Harrison frowned.
“Someone was here?”
“Yes. Someone with three bodyguards and no neck.”
Harrison looked blank and then, when there was another shriek, a little harassed.
“He could have just been a passing music lover,” Raphael said soothingly, though Juliet knew he didn’t think that any more than she did. However, the young composer clearly had other worries and didn’t need this one added to the list.
“Don’t let us keep you. I just wanted to see how you were getting on with the new tenor and to wish you all kinds of luck.”
“Thank you.” Harrison’s smile was genuine, if a little brittle. “You’ll be here tomorrow night?”
“Of course. I’ve even bought a new dress.” She stood and Raphael backed his chair away so she would have room to get out of the pew.
Juliet waited to speak until they were outside.
“You know, I hate to borrow trouble….” Her breath was frosty and white as her cloak.
“I know, but I doubt they can cope,” Raphael answered. “However, I think the first thing to do is see this Captain Denver and perhaps extract a little information from him. We need light, not just heated suspicions. Perhaps he is very competent.”
“And you think we can do that even if he’s pissed off?” Juliet asked, pulling her cloak tighter. “He may just blow smoke at us. Most cops would.”
“I have faith in you,” Raphael said.
* * *
“So, Miss Henry, Mr. James, it’s nice of you to come to me voluntarily. Tracking you people down has been a challenge,” began Captain Denver after they had taken their seats in a back table at the diner where the policeman was conducting his interviews. He had skin the color of sand, and ginger eyebrows and lashes which were pale enough to leave his face looking naked and expressionless. “I have just had a chat with Sheriff Garret.”
“And how is he?” she asked when he paused.
“Fine. Efficient. Knew an awful lot about all of you.”
“Small town,” she said and smiled. “He’s taking care of my cat.”
Denver’s eyes moved from her to Raphael and back again. He looked puzzled.
“He also hinted that it might be best if I didn’t bother enquiring any further about your trustworthiness.”
“But you did?” she guessed.
“Yes, and I was told you were trustworthy. Apparently Mr. James is also trustworthy. As is Mr. Rodriguez. In fact, it seems that you have character references from everyone except God—and you might have one from Him but that is classified.”
Harrison was right. Captain Denver was pissed off. Juliet wondered if she should try to be charming but decided against it since she had left the push-up bra and lipstick at home and was past the age for such nonsense anyway.
“You must be reassured to be surrounded by so many upstanding citizens.” Raphael glanced at her as she answered and she knew he was amused. “Is there something you would like to ask me about the murder, Captain Denver? I made a very thorough statement to Officer Gibbons—twice—but you might have questions you wish to ask me yourself.”
“How did you know that the killer was using one of those cabins to wait in?”
Juliet thought about it.
“The one at the base of the grade? I thought I saw tracks to the door. And the killer had to go somewhere after leaving the car. I’m assuming he went back to get gasoline or some other accelerant for the fire. Gasoline makes the most sense since if the car’s remains were examined for residue, gasoline wouldn’t be out of place. And he could hardly have been carrying it with him when Holtz picked him up.”
“We believe that is so, but someone burned down the cabin this morning before a team could get in to collect any evidence that might have been left behind.”
“Has the road been plowed?”
“Yes, at dawn. It had to be so that we could get in to investigate. Someone else got there first.”
“So it could be anyone coming from either direction? Unfortunate.”
“Have you come up with a scenario for the crime?” Denver asked.
“Several, but I suspect it was some variation of this one. Holtz was told to meet someone on that road or to travel that road for some reason. He picked up a hitchhiker—either out of compassion for a poor soul stuck in a storm, or by previous instruction. The hitchhiker killed him and then went back to the cabin to get gasoline to burn up the car and the body. He didn’t think that anyone would witness the killing because those are summer cabins, the ski lodge was closed, and the ranger station is hidden by a thick stand of trees. He also did not imagine that anyone would be crazy enough to try using that road as a bypass to the highway during a storm.”
“You seem pretty sure of this.”
“Captain,” Juliet said gently. “In my old job I needed to do a lot of dot-connecting. It helped that I am a decent cryptographer and linguist—though there were many who were better. But the big thing that made me good at finding the bad people was that I was—am—intuitive, and that I am not afraid to embrace my intuition. I look for variations in predicted human behavior. This killing is a large variant.”
She had had to use instinct. With the advent of computers, spying and terrorism had gone high-tech, bits of data, blips of light. The motivations of the malefactors hadn’t changed much, but the players had. The cryptographer geek was suddenly king. Seeing past the electronic smokescreens of hackers was a gift few had, because it was inborn and could not be taught. But she didn’t understand computers. Her work was almost completely based on intuition about her opponents’ natures.
The captain was staring at her, clearly debating what to say. She hoped it wasn’t condescending.
“Having any intuitions at this moment?” he asked at last.
“Yes, I think that you will want to attend the Requiem Mass tomorrow night, and while you are there keep an eye out for a blue-jowled, neckless man with a gleaming manicure and three armed bodyguards.”
“Other than the armed bodyguards, is there a particular reason for watching this man?” This had piqued his interest.
“I don’t think he was comfortable in his shoes.”
Now both Raphael and Denver were staring at her.
“I was speaking both literally and metaphorically. The shoes were very new and expensive, and I suspect that he has also only recently … ascended to a position of responsibility, probably in Las Vegas. Also, something about Holtz.”
“Yes?”
“The man was out in a blizzard wearing a kilt and a muslin shirt and no coat. Now, lots of people around here are wearing them, but I doubt that any of them would drive into a blizzard wearing one unless they were in hell’s own hurry—and even then I am thinking that a practical person would want to improve the odds of their venture by changing into appropriate clothing—so you are dealing with someone who was obsessive about his role-playing. Someone who kept a sharpened knife in his sock and who might see his clan costume as a suit of armor, or a soldier’s uniform. Someone who left rehearsals in such a hurry that he was still carrying his libretto. So he didn’t go to his room—which you have searched and are keeping locked and guarded?”
“He thought he was Braveheart?” Denver sounded incredulous. He didn’t answer her about the room, which was in itself a kind of answer. “And he expected to be attacked? That’s why he had the knife?”
“Something like that. He might also have thought he was taking orders from Braveheart. And when his passenger attacked him, he fought with a traditional weapon since it was what he had. However, he may not have sharpened it because he felt threatened. I suspect that wearing a real weapon was habitual, part of playing out his role as a clansman.”
“Fought, but didn’t win,” Denver pointed out.
“No, probably because he was driving and trying not to go off a cliff while fending off an attacker. And Holtz was not small. He was at least six feet tall and muscled. This argues for an assailant who was
pretty strong. And who maybe had a gun jammed on him. Or her. Hence the struggle over the sgian dubh.”
“The what?”
“The knife with a stag’s antler for a handle. You can find them at a dozen booths at the fair.”
Juliet stood up.
“I’ll see you at the concert, Captain, if not before.”
Raphael followed her to the door without saying a word.
“Are you two married? Or romantically involved?” Captain Denver asked abruptly. He sounded incredulous. “Your sheriff seemed to think that you were … an item of one kind or another.”
Again, he only saw the wheelchair.
“None of your business,” Juliet answered immediately. “But I think in this matter we are….”
“Two minds with but a single thought,” Raphael suggested, finally speaking.
“On the same page,” she translated for Captain Denver, who was not of a poetical bent.
She didn’t say anything until they were out of the diner.
“So, Sheriff Garret believes we are involved?” Raphael observed as they neared the elevator. “I wonder why.”
“It’s my natural charm.”
“Hm.”
“Maybe Captain Denver doesn’t grasp subtleties, like friendship.”
“Oh, I think he grasps them fine. Probably the chair threw him off. Sheriff Garret must not have mentioned it.”
“Well, I don’t care what he thinks, do you?” She was genuinely curious.
“No, but that is because at the moment we are two hearts beating as one.” He smiled but Juliet couldn’t guess what he was thinking. Was he angry? Hurt? For a moment she felt a little panicky, but then he smiled in his wry way and she scolded herself for being silly.
“Yeah, beating harder than I like. I don’t like Mr. No-neck showing up at rehearsals. I’d rather he found his property and got out of town before someone else dies.”
Juliet became aware of the smell of gingerbread. Her stomach rumbled.
“I haven’t been to see the gingerbread mansions yet,” she said suddenly. “That would be Christmasy.”
“And you feel you must see the cookie houses? Does it concern the case?”
“No, it concerns me trying to make some kind of accommodation with a holiday I haven’t been on speaking terms with for decades,” she admitted. “And I hear that a lot of these houses are art, albeit in a strange medium.”
“Then by all means let us examine them. I should warn you though that eventually I will require real food.”
“Isn’t it odd?” she said lightly. “I eat food too.”
“We must be on the same page.”
“Two hearts beating as one.”
Chapter 5
The police were there and they wouldn’t let him in. They had the security cameras trained on the door! And none of his friends or the choir director admitted that they were keeping anything for him. They said….
He had been sure that the woman who had found the body hadn’t taken anything with her. He had watched and she never touched the body—he was sure. Almost sure.
* * *
The gingerbread mansions were not what she was expecting. There were certainly historical and fantastical manors and castles aplenty, but there was so much more as well. One of her favorites was a replica of Busch Gardens. She also had a fondness for the Noah’s Ark and an iced structure that was probably based on the Parthenon. There was even a rusty old pick-up truck in knee-high grass with a sleeping hound. She was shocked to find when she consulted the flyer she had been handed at the door that the truck was entered in the Under 12 Years category.
Raphael seemed likewise fascinated by the tiny structures. She wondered if it was because the display brought back happy memories of the father who liked Christmas, or if it was strictly artist appreciation.
“Here you are,” Esteban said. “I have come to beg for company so that I can live up to my lie about being engaged for lunch.”
“Carrie?” Juliet asked, smiling up at Esteban. She had found him to be a bit frightening when they first met but had come to appreciate his rough charm.
“Precisely. La belle dame sans common sense has been hounding me. I have left her with the unpleasant Captain Denver, but there is little hope he will incarcerate her, so I must flee. Why the hell did I come to this freak show?”
Apparently Esteban had holiday issues too.
“Raphael has been hinting that it was time to consume something nutritious. Do you feel brave enough to go back to the fair?” she asked, turning her head to Raphael.
“I suppose. Why?” Raphael asked.
“I want Cornish pasties,” she confessed.
“You’ll regret it,” Raphael warned her. “They are greasy dough balls.”
“I know. I want one anyway.”
“The only reason I will go back is for the whisky,” Esteban muttered. “Those people with swords are crazy. They’re dancing with them out in the lobby.”
This from a man who made puppets out of bone.
* * *
They found Asher and Elizabeth at the whisky tent. Elizabeth was smiling but Asher looked anguished. He wasn’t used to mixing with the common man. He had great artistic and business acumen, but no liking, or much courtesy, for anyone other than his mother.
“My fellow travelers, you’ve come seeking solace from the madness of the world?” he asked, lifting a glass and then downing half of it. A moment later he spluttered.
“Stag’s Breath,” Raphael guessed. “I was lured by the name too.”
“Yes. My God! Did it pass through an actual deer on the way to the bottle?”
“I wondered that myself.”
“Let me taste it, dear,” said Elizabeth. “You know I like strange liqueurs.”
“Certainly. There are paramedics near the park entrance if you collapse. Guzzle away.” Asher handed her the glass.
Elizabeth sipped cautiously.
“It isn’t that bad. It’s actually kind of sweet. Almost as if it has been fortified with sherry.”
All three of the men shuddered and Juliet started laughing.
“You want to get a pasty?” she asked Elizabeth. “I’d like to eat and drink—though not bad whisky—before making merry.”
“That does sound wonderful,” she admitted. “By the way, that is a lovely cape. The color suits you.”
“Thanks. The vendor has some beautiful things. We could go look if you want. The booth is right over there.”
“That would be fun.” Elizabeth was enjoying being out in the world. She had been a social woman before her accident.
“You all have fun getting potted,” Juliet said to the men. “We’ll leave you gentlemen to the whisky and cigars and catch you later.”
“No!” Esteban said. “Pasties sound much better than deer urine. And I also want a cape. Since I cannot escape this asylum, I have decided to become Zorro.”
“Okay, but Raphael is right. The pasties aren’t really all that good,” Juliet warned him. She said nothing about trying to be Zorro. There were anachronistic pirates and Vikings running around among the fake Celts, so why not California’s Robin Hood? “I mean, real pasties are delicious, but these have little relationship to the actual dish served in Cornwall.”
“Then why eat them?” he asked.
“Well, I suppose it is like pink popcorn.”
Esteban was completely in the dark. His childhood had obviously not included carnivals and circuses and county fairs.
“Pink popcorn was something I always got at the circus or carnival when I was a kid. It comes in bricks,” Juliet explained. Her breath caught as they left the protection of the tent. The wind had picked up quite a bit and even in her cape, she felt the cold. “It tastes stale and soggy, but it reminds me of happier times so I eat it anyway.”
“Whatever we do or drink or eat, let’s do it elsewhere. The noise-mongers are tuning up again.”
Asher was clearly not a fan of the bagpipes.
> The line at the food booth was long and Asher and Esteban suggested the others wait in one of the tents while they fetched the alleged comestibles.
Elizabeth was happy to go look at cloaks and Raphael was too polite to complain about being dragged shopping.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked Juliet as she tried on a plumed hat, cocking it at a rakish angle.
“Notice all the tans on the bare-chested men who will probably catch pneumonia this weekend?” she asked back. “I’m wondering how many came from the tanning salon by the candy shop at the arcade. A lot I should think. It’s hard to be that perfect with chemical tanners.”
“And this makes you smile? What a heartless woman you are.”
She returned the hat to the shelf and picked up a half mask of black satin. It would do for Zorro.
“Well, it is kind of amusing. The Celts were probably a pale people. Hairy too. But this is California and even in winter one must have a tan.”
“Yes? This is a thought with two parts?”
“At least two. And I was also thinking that part of what Esteban finds beneath contempt is all the fake tans and bulging pectorals created at the gym and not from wielding actual weapons. He is ill at ease with pretense. I never knew this about him.”
“I believe you are right. At least about the men. He hasn’t complained about the women nearly spilling out of their bodices, though they are also flirting with frostbite and have been aiding their complexions with a tanning bed. Perhaps it is because they aren’t carrying weapons.”
“Don’t be too sure. I’ve seen at least one bodice dagger.”
Elizabeth joined them.
“Esteban is built for efficiency,” she said, proving that she had been listening. “It’s admirable. Are you getting that mask for him?”
“Exactly. He isn’t the stuff of romance book covers or Hollywood movies. He’s too lean,” Juliet added.
“Too hard.”
“Too scarred. A part of me would like to paint him nude.”
“Me too,” Elizabeth said with a small smile.
3 Requiem at Christmas Page 5