenance people getting an early jump on their work. No doubt the story of the horse crashing through the fence had made the news. Attendance might be down for a day or two.
Funny how that worked. Murder drew crowds. Accidents made people stay home. I never pretended to understand.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked as we walked by Mirror Lake on the way to the other side of the Village near the Main Gate.
“I told you—she’s an old friend of mine who’s in line to get a shop. They didn’t have anything available but offered her a tent until something comes up. You’ll like her. We’ve known each other for years. She has a good understanding of people and how they work. She’s got a PhD in psychology or some such.”
“So she’s going to open a shop as a psychologist in the Village?” I was trying to imagine how that would fit in. How would she make money talking to people about their problems?
“Nah. That wouldn’t work. She’s gonna deck herself out as a fortune teller,” she said as we approached the elegant purple and gold Renaissance-style tent that hadn’t been there the last time I’d walked by this spot. “She’s gonna call herself Madame Lucinda. What do you think?”
I wasn’t sure if I was happy to see her here or not. She was far more than a psychologist masquerading as a fortune teller in my Village.
Daisy pushed aside one of the tent flaps. “Lucy? Are you here?”
We walked into the main area of the thick tent. The same tables held crystal scrying balls, and otherworldly paraphernalia. The small green dragon with yellow eyes was perched on a shelf where she could view the room.
But the dragon didn’t move. I walked over and touched it. The eyes stayed fixed.
“Hello. I’m not quite open for business.” Madame Lucinda walked through the tent flap that I knew led to a smaller room. She was dressed in her usual purple robe but with one significant difference—she was completely human.
Madame Lucinda at my Village was part dragon.
She’s never confirmed it, but I’ve seen her heavily-scaled, squat, dragon leg. The rest of her looked normal. This fortune teller wasn’t anything but a woman with a degree in psychology who wanted to work in the Village and had come up with a routine like everyone else.
I was relieved. Not that I don’t like Madame Lucinda—the one who’s part dragon. She’s a wise woman. I’m a little nervous with her dragon, Buttercup, but otherwise, she’s okay.
“Hi Lucy.” Daisy smiled when she saw her. “We have a little problem I thought you might be able to help with.”
We sat at the round table and explained the situation to her. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the small dragon every few seconds. I was so used to it looking back and moving around. It didn’t do anything this time. I was just being paranoid.
“It sounds to me like you have a frustrated killer on your hands,” she said. “I’m assuming it’s a man from your description of the crime. Sometimes men feel that they’ve lost part of their lives as they age. Women do too, but not in the same way men do. Men feel the urge to prove their virility. That may have been the case with the young fairy. When your victim refused to help your killer prove his masculinity, he turned on her with no thought of the consequences.”
“Wow.” Daisy laughed. “I knew we should come to you.”
“How do we catch this person?” Lord Dunstable and Sir Reginald could both fit the bill the way she was describing the killer.
“You should appeal to his vanity,” she advised. “Offer him something that will prove he’s still a young and virile man.”
Daisy glanced at me. “All we need is another fairy to use as bait.”
“Bait?” I asked. “You mean stake her out with a sign that says come get me? Because otherwise he has his pick of pretty young fairies every day.”
“If I may suggest something more overt,” Madame Lucinda said. “Send someone to him and then have her reject him. Since it probably appears to him that he’s gotten away with the first two crimes, another death won’t be as difficult for him.”
I really wanted something easier and safer. Maybe something I could spray on each of them and the real killer would show himself. But that really was fantasy.
“Apple Blossom had a friend, Stacie—I mean Blueberry.” You gotta love those fairy names. “I think she might be willing to help.”
“Sounds good to me. But which one do we start with?” Daisy asked.
To me there was no question, but then I knew Sir Reginald had been spared a heart attack in this Village. He was still jousting instead of minding the castle. No doubt in my mind that he needed to prove himself.
“We’ll start with Sir Reginald. I’ll call Detective Almond and get the blueberry fairy’s phone number.” I smiled at Madame Lucinda. “Thanks for your help.”
“It was a pleasure.” She smiled and shook my hand. Her hands were normal too, warm, and smooth.
“Let’s get on with it.” Daisy got up from her chair. “I’d like to get this off Bart’s table so he and I can talk about the important stuff.” She winked at me.
I glanced up for the last time at the small dragon before I followed her.
“Jessie?” Madame Lucinda called before I could escape the tent. “I notice you’ve taken quite a shine to my baby dragon.”
“Let’s just say, this is Renaissance Village. Anything is possible.”
“But not the Village you come from, is it?”
Oh no. “I don’t know what you mean.” And I didn’t plan to admit anything.
“That’s fine.” She smiled. “I understand. Good luck with your plan.”
“Thanks.” I peeked at the baby dragon once more. Were his golden eyes glowing? And hadn’t his tail been on the other side?
I hurried out of the tent and caught up with Daisy.
“I’m going to check on where Sir Reginald is supposed to be this evening,” she said. “Bart keeps up with all that. Have you called Detective Almond yet?”
“No. I haven’t had a chance.”
“What were you doing back there?” she demanded. “Do you want to catch the killer or not
?”
I took out the radio, but before I could use it, Chase found us.
“Ladies.” He put his arm around our shoulders and kissed the side of my face. “What brings you out on such a nice evening?”
“We were talking to the new fortune teller,” Daisy said. “We’ve got a plan to catch the killer.”
“Count me in,” he said. “What do we have to do?”
Chapter Twenty-three
When Chase heard the plan, he was completely against it. “You can’t control the variables in the situation. We don’t have a microphone the blueberry fairy can wear so we know when she’s in trouble. We could wait too long, and she could be dead.”
Daisy contemplated his words. “I guess we would’ve caught him in the act then, right?”
He stared at her in disbelief.
I didn’t think the plan sounded that bad. If Stacie/Blueberry was willing to give it a try, who were we to keep her from finding her friend’s killer?
“That’s the best we could come up with,” I told him. “Do you have something better?”
“No, but that doesn’t make it a good plan.”
“Come on,” Daisy urged. “Let’s see what Bart has to say. Jessie, call Detective Almond and get that phone number.”
Unfortunately, Bart agreed with Chase. “That could be really dangerous. I can’t be part of a plan that could end up with someone dead in the castle. I could lose my job.”
“Dead in the water then, I guess.” Daisy slumped in a chair. “I don’t suppose you have a better plan?”
“Who could have a plan for something like this?” Bart asked. “I shouldn’t have taken off my suit. Things have been falling apart since then.”
“I’m not disagreeing that we need a plan to figure out if Dunstable or Sir Reginald are guilty of murder,” Chase conceded. “I’m only saying that we need a better plan so no one gets hurt.”
“How about if we start with where both men are tonight?” Daisy suggested.
We all looked at Bart.
“Okay. I can do that—as long as we’re not dangling a fairy as bait.” He consulted an appointment book almost the size of the Big Book of Knights. “Lord Dunstable is at the castle this evening having dinner with the king and queen.”
“And Sir Reginald?” I asked.
“He’s here having dinner alone.” Bart grinned. “So neither one of them are going to kill any fairies, saying your theory is correct. We have time to plan something else.”
We sat around in Bart’s office trying to come up with something. Since I was convinced that the killer was Sir Reginald, my ideas came firmly down to trapping him. I couldn’t explain my reasoning to them without giving away why I was here.
For whatever reason, Daisy seemed to feel the same way about Dunstable. Our ideas clashed because of it.
“Why not find a young castle wench to take Lord Dunstable to her room for an after dinner treat?” she suggested. “We could doll her up some and see what happens.”
“That’s the same as the fairy,” Chase said. “Unless you want to tell her that we’re using her to catch a killer.”
“The only one likely to sign on for that is a police woman,” she told him. “And I don’t think we have any of those here.”
Detective Almond returned my call after I’d left him voicemail. He gave me Stacie/ Blueberry’s real name, her address, and phone number. I thanked him and evaded his questions as to why I wanted that information.
“Have you got something going on out there I should know about?”
“No,” I answered honestly since our plan had been scrapped. “I just thought I might ask her if she had other details.”
He mulled that over. “All right. Just don’t do anything stupid without me.”
I had to put my hand to my lips to keep from laughing. Enough of a sound must have escaped to make him realize that I was having fun with his answer.
“You know what I mean. What’s with you anyway, Jessie? Canyon never laughed when I said things he didn’t understand.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later, unless we decide to do something stupid. Then you’re at the top of my call list.”
“You shouldn’t tease him that way,” Bart said after I’d put my phone back in my pocket.
“She might as well,” Daisy said. “He can take it. I remember when he was Bailiff and he made us call him ‘The Constable’. He didn’t have a sense of humor back then either.”
“I’m getting hungry.” Chase glanced at his watch. “Why don’t we talk about this while we eat? Double date?”
Bart nodded eagerly. “That sounds good. I heard Baron’s has people from the Merry Mynstrels playing tonight—and two for one brats.”
“That’s my fella.” Daisy grinned. “A romantic evening of beer and brats.”
I wasn’t comfortable leaving the castle with no plan in the works. I reminded Chase and my friends that Sir Reginald could strike again if he was rebuffed. “Just like Madame Lucinda said.”
“Who?” Chase asked.
“She’s new,” Bart replied. “But Sir Reginald has managed to go more than one night without killing anyone. I think we’re probably safe having dinner.”
“Why are you so dead set on it being Reggie?” Daisy wondered. “I’ve always found Dunstable to be a lot more repugnant.”
“I don’t know. Just something about him.” I hesitated. “I guess you’re right. Going out to dinner will probably be fine. It would take Sir Reginald or Lord Dunstable a while to build up to getting rejected again, right? Let’s go for the brats.”
We walked down the hill together from the castle. Because the night was fair, there were dozens of residents out perfecting their performances. The green man was on his stilts, careening across the cobblestones. A few mad men were still out asking for pennies in their pots as they banged them around. A sword swallower was working on his act. I couldn’t look. It always made me cringe.
The warm evening was filled with music and laughter. A crowd had gathered outside Baron’s. The eating establishment was too small to seat so many people. Dozens of residents sat on the grass with their food.
We waited in line for thirty minutes before we got inside and were handed a wood platter with two brats and a tankard of beer. The musical trio featured a guitar, a mandolin, and a banjo—the banjo not being part of Renaissance history but acceptable after the Village had closed.
Chase found us a soft patch of grass near the swan swing, one of our favorite places in my old Village. We sat under the stars and ate like kings and queens. It was wonderful.
It made me wish this was the real thing, and wonder what Chase was doing in the other Village without me. Did he even realize that I was gone? My mood deteriorated rapidly after that until I was as melancholy as the dark romantic music being played by the trio inside.
I got a call on the radio about a disturbance at Stage Caravan. Of course it was all the way across the Village from where we were. I was tempted to ignore it.
Chase and Bart were in line again waiting for more beer and brats. Daisy was talking to a knight about buying a new sword from her. I finally convinced myself to go after the second alert. I was only sitting here feeling sorry for myself anyway. I might as well see what the problem was.
Since Daisy was the closest, I told her I was going and would be back soon. She nodded but kept haggling with the knight over the price of the sword.
I crossed the cobblestones and headed for Stage Caravan. But the sprinklers were already on for the night, so I had to zigzag around the Village Green on the King’s Highway, past the Mother Goose Pavilion and the Pleasant Pheasant, which was surprisingly closed for the night.
Stage Caravan was primarily dancing girls in skimpy costumes and rhythmic music. Things could get a little crazy there sometimes, particularly after hours when the dancing continued and a few residents got drunk and out of hand.
It wasn’t a big deal usually. I couldn’t ever remember Chase being gon
e long when he was called to stop a problem there. I could see the colored lanterns swaying in the light breezes by the time I’d passed the blacksmith’s shop. I heard the loud music and laughter—definitely a party. If they’d brought it over to Baron’s, no one would’ve noticed. But there were several large housing units for residents on this side of the Village. No doubt one of them had called it in.
I watched the dancers on stage, thinking about the time my brother, Tony, had become infamous here as a sexy dancer. I hoped that wasn’t this time. The things that happened in this Village were slightly different than the things that had happened in my Village. It could be confusing.
But I couldn’t really understand why anyone had reported the dancers and musicians on stage. They weren’t rowdy or all that noisy. Sure, they were having a birthday party for one of the dancers, but I didn’t think it was that bad.
How did Chase make those decisions? A complaint was still a complaint. Could I just ignore it?
“Thank goodness you’re finally here, Bailiff.” Sam Da Vinci approached. “What took you so long?”
I seemed to remember that Sam lived over this way. He had his own place—a small, thatched roof cottage. He was usually easy to get along with. Maybe he had company, and the sound from the stage was bothering him.
“I came as soon as I could, but the stage noise isn’t really that bad. I don’t think it was worth a complaint.”
“I’m not talking about the music from the stage,” he said. “Something is wrong with the Dungeon. I can hear those stupid fake prisoners moaning and crying. That’s supposed to stop when the Village closes. How am I supposed to sleep with that racket?”
I hadn’t even noticed the sounds coming from the Dungeon until he’d pointed it out. I was listening to the music and trying to decide if it was too much. Once he’d mentioned it, I could hear the prisoners screaming and calling for help. I knew what he meant—sometimes the Dungeon soundtrack got left on after Chase and I were in bed for the night. It wasn’t something I wanted to listen to while I was going to sleep either.
“Sorry. I’ll take care of it.”