At first, nothing seems amiss, but a quick peek into the back aisle reveals the body of a cloaked and hooded woman crumpled on the floor, an arrow jutting from her back.
I give a yowl and Mal comes running. Kneeling beside the woman, he pulls back the hood of her cloak to reveal dark curls and a face pale with pain.
Elinore.
She gives a little moan, and Mal lets out a relieved breath. She’s alive.
I move to get a closer look at the arrow. It’s a gorgeous, handmade wooden arrow made from Norway pine.
One of Robbi’s.
Chapter Thirteen
In the waiting area of Sherwood Medical Center’s emergency room, Mal paced an arc from the sliding glass doors to the vending machines and back. He felt fourteen again, waiting to see if his mother would survive her latest episode of “nerves.” He’d been helpless against an enemy he could neither see nor touch, forced to trust strangers with the life of someone he loved. He could only hope his sister’s physical wounds would prove more treatable than the fractures in their mother’s psyche.
“She’s going to be okay,” Joanne said. She looked cramped and uncomfortable, squeezed into an ugly plastic chair. With a glance toward Cara she added, “Guy too.”
Cara nodded absently, her gaze creeping from the e-book on her cell phone to the doors between them and the treatment rooms. Mal knew how she felt. Each tick of the second hand felt like an hour.
They were the only people in the waiting area, except for a buxom woman behind the desk. Her raised eyebrows on their arrival were the only indication that a group of grown people in medieval garb was any less common than a working man in overalls. Just a normal day in the ER. Small town or no, she’d probably seen her share of strangeness.
Cara shifted in her seat. “What’s taking them so long?”
“X-rays,” Mal said. “Maybe surgery. We don’t know how bad Guy’s break was, or how much damage the arrow did to Elinore.”
“Robbi’s arrow,” Cara reminded him. As if he could forget.
Joanne bristled. “Anybody could have gotten one of Robbi’s arrows. Her quiver was hanging in the barn all morning. Robbi wouldn’t hurt Elinore any more than I would have hurt Guy.”
Cara’s eyes slitted. “We still don’t know you didn’t.”
Mal stopped in mid-pace. “We all know Joanne would never hurt Guy. But what do we know about Robbi?”
“We know she loved Laura,” Joanne said softly, “and that Laura loved her. We know she’s not stupid. Why would she use her own arrow?”
Mal rubbed his temples. Why indeed? Convenience? A message of some kind?
Cara rolled her eyes. “Killers use their own weapons all the time. Mostly, that’s how they get caught.”
“Sure,” Joanne agreed. “But they rarely leave weapons with their names on them at the crime scene.”
Slowly, Mal nodded. An arrow as distinctive as the one that had struck Elinore might as well have had Robbi’s signature on it.
Cara wasn’t ready to give in. “She might have, if she was trying to make a point.”
“What point?” Joanne asked. “To whom? And all that aside, do you think she’d incriminate herself in a crime against Mal’s sister?”
Cara hesitated. Then, she said grudgingly, “You make a good case.”
Mal looked from one to the other. “What case? What difference does it make whose sister El is?”
Joanne’s ears turned red. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“Noticed what? Robbi and I haven’t spoken in a week.”
Cara gave a little snort of laughter. “For a smart man, Mal, you’re pretty slow.”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Just drop it, okay? With any luck, Elinore can tell us what happened.”
As if on cue, the door to the treatment area swung open, and a striking woman in scrubs pushed Elinore out in a wheelchair. Mal hurried over and knelt beside her. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” El said, but he didn’t think she looked fine.
The woman in scrubs gestured toward her name badge. “I’m Dr. Van Owen. And you are?”
“Mal McClaren. Her brother.”
The doctor nodded. “Your sister is a very lucky woman. It was a shallow wound, not much blood loss. In fact, it’s likely she was stabbed with the arrow, rather than shot. I put in a few stitches and covered it with antibacterial ointment. Gave her a tetanus shot. Just keep an eye on it, make sure there’s no infection.” She handed him a small rectangle of paper. “Antibiotics and something for pain.”
Mal tried to pay attention to her instructions, but his mind kept pulling him back to the question of his sister’s attacker. The window of time during which it could have happened was fairly small, but with the crowd milling about, almost everyone was unaccounted for at some point.
The doctor’s voice cut through his trance. “Mr. McClaren?”
“Sorry. Got it. I’ll get these filled on the way home.”
The door swung open again, and a pretty young nurse pushed Guy out in another wheelchair. His leg, in an electric blue cast, was elevated on one leg rest. “Broken in three places,” he said. Holding up his crutches, he added, “Guess I won’t be riding in round four.”
Mal didn’t answer. What was he supposed to say? It’s okay, Guy. We’ll reschedule for eight weeks from now, when you’re back on your feet?
It wasn’t okay.
In the awkward silence, Cara swiped her e-reader app closed and tucked her phone into her purse. “We can worry about that later,” she said. “I’m sure there will be a do-over.”
Guy shook his head. “No do-overs,” he said. “I’ve ruined everything. I deserve to lose the faire.”
The cell seemed tinier from inside than it had from the other side of the bars. Robbi sat cross-legged on the single cot and tried without luck to meditate. Her monkey mind was all over the place, mostly regaling her with dire predictions of her death in the electric chair. It just went to show you couldn’t depend on yourself to be rational under duress. As far as she knew, Tennessee had never electrocuted a woman.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t in big trouble.
She replayed the morning’s events in her mind. The armored combat, in which she’d failed so spectacularly. Her third arrow flying so straight and true it felt like angels had been guiding it. Waiting her turn before the ring joust, Freyja’s bridle in her hand, her head turning to soak in the sweet smell of the mare’s neck. There had been time, not much time, between Joanne bringing out the horses and the discovery of the semi-conscious Elinore. That narrow time frame meant attacking Elinore was a huge risk. Why choose that moment, and that weapon, when there were so many other times and places that would have been easier?
Then there had been that other window of time, the one between Joanne’s inspection of the saddles and Guy’s accident. Because it hadn’t really been an accident, had it? When Robbi had caught Galileo, she had examined the broken end of the stirrup leather. Its inside facing had been nearly cut through, leaving a strap that, from the outside, looked completely normal, even as Guy’s weight stressed the weakened leather until it snapped.
That level of risk-taking spoke of desperation—or obsession. As far as she could tell, though, that didn’t eliminate anyone.
A traitorous little voice inside her head whispered, Joanne had the most opportunity.
It made her feel sick to think about it, after everything the big woman had done to help her prepare for the competition. Driving from tack store to tack store, sparring with their rattan swords, sharing confidences over a glass of wine or mead after a long, hard day of training…it had felt like friendship. Robbi hoped she could trust it.
Footsteps sounded in the hall outside her cell. Sheriff Hammond strolled over to the bars and stared in at her, hands in his pockets. “Too bad you didn’t listen to that good advice I gave the other day.”
Robbi laughed. “Because if I had, you could have strong-armed Guy in
to selling the faire?”
He hitched his belt up over his belly. “Guy doesn’t need me to strong-arm him. He’s got some nasty creditors from Vegas to do that. Me, I just want him to cut his losses and get out alive.”
“More good advice?”
He smirked. “What can I say? I’m a sage at heart.”
She crossed her arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just a dirty cop.”
“Dirty cop?” He leaned forward, perhaps trying to invade her space, the way he had when they’d met in the hospital parking lot.
With the bars between them, it lost much of its menace, and she had to remind herself that he held all the power in this situation. It was stupid to antagonize him.
Hammond said, “You know how much I get paid to deal with a bunch of Uncle Leroys who think they can make a better living selling meth than moonshine? To tell some poor farm boy’s mom her kid got crushed racing tractors over on Haint Holler? I’ll tell you what I get paid. Not enough.”
He stepped back, breathing heavily. After a moment, he added, “Anyway, it’s not illegal for me to buy shares in a private business.”
“Then why have you been trying so hard to hide it?”
His eyes grew small and mean. “Little girl,” he said. “You shoulda gone back home when you still had the chance.”
I’m waiting in the truck bed when they return. I’ve finally had time to think back to the conversation I overheard at the tournament, when I followed Guy and Hammond. It provided no new information, but it did confirm our suspicions that the sheriff is Guy’s silent partner. “You owe me,” Hammond said. “I want that sale to go through yesterday.”
“It’s not that simple,” Guy protested, but Hammond cut him off.
“Make it that simple,” he said, and stalked away.
I’m not sure yet what I can do with that confirmation, but I’m beginning to form a plan.
While I’m thinking it over, Mal pushes his sister’s wheelchair across the parking lot to the truck. Joanne trundles behind, pushing Guy’s. Mal raises an eyebrow when he sees me. Then, with an amused smile, he shakes his head. Joanne laughs out loud, then helps Guy into the back seat and closes the door behind him.
“Can we ask now?” Cara says, sliding in the opposite door and scooting to the middle so she can sit beside Guy. “Elinore, what happened?”
Unfortunately, Elinore has no idea. “I was looking for Tuck,” she says, as Mal helps her from the wheelchair into the passenger seat of his truck, “and I thought he might be getting into Joanne’s feed again.”
Joanne thumps a fist into the opposite palm. “That little scoundrel!”
“No,” Elinore says. “Not this time. He wasn’t in the feed room, so I went into the back aisle, and that’s when I felt this awful pain under my shoulder blade. Like I’d been stabbed with a hot poker. The next thing I remember is Mal kneeling beside me. I must have passed out from the pain.”
Mal says, “So you didn’t see who did it. Did you hear a voice? Did they say anything?”
“Not that I remember.”
“What about a smell?” Joanne asks. “You know, like aftershave or perfume?”
“Deputy Debba asked me that too, but no, nothing. Not that I recall.”
Carefully, Mal tucks Elinore’s skirt under her legs to keep the door from catching it. “We’ll talk about it later. After you get some rest.”
Joanne crosses to the passenger side, then hesitates. “What about Robbi?”
Wincing, Elinore turns her head and says over her shoulder, “What about her?”
“We can’t just leave her there with Hammond. If he really is Guy’s silent partner, who knows what he’ll do to her?”
Elinore doesn’t seem surprised at the accusation, so I assume Mal has kept her up to date. “Based on what I’ve seen, she’s pretty good at taking care of herself.”
Cara leans forward. “Do you think she’s the one who shot you?”
“She doesn’t remember,” Joanne snaps, as I nimbly leap from the truck bed and slip into the back seat floorboard. “But whoever did it, it wasn’t Robbi. And Elinore was stabbed, not shot. Don’t you remember what the doctor said?”
Cara plops back against the back seat with enough force to make Guy wince. Then she scowls at me and says, “I can’t help it. I don’t trust her.”
I meet her gaze with an aplomb that would make Double-O-Seven proud. I suspect she’s realized that the article from her lockbox is missing; naturally, she blames Robbi for its disappearance.
“I do,” Joanne says, and slams the door to punctuate the affirmation. “Mal, you do too, don’t you?”
For a moment, he’s silent. From my spot on the floorboard, I imagine him resting his hands on the steering wheel, weighing the evidence in his mind. “I want to,” he says at last, then adds, “We’ll come back for her, after we get these two back home.”
He doesn’t, though, partly because he doesn’t want to leave Elinore alone so soon, and partly because the arraignment won’t be held until the next afternoon. Instead, he gives Joanne his bank card and PIN number to cover half of Robbi’s bail, and she drives back to Sherwood the next day with me riding shotgun.
After a foiled attempt to slip past courthouse security, I’m forced to wait in the car while Joanne goes inside to try and convince a judge to set bail over Sheriff Hammond’s objections.
I’m sure she’s going to be splendid. All the same, I wish I could be there. Everyone knows black cats are good luck.
The judge’s gavel struck the block, and without a word to the gallery, he gathered up his robes and strode from the bench. As he disappeared into his chambers, Robbi turned to Joanne, who sat beside her at the plaintiff’s table in a black-skirted power suit half a size too small. Robbi flung her arms around the bigger woman. “Joanne, you were brilliant!”
Joanne extricated herself from the embrace. Her cheeks were pink, but she was grinning. “I did do pretty good, didn’t I? Guess the old girl hasn’t forgotten all her courtroom tricks.”
Laughing with relief, Robbi remembered the image her mind had conjured when she’d first heard about Joanne’s former profession: a corporate Amazon in a power suit and wolf pelt. The metaphor was apt. Somehow, against the sheriff’s objections, Joanne had managed to convince the judge to set bail. She knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet—a charge of Aggravated Assault was a serious thing—but at least she had a chance to find the real culprit and clear her name.
“I was worried for a while there,” Joanne said, still beaming from her success. She tugged at her jacket. “It’s hard to find a suit my size in a town like Sherwood, but I got rid of all my lawyer clothes when I ran off with the Rennies.”
“You were perfect,” Robbi said. “Better than perfect.”
She suppressed the stab of guilt at her earlier suspicions. Joanne was a true friend, truer than Robbi deserved.
As they left the courtroom, Sheriff Hammond shot them a sour look. Robbi resisted the urge to respond in kind. Instead, she gave him her sweetest smile and wiggled her fingers at him in a little wave.
“You’d better keep clear of that one,” Joanne said. “He doesn’t seem to like you much.”
“You either, now. Did I mention you were brilliant?”
“You might have. Just in passing. Maybe you should say it again, just in case.”
“Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant,” Robbi sing-songed. “I think we should get it put on a T-shirt.”
Joanne snorted, but her victory grin broadened. “A billboard would be better.”
Riding back to the faire with Trouble purring on her lap, Robbi told Joanne what she’d noticed about Guy’s stirrup. Joanne frowned. “So, there were two murder attempts today. Our killer’s getting either brave or desperate.”
“I can see wanting to kill Guy,” Robbi said. “I mean, if you’re the killing kind. He’s the one who put the faire at risk. But why Elinore?”
Joanne grunted as her car jounced into a rut. “Ma
ybe he thought she saw him tampering with Guy’s stirrup.”
“Or her. I guess so.”
“Or he…she, they, it—can we just say he?—thought Elinore was onto him. There’s no sign that she was, though. She doesn’t have any idea who stabbed her. By the way…” She gave Robbi a sidelong glance.
“By the way, what?”
“The arrow she was stabbed with…did you get a look at it?”
Robbi shook her head. “But the sheriff told me it was one of mine. I should have counted them, I guess, but I was so focused on the competition I didn’t think of it.”
“We all were.” Joanne pulled onto the vendors’ track and then onto the Loop. Just past Dale’s cottage, she lifted her foot off the gas. “Hold on. What’s that?”
The door of Laura’s cottage was standing open. Before the wheels stopped turning, Robbi was out of the car, with Trouble in her arms. As she set him on the grass and ran for the door, she heard Joanne’s car crunch to a stop. The driver’s door slammed, and Joanne’s footsteps pounded up the path behind her.
Robbi dashed inside. A quick glance showed nothing out of place, but the door to Laura’s bedroom was also open. Ignoring the little voice that said confronting a possibly-armed intruder might be a bad idea, she plunged into the room just as a pair of brown leather boots disappeared through the open window.
“Out the back!” she shouted to Joanne. “Cut him off!” She slithered out the window and launched herself after the figure bolting for the woods.
A streak of black passed on her right. Just as the intruder reached the tree line, the streak veered left, between the intruder’s legs. The little man stumbled and fell, his brown hood falling back to reveal Miller’s bald head.
Miller. That little weasel.
He scrambled to find his feet, but Trouble wove around and between them until Robbi could clap a hand on the baker’s shoulder.
Joanne jogged up, panting. Her black pumps were in one hand, and the buttons on her jacket had popped off. “Well, well.” She plucked a crumpled wad of papers from Miller’s shirt pocket. “What have we here?”
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