The Minstrel and the Masquerade

by Lila K Bell

  “Good thing you’re not too far, then.” He grinned, then leaned on the counter. His bristled jaw looked more than usually grey tonight, but the muscles bulging from his sleeves assured me he was taking care of himself. If the lines around his eyes were a bit darker than they usually were, it didn’t signify anything was wrong — maybe he just hadn’t been sleeping well. “So why does being pulled away from this murder investigation bother you so much?”

  I took a moment to ponder his question as I sipped my drink, allowing the sharpness of the whiskey to prickle my taste buds and warm the back of my throat as it went down. At least he wasn’t serving it straight.

  “Because I feel like I was so close to figuring it out,” I said at last. “It’s like if you had one of those mystery jigsaw puzzles — you know the ones that don’t show you what the picture’s supposed to be ahead of time? Or maybe there’s, like, a code in the image, but it all needs to be complete so you can read the secret message? It’s like that, and I have it almost finished, but there are a few pieces missing. And I was close to finding them, but now I’ve been told I’m never going to get them. So unless someone else fills in those missing pieces and announces it in the news, I’ll never know the answer. It’s frustrating.”

  Troy nodded. “All right, I can see that. What pieces are you missing?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually care?”

  He shrugged. “It’s still quiet. I need something to fill my time before the evening rush.”

  I eyed him warily, searching for any sign that he was indulging me, or that it was some kind of test and he was waiting to throw more wisdom at me once I finished.

  When only interest stared back at me, I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. “One,” I held up a finger. “McCallister still could have killed her, even if he was already working out a deal with Goodwin. If he had a strategy in place to get out of paying her bill, then why show up at the party and start yelling at her? Then, what, he just walked out when he didn’t get what he wanted? I mean, fine, maybe, but he’s still in the picture. And the same goes for two” — I raised a second finger — “Goodwin. Sure, I don’t have any photographic evidence of him being anywhere near Brooks that night, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t slip by her long enough to put something in her drink, or that he and McCallister weren’t in it together.”

  “I can see that,” Troy said. “Who’s next?”

  A third finger. “Three — Joseph Marley, Brooks’s brother-in-law. He claims they were arguing because Brooks wanted to end their relationship, but he loved her.” I sipped my drink. “It’s possible, but we can’t exactly ask her to confirm it, can we? What if he wanted to end the relationship and she was threatening to tell her sister? Or what if he’s telling the truth and she did want to end it, and she tried to push him away by saying he was bad in bed?”

  Troy smirked. “Is that actually what you think or is that the whiskey talking?”

  I stared into my glass and realized it was empty. “I don’t know. You could be right. I still think it’s a valid argument.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No. All of that is just me throwing theories into the wind. Unless one of them confesses, I don’t think there’s any deeper I can dig to find out the truth. And that’s fine. The police can take over the murder investigation from here. I’m more than happy to give it up without a moment’s regret. But there is one big mystery left. I feel like it’s the piece that’s missing right in the middle of the puzzle. Like if I can find that one piece, everything else will make sense.” I waggled my ring finger between us. “Who is that sixth server?”

  “Server?” Troy asked.

  “By all accounts, there were only supposed to be five on the floor that night, so who is the sixth? It’s difficult to get an idea with the costume and the angle of the photo. And they were standing on stairs, so we can’t tell height, length of hair… anything that would give away who it is. It could be Court. But heck, it could be someone I haven’t even thought of yet. From the number of red-marked files, Margery had a lot of enemies.”

  Troy shrugged. “The police chased you away from a murder inquiry. Did they say anything about tracking someone down? This extra server might be connected, but you don’t know that for sure. You could be looking at two different scenarios. Maybe the sixth server was playing a prank or there to visit someone else.”

  I eyed him closely, unable to read between the lines with the liquor running through my veins. “What are you saying?”

  “That maybe you don’t need to be out of the game yet if you don’t want to be. If this one more piece will give you a sense of completion, then maybe it’s worth chasing.”

  I sat up straighter, possibilities running through my head. Troy was right. All it would take is one more conversation with Emily to find out who was behind the mask in the photograph, and with Sybil at my side, I doubted it would take much twisting of her arm to get her to talk. No harm to anyone, but a check mark for me.

  A smile grew on my face, and I slid the empty glass toward Troy. “This is why everyone loves bartenders,” I said. “You solve all the big problems.”

  “Hey, murder would be a new one for me,” he said. “I just hate watching my favourite patrons losing their minds in front of me.”

  But he had pulled me back from the brink.

  I’d go tomorrow afternoon, before Margery Brooks’s funeral. Then I could put this whole hobby behind me and try to find a new passion.

  Just twenty-four hours to a whole new me.

  ***

  My head was in less than great shape the next morning, but I saw no need to rush out of bed.

  My first thought when I woke up at six a.m. was that I couldn’t wait to get up and tackle the last puzzle. My first thought when I woke up at eight a.m. was that I should be smarter and listen to Curtis’s warning to stay away. My first thought when I woke up at nine a.m. was that I shouldn’t have had so much to drink on an empty stomach.

  As I made my way through my morning routine, I thought about what Troy had suggested last night. Although my responsible, mature eight a.m. thought remained with me, I knew myself well enough to accept I wouldn’t listen to it. Not knowing the answer would chafe at me like a pair of ill-fitting jeans. I might get in trouble, but that had never stopped me before. The equally possible outcome — that Curtis would never know about my one last chat with Emily — made the prospect too tempting to ignore.

  So I made up my mind and headed downstairs, eager to start my day.

  Gramps was in the kitchen when I got there, working through the crossword in the morning paper. Charlie raised his head from his paws at my entrance and wagged his tail until I paid my standard tribute of ear scratches.

  “You’re up late, chickadee,” Gramps said.

  “It was a bit of a rough night.” I gave him a quick pat on the shoulder as I headed for the coffee.

  “Working on the case?” he asked. I turned to look at him, but found him extra focused on his puzzle, conspicuously not making eye contact.

  “I’ve let it go,” I said, and watched the way his shoulders relaxed at the news.

  He raised his gaze to meet mine. “I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear it.” He cleared his throat. “Although it would have been interesting to learn who did it. So what’s next?”

  “The Case of the Superfluous Server. A little side mystery I picked up.”

  “Sounds intriguing. Any leads?”

  “Hopefully one big one that should wrap it all up today.” After adding my cream and sugar, I took my coffee over to the table. Charlie watched me until I sat down, probably hoping for some kind of treat. Since there was no way I was going to share my coffee, he lowered his head again with a disappointed whine.

  Gramps smiled. “We’ll celebrate with pie. I think Bea’s bringing one over tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” My stomach grumbled with anticipation. “Are you coming to Margery’s funeral tonight?”

  �
�Of course,” Gramps said, filling out another answer in his crossword. “Funerals are the meeting places of people my age. It’s the best time to catch up.”

  I chuckled and sipped my coffee.

  He made a good point — there would be a lot of people there tonight. Would Margery’s murderer be among them? It would be an arrogant move, but if it was someone whose absence would be noted, what choice would they have? If they did show up, I hoped someone was paying attention in case they gave themselves away.

  I wondered how close Curtis was to finding out who the guilty party was, and if the answer would be revealed before they put Margery into the ground.

  15

  When I picked Sybil up from school the next day, she shifted awkwardly in the front seat, moving her bag from her lap to the dashboard to the floor.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Sam told me you were ordered away from the case. I’m sorry you got in trouble over it.”

  Her sympathy caught me by surprise. “I knew what I was getting into when I made the decision to follow this mess. It was just a matter of time before someone found out. Don’t worry about it. I know I have a bad habit of stepping on toes.”

  “Still, it sucks,” she said. “I never wanted to follow in Sam’s shoes and become a cop or anything, but it was fun hanging out and chasing down clues. It was like a real life Nancy Drew or whatever.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “That’s what I loved about it, too.”

  Even the mention of that redheaded sleuth was enough to bring me back to my early teens when I’d torn through all the Grosset & Dunlap titles, from The Secret of the Old Clock to The Thirteenth Pearl. At the time I’d wanted nothing more than to be her, riding in her convertible with George and Bess, flirting with Ned, and gaining nothing but approval and affection from good old lawyer dad Carson.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that I’d wound up where I was now, still seeking all of those things.

  But I wasn’t Nancy Drew. Never had been, never would be, and I had the blonde hair to prove it.

  The resignation was bittersweet.

  “So what’s next then?” Sybil asked, bringing my attention back to the car and, more importantly, the road. “What else will you do to fill your time so you don’t get bored?”

  “I’ll have to give it some serious thought, because as it stands right now, I have no idea.” It felt strange to be honest with a person half my age when I could barely do so with my own peers, but maybe I didn’t want the girl to follow in my footsteps. She was at a point in her life when she could do anything she wanted with her future. I was hardly a good role model.

  Still…

  I cast her a sidelong glance. “Until I figure it out, I thought we might pay a visit to Emily to see who that sixth server was.”

  Sybil’s eyes widened. “What? But—”

  I grinned. “All right, so I also have a habit of not letting go until something’s done. Are you in?”

  Her face lit up with a conspiratorial smile, brightening her blue eyes. “Absolutely.” Her smile faded. “But she’s not working for another hour.”

  Darn. I hadn’t considered her schedule might not align with my wishes. “Well that’s inconvenient.”

  A sly look came over Sybil’s face. “What would you say to a trip to the public gardens instead.”

  “The gardens? Why?”

  She gave a languorous shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. For the air? The exercise? To see how easy it would be for someone to get their hands on some wolf’s bane?”

  I started. Was she really suggesting we attempt to track down the source of the murder weapon? Now? When she knew I was supposed to steer clear of the case?

  “I suppose it’s not against the law to take in a local tourist site,” I said.

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  I turned Mercy toward the public gardens, and after a few minutes of silence, Sybil asked, “Did you really accuse her partner of killing her?”

  The awe in her voice set me laughing, and I was still chuckling when we pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car.

  The gardens were one of the high points of our tourist attractions, bringing in people from all the neighbouring towns to absorb the sights and smells. The three dozen beds were handled by volunteers, amateur, and professional botanists and offered a full spectrum of colour. I couldn’t begin to tell you the first thing about flowers, but the people managing the garden could probably whip off a three-hour lecture on ten minutes’ notice.

  This late in the year, there wasn’t much left to see, though a few beds that hosted the autumn blossoms looked striking against the fallen leaves and browning grass. Dozens of people walked the winding paths, snapping photos and reading the little cards sticking out of the earth that detailed the name, origins, and caretaker. At the end of the lane to my left was the gift shop, full of professional photographs for sale, along with potted plants for people to take home and rear themselves.

  “Your brother was right,” I said. “Anyone could have come through here. There aren’t any cameras, no guards. It’s all taken on faith that people won’t traipse through the tulips.”

  “Maybe,” Sybil said, “but the gates are locked at night, and people would have noticed someone cutting flowers, right?”

  One of the volunteers walked by us, clippers in hand, her green vest cheerfully announcing her name to be Vivian.

  “Unless they wore a caretaker’s uniform.”

  She and I exchanged a look. “I’ll bet there’s a list of caretakers somewhere,” she said. “We could check that list against the guest list.”

  “Aren’t you a natural at this.”

  She grinned. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading.” Her attention drifted to the gardens, and she pointed over my shoulder. “There. That’s the wolf’s bane.”

  Before I had a chance to turn around, she’d run over to the garden bed wrapped around a towering maple tree. The bed was carefully covered with a thin mesh to prevent any wildlife from climbing among the stalks, and I remembered what Sybil had told me about these plants.

  “They’re that dangerous?”

  “Gloves when trimming and everything,” Sybil said. She knelt down to get a closer look.

  I stood behind her and took in the uncut mesh. If anyone had taken the flowers from here, they’d been stealthy, pulling back the mesh and returning it into place once they took what they wanted.

  It would have been a lot of effort to go to when anything else might have done the trick.

  But I knew an easier place to access it.

  “I don’t think we need to bother with the caretaker list,” I said.

  “No?” Sybil sat back on her heels and looked up at me with disappointment written on her face.

  I hated to let her down, but it would have been a waste of time. “I saw these flowers in Joseph Marley’s garden.”

  The very same, mixed with the orange blossoms I’d thought so cheerful the day I’d found him working the plot.

  Sybil rose to her feet. “Joseph Marley? As in the Ace of Hearts, brother-in-law Joseph Marley?”

  “One and the same. The man who was having an affair with Margery behind her sister’s back.”

  “So that’s it!” she exclaimed. “He killed her with his own flowers.” She grimaced. “That’s twisted.”

  “The only problem is how do we prove it?”

  “We take the information to Sam.”

  I shook my head. “Not only would that get us both thrown out of the police station, but it’s just a theory. There’s no evidence to say someone didn’t take the wolf’s bane from this garden.”

  “Then we confront Marley himself.”

  The memory of the Marleys’ reaction to my last visit made that idea less than desireable.

  “I’ve been banned from beeing him,” I said, and chewed on my lip. The evidence was right here that he was involved. His flowers, his relationship, his anger.

  “Then
what do we do?” Sybil asked.

  “We stick with our original plan,” I said. “We talk to Emily and figure out the story of the sixth server. With any luck, the information she gives us will be the last nail in Marley’s coffin.”

  ***

  Once we stood in the shadow of the Empire, the seriousness of our being here returned like a weighted cloak around my shoulders. It wasn’t just me going in there, but a teenage girl, too. Who, as I had reminded myself so recently, had her whole life ahead of her. The last thing I wanted was to start that future off with a juvenile record for getting in the way of a grumpy detective.

  “Before we go in,” I said, “I want to make it clear that we’re not here to ask about the murder. Margery Brooks’s death is completely off limits. Our only reason for being here is to find out why she lied about the server and see if we can find out who it was. If we need to, we can use the pretense that my mother will freak out if there’s an extra caterer on her bill. That way, if Detective Curtis comes down on us, we can honestly say we weren’t breaking the rules. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Sybil said.

  She pulled off her tuque and ran her fingers through her hair to fluff up her hat head. The red streaks were brighter today, and I guessed she’d spent a bit of time last night freshening them up. She ran her finger under her eyes to clear any runoff from her eyeliner, then slathered on a layer of lip gloss.

  I opened my mouth to ask if she thought there would be paparazzi in the kitchens, but the words fizzled on my lips. Emily had already demonstrated her opinion of Sybil the last time we’d been here. Sybil’s makeup was her armour against these people and she was suiting up.

  I hoped I was doing more good than harm by bringing her along with me.

  We reached the dining room, and I spotted Emily taking orders from a table for two in the back corner.

  “Do you see her manager around anywhere?” I asked, keeping my eye on the server.

  Sybil looked around the room. “Looks like it’s all clear.”

  “Good.” The last thing I wanted to do was get this girl fired or give Curtis more of a reason to bring me in. We were just here for a nice, friendly chat. Nothing for anyone to get their panties in a twist over.