by Amanda Lee
“Well, I’d be flattered,” said Riley. “Anytime I have the opportunity to gush over Laura, I take it.”
“I don’t blame you a bit,” I said.
“It is getting to be kinda rough having her at the office all the time, though,” Riley said. “Mom is considering retiring as my administrative assistant in order to babysit Laura full-time. But I don’t know how I’d ever replace her at the office.”
“Maybe she could still handle some of the administrative tasks in the evenings or part-time, and you could hire someone to staff the office during the day,” I said. “In fact, I know someone who was recently laid off . . . and I think you know her, too. Wasn’t Julie in that last stitching class you took?”
“Yes, I believe she was. She has a daughter named Amber, right?”
“She does,” I said. “When you and your mom reach a decision, if you’re interested in having Julie apply, please let me know.”
“All right,” said Riley. “I’ll talk with Mom this evening.”
“We’d better find your uncle,” Keith told Riley. “He’ll tar and feather us if he doesn’t get to see his baby before he gets too busy.”
I laughed. “Give him a hug from me and tell him I hope to see him later.” Riley’s uncle was Captain Moe. Captain Moe was Riley’s dad’s brother, not Camille’s.
I was a little sad to see the Kendalls go. I’d have liked to spend more time with Laura myself. The thought of having to get up with her at two forty-five notwithstanding, I really do think I’d like to have a baby sometime. I believe I’d be a good mother. And I know Mom would be delighted. She’d be making the child fancy clothes before she even knew whether it was going to be a girl or a boy.
Maybe one of these days . . .
I had a steady stream of customers from the time the gates opened until Ted and Angus strolled into the merchants’ building at around noon. I was selling a blackwork-embellished shirt to an older woman who declared Angus to be a “noble beast indeed” when he strode up to her.
“I fancy myself something of a scholar of canines,” she said. “The Great Irish Hound, as the breed was previously known, was prominent in Irish history going back to the fifth century. The dogs were allowed to be owned only by royalty and nobility at that time. And here is a cautionary tale to warn you always to trust your hound, sir.”
She spoke to Ted, as he and Angus were together, and she obviously didn’t realize Angus belonged to me.
“Llewellyn, prince of Wales, was given the noble Irish wolfhound named Gelert by then Prince John of England. Although Llewellyn had many hounds, Gelert became his favorite. One morning Gelert greeted Llewellyn covered in blood. Llewellyn rushed to his infant son’s room and, to his horror, found the baby missing from its overturned cradle. He thought Gelert had killed the child.”
I gasped. Earlier this morning I’d been playfully entertaining the thought of having a baby, and now this lady was telling a story of a missing infant and an Irish wolfhound covered in blood? Not that I believed for one instant that Angus was capable of hurting a child, but this was a strange coincidence.
“Llewellyn drew his sword and killed Gelert,” the woman continued. “Poor Gelert howled in pain as he died, and it’s said that his howl was followed by the cry of an infant. The prince searched and found his child unharmed beneath a pile of bedding from the cradle. Near the baby was a dead wolf.”
“Gelert had saved the baby from the wolf!” I cried.
“Indeed,” she said. “Some say the story of Gelert is merely a myth. Maybe so, but either way, the moral is the wise advice to heed the counsel of your dog. He is a loyal friend.” She took her periwinkle bag and waved good-bye to us.
I stepped out from behind the table and hugged Angus. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt our baby.”
Ted’s eyes widened. “Did you say our baby?”
I laughed. “Just got caught up in the story.”
He smiled. “Whew! Not that I don’t want children someday . . . just . . .”
“Not yet,” I said.
“Right.”
“Have you two had a good day?” I asked.
“Fair,” Ted said. “No pun intended. We actually learned, thanks to a call from Manu, that the man whose business burned earlier this week has gone missing.”
“That certainly lends credence to the belief that he torched his own building, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not sure.” Ted came around the table and sat down beside me. Angus lay between us. “Either the man did set the fire himself, he’s dead, or he’s afraid of the person who burned his office.”
“So you think the person who killed his partner five years ago might have set the fire?” I asked.
Ted nodded. “I think it’s a strong possibility.”
“But, then again, wasn’t the partner a suspect in the murder?” I asked.
“Yes. There’s just something I can’t put my finger on . . . a gut feeling that tells me the man is running scared.”
“If anyone can find him, you can,” I said.
“Thanks. So how’s your day been so far?”
“It got off to a weird start, but since then, it’s been great.” I told him about my meeting with the Crow.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Inch-High, unless the man starts seeking you out or something,” said Ted. “You’re going to run into a lot of eccentrics at a festival like this.”
“I guess, but—” My thought would have to wait because William Shakespeare had just come up to our booth.
“Good day, Mr. Shakespeare,” I said. “Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch booth.”
Will placed a hand upon his chest. “You’ve heard of me? Why, I’m flattered! Unless, of course, your account of me came from that wretched critic Greene, who described me as an upstart crow.”
“You . . . you were called the Crow?” I asked.
“Only by Robert Greene, that I’m aware,” he answered. “That’s not how you know me, then?”
I smiled. “Not at all, sir. I’ve heard of your plays.”
I glanced at Ted, and he winked at me. Obviously, William Shakespeare was also the Crow. Washerwoman Jan had been right—he’d been drumming up excitement for the play!
“What is your favorite to date?” Will asked.
“I have to say The Merchant of Venice. I love them all, but that one struck a particular chord,” I said. “What about you, Ted?”
“I’m torn between Julius Caesar and Othello,” Ted said. “Although a patron who came by the shop earlier spoke about wise people trusting their dogs . . . I think even wiser people would trust their spouses.”
Will held up an index finger. “Ah, but some love not wisely but too well. And some spouses are not trustworthy. I’d have to agree with your patron about trusting your dog. He’ll always be faithful.” He bowed, making a flourish with his right hand. “Fare thee well, new friends. I hope to see you again soon.” He reached into a leather pouch hanging from his waist and produced two business cards. He put them on the table in front of Ted and me.
ARTURO FELDMAN
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH AND DRAMA
TALLULAH FALLS COMMUNITY COLLEGE
His contact information followed.
“Should you need to get a message to me, these wee parchments show the way,” said Will. “Be on the lookout for a wicked woman with the surname Macbeth. She has a lean and hungry look about her.”
“We sure will,” I said.
Will moved on to visit with Jan the washerwoman.
“He was the Crow, wasn’t he?” I asked.
“More than likely,” said Ted. “Do you want to take a break while I’m here?”
“I would like to stretch my legs, maybe go check on Sadie and Blake and get us some lunch if you don’t mind,” I said.
“Lunch? I don’t mind that in the least. Please do bring a couple bottles of water for Angus. I stopped at the pet shop and bought him a collapsible bowl.”
I leaned over and kissed him dee
ply. “You are the most wonderful man in the world.”
He grinned. “Prithee don’t forget it.”
“I won’t!”
Chapter Fifteen
The aromas of steak on a stake and burgers on the grill drew me to Captain Moe’s tent first. I was planning to buy lunch from MacKenzies’ Mochas today, but it wouldn’t hurt to stop and smell the beef, would it? Besides, I wanted to see what Captain Moe thought of Laura in her faerie costume.
When he saw me, he waved and mouthed that he’d be with me in just a minute. He then flipped the burgers he had grilling, and came over to talk with me.
“I can see that you’re busier than a cat covered in peanut butter, so I won’t keep you long,” I said.
“I always have time for you, Tink,” he said, with a warm smile.
“I just wanted to make sure you saw Laura in her faerie costume.”
“I did!” He laughed and shook his head. “She’s a charmer. I swear, she looks more like me every time I see her.”
“Now that you mention it . . .” I laughed. “By the way, how serious is Camille about retiring and babysitting Laura?”
“Very. This is her first grandchild, you know. She doesn’t want to miss an instant of that sweet baby’s life.”
“I can imagine. And I know Riley doesn’t want to, either. I’m so sorry it’s getting more difficult to keep Laura at the office.”
“Well, as wee ones grow, they get louder and harder to keep entertained. But if Camille does retire to babysit Laura in her home, then she can bring the baby in on days when Riley has no meetings or court appearances.”
“That’s true.” I smiled. “I’d better go, and you’d better flip those burgers. I don’t want to leave Ted manning the booth too long! Some of those stitchers and their questions leave him completely baffled.”
“I can well imagine,” said Captain Moe. “Come back and visit anytime, Tinkerbell!”
As I left Captain Moe’s tent, I spotted the juggler. This time, he was tossing around what I hoped were plastic battle-axes. He tilted his head in greeting and just kept on juggling. I smiled, waved, and continued to move toward Blake and Sadie’s tent.
I tried to ignore the fortune-tellers’ tent as I walked past, but Hecate called to me.
“Hello, seeker! Will you be watching the jousts today?” she asked.
“’Fraid not,” I said, slowing but not stopping to talk. “I have customers to attend to.”
“Be sure and come back around,” she called after me. “I feel we still have much to tell you.”
I hadn’t walked two yards when a young knight stepped into my path.
“Where is the fire, m’lady?” he asked.
“I have to hurry and get lunch to take back to my booth in the merchants’ building,” I said. “Please excuse me.”
“But won’t you first give me your favor to take into battle?” he asked. “I’m in the jousting tournament this afternoon.”
“Well, good luck, but I have no favor . . . no scarf, no handkerchief . . . nothing.”
“Ah, you’re in luck!” A woman with one of her front teeth blacked out muscled in front of the knight. “I happen to sell ladies’ favors—hair ribbons, scarves, handkerchiefs—starting at a mere dollar. Won’t you please buy a favor for the lad to take into the joust? He might never return, you know.”
“Yeah, okay.” I opened my purse and gave the woman a dollar.
The knight grabbed my hand and bowed on one knee. “Thank you, kind lady. Know that Sir Reginald carries your favor into battle with honor.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And good luck. Now I must be on my way.”
I finally made it to the MacKenzies’ Mochas tent.
“Is everything okay?” Sadie asked. “You look wild-eyed.”
“You wouldn’t believe the obstacles I had to overcome to get here,” I said. “Hecate the Queen of the Witches tried to get me to have my fortune told again; I passed a juggler throwing battle-axes around; and then I was delayed by a knight begging favors.”
Sadie’s brown eyes widened. “He what?”
I shook my head. “Not those kinds of favors.”
“How do you know what kind of favors I’m thinking of?”
“By the look on your face,” I said. “He was asking for a handkerchief to take into battle.”
She frowned. “To what? Serve as a bandage? A handkerchief wouldn’t do much good.”
I smiled. “No. It was a chivalry thing. Knights took their ladies’ favors into battle to honor them with their fight or something. It was supposed to be romantic. Of course, that was then and this is now. When I told Sir Reginald that I didn’t have a favor, a shopkeeper stepped out and offered to sell me one.”
“You’re kidding! I hope you told her to bugger off! They sound like extortionists.”
“I gave her a dollar for the cheapest thing she had,” I said. “I figured it was quicker to give them a dollar than to debate it. I probably got off easier than some people.”
“Probably,” she said. “But I’d have told them both to bugger off.”
I laughed. “Where did you get that expression?”
“One of my customers said it to another yesterday.” She grinned. “I liked it and have incorporated it into my vocabulary.”
“I can see that.”
“What can I get you?” she asked. “Or did you just come by to say hi?”
“I came for chicken salad croissants,” I said. “Two . . . and five bottles of water.”
“Five?” She raised her brows. “Are you getting dehydrated in that little building or what?”
“Ted got Angus a collapsible water bowl today on the way here,” I said. “So I’m taking the extra water to Angus. Isn’t that the sweetest thing—that Ted would care so much about Angus?”
“Yes, it is. But then again, who doesn’t love Angus?”
“I don’t think Ted’s mom is all that wild about him,” I said. “But I believe he’s growing on her.”
Sadie got the chicken salad out of a large cooler and put some on two croissants. I love Sadie’s chicken salad—in addition to all the usual ingredients, it has pecans and white seedless grapes.
After she bagged up my order, I paid her and told her I’d talk with her later.
“If anyone bothers you, tell them to bugger off!” she called.
I smiled and shook my head. I hoped she didn’t learn any more colorful phrases.
When I returned to the booth with the bag, Ted quickly stood and took it from me.
“This is heavy,” he said. “I should’ve gone and got the water myself. I’m sorry.”
“I’m quite capable of carrying a heavy bag. I work out with weights, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right.” He gave an exaggerated nod. “I do recall seeing those glittery purple two-pound dumbbells in your office.”
“And I work out with them every other day . . . or so,” I said. “Where’s Angus’s bowl?”
Angus had leapt to his feet the instant I arrived, but it wasn’t water he was interested in. He could smell those croissants. He held his nose aloft and sniffed.
“We’ll save you a bite,” I promised him. “Now sit down and have a drink of water.”
Ted set up the bowl and poured one bottle of the water into it. Angus lapped it greedily. He was thirstier than I’d realized. I was glad I’d gotten the extra bottles.
I took the croissants from the bag and put them on the table. I had a bottle of hand sanitizer in my purse, and I insisted that we both use it before we began eating.
“After all, we’ve both been handling money today—I mean, I hope you have, too. Did you have sales while I was gone?” I asked.
“Yes, I had sales,” he said. “I also had a phone call.”
“Should I be worried?” I asked. “It wasn’t your mom asking us to come get Clover, was it?”
“No. It was Manu. He and Reggie would like for us to come to dinner this evening. Do you want to go?”
“Sure,” I said. “That’ll be great . . . unless you don’t want to go. Then I’m too tired or something.”
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness.” He poured the sanitizer into his palm and rubbed his hands together. “I think what this dinner is really about, though, is Clara’s murder case. I got the impression Manu wanted to talk with me about it.”
“And he can’t at work because you’re not on the case,” I said.
“Exactly. So, yeah, I’d like to go.”
“Then that’s settled. We’ll go.” I sanitized my hands and opened the small box containing my croissant. “This is delicious. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
Angus inched closer to me, and I pinched off a piece of the croissant for him.
“What time are we supposed to be there?” I asked Ted.
“I don’t know. I told them I’d have to talk with you before accepting. I’ll call Manu back after we eat.” He, too, took a bite and then gave Angus a bite. “I’d like to take in that jousting competition later this afternoon.”
“By all means,” I said. “Be sure to root for Sir Reginald. He’s taking my favor into battle.”
“Oh, is he, now?”
“He is. I think the favor is a hankie . . . or it could be a ribbon. It’s whatever I could get for a dollar.” I explained about the encounter.
“I’ll certainly keep my eye out for my competition,” he said.
“My darling, you have no competition . . . least of all, Sir Reginald of Tallulah High.”
“How about Sir Loin of Beef?” he asked. “Or Sir Osis of Liver? Or Sir Cough of Gus?”
I smothered my laughter because my mouth was full. When I could finally swallow, I said, “All right, I know the first two were vintage Bugs Bunny. But where did you come up with Sir Cough of Gus?”
“Off the top of my head, babe. Sarcophagus? Get it?”
I closed my eyes. “I’m afraid so.”
When I opened my eyes, he was staring up at the ceiling in thought.
“Sir Real of Ism? Nah, that doesn’t make sense. Sir—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupted. “I get what you’re saying, and no Sir could ever take your place.”
“I know,” he said offhandedly. “Now I’m just trying to come up with cool knight names.”