by Thea Cambert
“Red diamonds are extremely rare,” said Drake. “Even very small ones.”
“Did you get a chance to see the necklace before it was damaged?”
“Sadly, no,” said Lois. “But we read all about it in the paper.”
Alice nodded, remembering the front-page article from the day before, which she still hadn’t gotten around to reading.
“Tally ho and away we go!” Wamba came riding up on his smaller horse and steered in between Alice and Owen.
The Clarks waved and fell back as the whole group turned onto Phlox Street and approached Town Hall, where the mayor and his staff waited.
“Your personal court jester is here!” Wamba’s striped jacket jingled as he reached into a large pocket in his silken pants and pulled out a scepter with a jester’s head on top.
“Oh, look,” said Owen. “You have a little friend with you today.”
“I bring him along for laughs!” Wamba made it seem like the little jester head was the one doing the talking instead of him.
Alice suddenly realized why the jingling bells attached to the hemline of Wamba’s jacket sounded familiar. She’d heard bells just like them the night before, in the darkness at the museum.
Wamba chuckled at Alice’s expression, which had turned serious. “Fear not, my lady,” he said, shaking the scepter at her. “Tis only a fool’s bauble.”
Alice shook off her suspicion. “You even have matching hats,” she observed, pointing at the jester’s hats both Wamba and his scepter wore—adorned with bells and tiny jewels like the ones on Alice’s gown.
“But of course,” said Wamba. “We are twins.”
“Except I have all the brains!” Wamba made the scepter say. He pulled out a pocket watch and popped it open. “I’ve got to run,” he said.
“Beautiful watch,” said Alice, admiring the intricate scrolling on the silver case.
“Thanks,” said Wamba, popping the watch back into his pocket. “It’s an antique. I collect them.” Then, with a quick, “See you at the joust, your highnesses,” he trotted away to greet the mayor.
Alice quickly pulled out her cell phone, which she’d tucked into the little jeweled bag she carried.
“Alice! Elves do not have cell phones. Put that away!” Owen scolded.
“After I text Dewey,” Alice said, tapping a message into her phone.
“What’s going on?”
“Did you hear Wamba’s bells jingling?”
“Well, yes . . .”
“Those were the same bells I heard last night. Remember?”
“No.”
“When I asked you if you heard bells? Right before we found the dead body?”
“Oh, yeah. So, you think they were the same bells? Wamba’s bells?”
“He was wearing that same striped jacket when we saw him at the Smiling Hound, in the bar. The jacket with the bells on it.”
“Poor Dewey’s going to be so depressed. He loves jesters.”
Just as Alice finished messaging Dewey, she received a text from Luke.
“Oh, no!” she moaned.
“What?”
“Now I know why Luke and Ben are running late. There’s been a landslide up in the mountains. Luke says they’re stuck, and it looks like they won’t get home until tomorrow.”
“That means another slumber party night!” said Owen.
By this time, the formal greetings between Mayor Abercrombie, as ‘ruler’ of Blue Valley, and King Richard had taken place, and the mayor, in full-blown wizard regalia, had joined the parade along with much of the staff at Town Hall.
Jake Shannon, the mayor’s assistant, trotted over to Alice and Owen.
“Nice costume, Jake,” said Alice.
“Yeah. What are you supposed to be?” asked Owen.
“I’m a troll. Can’t you tell?”
“Of course we can tell,” said Alice quickly, even though she hadn’t been able to tell. “You have that green robe and those big . . . ears. And that necklace made out of—are those bones?”
“Yes. Well, they’re supposed to be teeth,” said Jake, looking down at his necklace.
“Teeth?” Owen asked, repulsed. “I thought trolls were those cute, stubby creatures with the fluffy, brightly colored, cotton-candy hair.”
Jake didn’t seem amused by this description. “Owen, I’m a real troll,” he said. “Not some cartoon troll.”
“What’s up?” asked Alice, changing the subject as she sensed that Jake had something more serious on his mind than troll costumes.
“I need to talk to Ben and Luke. Are they back from Runesville yet?”
“No, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be back until tomorrow now,” said Alice. “But you could call them,” she suggested.
Jake frowned. “I’d really like to talk to them in person.”
“Jake, you look troubled,” said Owen. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s . . . it’s about what happened last night at the museum. I need to show them something.”
“Well, Dewey’s here somewhere. He’ll probably be out at the clearing. You could show him,” suggested Alice.
Jake didn’t reply for a while. “Luke and Ben will be back tomorrow?” he finally asked.
“Yes, that’s what Luke said,” Alice assured him.
“Okay. Thanks.” Jake trotted back to the mayor’s side.
“Wonder what’s going on with him?” Alice said.
“Who knows. But we’re falling behind,” said Owen. “We’re supposed to be up at the front of this parade. Shake a leg, your highness.”
Chapter 9
They arrived at the clearing to find it transformed, with twinkling lights strung in all the trees, and booths and displays scattered here and there—and most impressive of all, the jousting ring, with its flags flying, ready for a night of entertainment.
Alice and Owen were escorted to the Royal Box to watch King Richard and Prince John face off. They’d invited Franny to join them as their special guest, and thankfully, Owen had bought a giant bag of kettle corn from Kernel Pop’s popcorn cart on the way in. Meanwhile, Franny was already halfway through her second roasted turkey leg by the time the show began.
When King Richard rode his horse up to the box, Alice bestowed her handkerchief upon his lance, and Owen stood to read the joust-opening lines from the script that was waiting for him at his throne.
Once the joust was underway, Alice slipped her phone out of her bag and sent a double text to Ben and Luke, asking if Jake Shannon had happened to get in touch with them. Ben quickly answered that he had not.
“I wonder what was bothering Jake,” Alice said, looking at Owen.
“What are you talking about?” asked Franny.
Alice and Owen filled Franny in on how strangely Jake had acted during the parade.
“I wonder if it has anything to do with the mayor being at the scene of the crime last night,” said Franny.
“And smiling like the cat that got the canary,” added Owen.
Alice sighed. “Surely the mayor had nothing to do with Damon Huxley’s death,” she said.
“Surely not,” said Owen. “But he did hate the guy.”
“Such serious faces for such a jolly time!” Wamba appeared as if from nowhere at the entrance to the box. “How do my highnesses find the entertainment?”
“We’re enjoying it immensely,” Owen said. “We elves love a good joust.”
“Good, good,” said Wamba. “May I ask your royal permission to bring my own guest into the box?” He motioned toward the two empty chairs at Alice’s side.
“Of course, you may bring a guest,” said Alice. “Who is it?”
“My own lady,” Wamba said, a light flush coming to his cheeks. “The most beautiful person in this kingdom or any—excepting yourself, of course, your highness.”
“Thank you,” said Owen.
“I think he meant me,” said Alice. “Thank you, Wamba. Bring your lady friend.”
Wamba did a little
dance, then disappeared, and returned a moment later with his lady—who turned out to be Taya, from the Smiling Hound.
Taya, dressed in dazzling emerald green, greeted everyone and took the seat next to Alice.
“This is the best view in the house!” she said, looking down at the king and prince, who had now leapt off their steeds and battled it out with the sword. She smiled at Wamba. “Thank you, Ralph—I mean, Wamba—for thinking of me. This is wonderful.”
“It is my great pleasure,” said Wamba with a humble nod.
“I think he really likes her,” Owen whispered to Alice. “He keeps blushing just like you do whenever Luke’s around.”
Alice elbowed Owen, and then clapped as King Richard won the fight and waved to the royal onlookers, and then to the roaring crowd.
Wamba jumped up. “I must go down and perform for a moment,” he said. “Please, watch over my lady until I return.”
Alice, Owen, and Franny all nodded, and Wamba literally jumped over the front of the box and landed feet-first on the ground below.
“Wow, that guy is . . .” Owen peered over the railing.
“Agile,” Alice finished. As Wamba regaled the crowd with a combination of joke-telling and juggling various objects, Alice turned to Taya. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend, Taya,” she said.
“He’s so kind. So chivalrous,” said Taya, smiling down at Wamba, who glanced up at the box every now and then.
“So protective?” asked Alice. Even from on high, she could hear the bells on Wamba’s jacket jingling—a constant reminder of the bells she’d heard the previous night.
The smile left Taya’s face. “You three seem to be as good at crime-solving as the police,” she said tentatively. “Maybe even better.”
There was a pause as they waited for her to continue.
“Do you happen to know what killed Damon?” Taya finally said.
Alice knew it wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but she also knew that in light of Taya’s apparent close relationship with Wamba, Taya’s reaction to the truth might be telling, and they needed all the clues they could get.
“They haven’t gotten the details yet,” Alice said. “But, it looks like he ingested something. Or had a bad reaction to something. Like a drug.”
“Which is great news for Pearl Ann,” Owen added, leaning over. “Because she and her giant handbag are now off the hook.”
“Ingested something?” Every drop of color drained from Taya’s face.
“Taya?” Alice put a hand on Taya’s arm.
“I am returned, my lady!” Wamba had somehow climbed the front of the box and in one swift movement, had swung himself over the railing.
“Man, this guy is strong!” said Owen. “What are you? Some kind of gymnast?”
But Wamba didn’t seem to hear. He was looking at Taya, his eyes full of concern. “Come, my lady,” he said quietly. “The joust is over. Let us walk a little.” With that, he took her hand and escorted her out of the box.
“Well, that was strange,” said Franny, wiping her fingers on a napkin after polishing off the turkey drumstick and half the bag of kettle corn.
“He’s protecting her, don’t you think?” asked Alice.
“But from what, exactly?” asked Owen.
“I heard those bells just after Damon was killed,” said Alice. “What if Wamba killed Damon to protect Taya?”
“It’s also true that Taya herself had good reason to dislike Damon,” said Owen thoughtfully.
“As did the mayor,” said Franny.
“So, there are three suspects,” said Alice. “Taya, who just had a very strong reaction to the news that Damon died by ingesting some kind of drug. The mayor, who we just yesterday heard saying that he wished Damon had never come to Blue Valley. And Wamba, who obviously cares for Taya and might’ve been protecting her from Damon.”
“And, we know the mayor was at the scene of the crime because we saw him,” said Franny.
“We’re pretty darn sure Wamba was there, too, because I heard his noisy jacket,” said Alice.
“We’ll talk about this later,” said Owen, getting up. “We have to go now.”
“What are your royal duties for the rest of the night?” asked Franny, wobbling a little as she stood.
“We have to walk amongst our people,” said Owen. “You know—photo ops, waving, being graciously fabulous.”
“After that, we’re done, and are no longer king and queen of anything,” said Alice.
“Speak for yourself,” said Owen. “You know, I have a hankering for some of that Hook or Crook ale of Patrick’s.”
“Good idea,” said Alice. “We can bring up Damon. See if he knows anything. To the Smiling Hound 2!”
After much waving and having their photos taken with faire-goers, Alice, Owen, and Franny finally made it to Patrick Sullivan’s makeshift tavern in the trees. There were lights strung all around the miniature Smiling Hound, and tables scattered about the area, where patrons sat enjoying drinks and plates laden with medieval-themed snacks, such as cheeses, stuffed eggs, tiny meatballs, and fry bread made over the fire that Patrick and his crew were carefully watching. As royalty, Alice and Owen earned a free drink, and Patrick threw in a ginger beer for Franny to wash down her third turkey leg of the night, which she’d managed to procure as they’d walked past Friar Tuck’s Turkey on their way to the Hound.
As it turned out, they weren’t even the ones to broach the subject of the case. Patrick beat them to it.
“Any leads on the robbery or murder—because I know you three are investigating,” he said with a wink.
“Well,” Alice said, a twinkle in her eye, “we would like to get your thoughts on Damon Huxley.”
“My thoughts? Why?”
“Because you’re a good judge of character,” Owen quickly said. “You know everyone in town, you constantly observe people . . .”
“We’re just trying to figure out why someone might want Damon dead,” added Franny.
“Want him dead? I was under the impression that the thing was a botched robbery of some kind,” said Patrick. “If you want my impression of Damon, it wasn’t good, to be honest. I never did like him.”
“Neither did I,” Alice admitted. “But, I couldn’t put my finger on why.”
“Neither could I!” said Patrick. “Just had a bad feeling about the guy. So did Taya.”
“Did she?” asked Owen, pretending not to already know as much.
“You know, Taya always sees the best in people,” said Patrick. “But she didn’t like Damon. I even let her wait tables upstairs when he’d come into the bar. He made her very uncomfortable.”
“He kept hitting on her, I think,” said Alice. “He wasn’t too good at taking no for an answer.”
“Well, that Taya is the big-hearted sort,” said Patrick, smiling at a customer who had just approached and was looking over the menu. “She must’ve forgiven the guy before he left the Hound last night.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Alice.
The customer stepped forward and asked for a Golden Dragon, which Patrick quickly served, thanking the customer kindly. Then he turned back to Alice, Owen, and Franny.
“Because she said she’d go back to work the bar last night before Damon and the rest of them left,” he said. “She even made him a complimentary drink.”
Chapter 10
“I think my feet are starting to swell.” Franny leaned over her own belly to look at her sparkling slippers.
“We should get you home,” said Alice, checking the time on her phone. “It’s only seven-thirty, but it’s been a long, busy day.”
“The faire goes on until midnight,” said Franny. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?”
“It’ll be way more fun at your house,” said Owen. “We can check on Poppy and Finn, and then go sit out on the dock and enjoy this beautiful spring evening.”
“That sounds like heaven,” said Franny, breathing a sigh of relief.
>
As the three friends began the short walk from the clearing to Ben and Franny’s lake house, Alice spotted Jake Shannon, walking through the trees as though he was headed home, as well. Alice told Owen and Franny to hold up a second, and she jogged over to Jake.
“Where’s your horse?” she called.
“What? Oh, hi, Alice,” Jake said. “The wranglers came and transported the horses back out to the farm. I’m headed home to my family.” He jingled his keys and nodded toward the parking area, where he’d apparently left his car earlier in the day.
“Didn’t Holly and the kids come to the faire?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with a smile. “They had a great time. But you know how it is with little ones. Holly took them home to get them ready for bed.”
“Did you, um, decide to call Ben and Luke, by the way? Or talk to Dewey? About whatever was worrying you?” Alice couldn’t think of a subtle way to ask, so she just came out with it.
“No,” Jake said, looking worried. “But they’re coming home tomorrow, right?”
By this time, Owen and Franny had walked over and joined them.
“They should be,” said Franny.
Alice took a step closer to Jake. “Jake, something has clearly upset you. Is there anything we can do to help?”
Jake looked from Alice, to Owen, to Franny, and finally sighed and said, “I’d like to show you something.”
Everyone automatically stepped closer still, as Jake scrolled through photos on his phone, finally stopping at one and pausing before showing the others.
“What—who—is that?” Owen said, frowning.
“It looks familiar.” Franny squinted at the photo.
“That’s because we just saw it last night,” said Alice, looking back up at Jake. “That’s Damon Huxley. After he was killed.”
“And obviously before the police and ambulance came,” said Owen, his eyes widening at the realization of what they were seeing.
“That’s correct,” said Jake. “Mayor Abercrombie took this photo.”
“Sick!” said Owen, then quickly cleared his throat and added, “I mean, what an odd choice of subjects for a photo.”