“I see.” The chief nodded, staring into space for a few moments. Then she locked her eyes back on mine. “So one thing we do know about our killer is that he isn’t very knowledgeable about swords and knives. Because if he were, he wouldn’t have chosen such a cheap blade as his murder weapon—I gather he was lucky it didn’t break off when he stabbed Mr. Cox.”
“I’d have said unlucky,” I replied. “Because that would be the best outcome, wouldn’t it? Whoever has it in for Terence tries to stab him with a knife so cheap the blade breaks off without doing much harm, leaving Terence free to run shrieking out of the woods and file attempted murder charges.”
“Yes, that would have been a better outcome.” The chief seemed to find my suggestion amusing.
“But yeah, you could have a point there. No one knowledgeable would rely on one of those blades, either for attack or self-defense. On the other hand…” I let my voice trail off as I thought through how to phrase what I wanted to say.
“Why do I suspect you’re about to make my case more complicated?” the chief asked.
“Because you know me,” I said. “As I was about to say, on the other hand, if I were planning to kill Terence, I certainly wouldn’t take one of my own knives. I’d be one of a dangerously small number of people with easy access to them. And the same would go for Faulk’s knives. Unlike the cheap mass-produced ones the Bonny Blade sells, our knives are pretty distinctive.”
“So you might take along one of the Bonny Blade’s cheap knives after all?”
“Only if I were stubbornly determined to kill Terence with a knife and couldn’t manage to pocket a good sturdy kitchen knife,” I said. “And I think it’s a mistake to assume the use of a cheap knife means the killer was ignorant about weapons. He was smart enough to use a stiletto, wasn’t he?”
“Was he?” The chief frowned. “They haven’t removed the knife blade yet—they won’t be doing that until the autopsy. How do you know it’s a stiletto?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I admitted. “But I’m betting that’s what it will turn out to be. Two reasons—one’s the shape of the hilt.” I pulled out my phone and opened up Dad’s picture of the murder weapon. You could see a piece of metal twisted into a spiral, with a bejeweled knob at the top. “I’m no expert on medieval weaponry, but I do know a few things. When I see a round hilt like this I tend to think it’s for a stabbing weapon, like a stiletto or a rondel dagger. A knife that’s used primarily for cutting I’d expect to have a hilt that’s more like a steak knife handle. But I could be wrong—as I said, I’m no weapons expert. You could always ask Faulk.”
“He’s an expert?”
“He knows more than I do—he’s made a hundred times more knives and swords than I have. And more to the point, if for some reason you need detailed information about the weapon, he could put you in touch with real experts. People who write textbooks on this kind of thing.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, though I doubt I’ll need experts.” She smiled. “For the time being, I can live with your comment that you expect a stiletto based on the shape of the handle. But I think you said you had two reasons for assuming a stiletto—what was the other?”
“The fact that the killer succeeded,” I said. “Even a cheap stiletto would have the right shape to be good for stabbing. It’s pointier—basically a glorified ice pick. If I had to choose a cheap blade for stabbing with, that’s the kind I’d choose. Stabbing people’s exactly what stilettos were designed for.”
“Yes, you did mention that.” She sighed. “You’re not making my life any easier. Do you at least agree that it would take a fair amount of strength to stab with it?”
“A fair amount, yes,” I said. “But not a superhuman amount, I should think. Dad would be a better judge of that.”
“I’ll ask him.” She was writing in her notebook.
“Just remember that if you’re thinking of knocking us frail and dainty ladies off your suspect list—bad idea. I could do it in a heartbeat. There’s nothing like blacksmithing to develop wrist and arm strength. Though tennis doesn’t do a shabby job—Jacks plays a mean game. Not sure about Dianne.” I paused to ponder.
“She’s petite,” the chief observed.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s useful for gymnastics—which she did all through college. I bet that gives you reasonable wrist and arm strength. Plus, knowing how she feels about Terence … don’t underestimate how much strength fear and anger can give a person. I can’t imagine any reason why she’d go out into the woods in the middle of the night, either by herself or with Terence—but I can well imagine that if somehow she found herself in that situation, she might panic.”
“And her panic would give her enough strength to compensate for the shortcomings of the weapon and her physique.” The chief nodded. “No, I know better than to take any of you off my suspect list. Well, with the possible exception of your mother—she went down to Cordelia’s house at the end of the day. No way she could drive with that broken right foot, much less hike out into the woods. And I can’t see her stabbing anyone.”
“Actually, I can,” I said. “But not with a rhinestone-studded knife. She has standards.”
“Excellent ones.” The chief chuckled. “So for now, let me take advantage of that strength of yours and get those boxes moved.”
We stowed the boxes in the jewelry studio. Then I led the chief into the storage room and showed her which boxes were Terence’s. She studied them for a few moments.
“Those are some big boxes,” she said. “And rather a lot of them to drag with you for a stay of, what—three months?”
“I don’t think he’d have brought all that with him if he’d had anyplace else to leave it,” I said. “So from that point of view—not a lot of boxes to contain the sum total of anyone’s earthly possessions.”
The chief nodded and looked glum. Then she brightened.
“At least the odds are he’ll have something in here that will give me a clue to who needs to be notified about his death.”
She squared her shoulders and strode over to the boxes.
I left her to it.
Upstairs, when I stepped out of the craft wing into the Great Hall, I ran into a group of players: Jacks, Dianne, George, two of the jugglers, a dozen or so costumed workers—and O’Malley.
“I think it’s worth taking the time to recharge,” O’Malley was saying. “This kind of work can really drain your creative juices. So let’s take your lunch break and I’ll lead you through a few quick exercises.”
Jacks spotted me and almost managed to hide her look of intense relief.
“I’m supposed to be seeing Meg about something,” she said. “I’ll just go do that and join you in progress, shall I?”
“Of course, of course.” O’Malley cast an annoyed glance in my direction before turning his attention back to the rest of his flock. “Now someone go get me a dozen napkins.”
Jacks came over, took my arm, and steered me back into the craft wing. We headed down the hallway, dodging the tourists, toward the relative peace and quiet of the far end, where there was a small open area in front of the locked door to the stairs.
“Thank goodness you came along,” she said quietly as we walked. “O’Malley’s going to lead everyone in a series of creative exercises.”
“Everyone?” I echoed.
“Everyone he can dragoon into playing with him,” she said. “You’ll notice he didn’t have Michael in tow. Or Nigel. Some of us manage to keep our creative juices charged up by doing the job we’re paid to do. Hell, a lot of us really enjoy the Game.”
“But O’Malley doesn’t get to give orders in the Game,” I said.
“You’ve got him pegged.” She chuckled. “Last I heard, he planned to blindfold us all and let us wander around communicating with each other by making nonverbal noises. So give me something to do, too, so I can beg off if someone comes and tries to drag me back to do O’Malley’s exercises.”
“Especially
if the someone is O’Malley,” I said. “I expect he’s pretty hard to argue with.”
“Somehow I doubt if O’Malley will come hunting me down,” she said. “You’ll notice he didn’t argue much when I bowed out. I actually think he’ll be happier without me in his session. Just as he’s happier when Michael and Nigel aren’t around. He feels vaguely threatened when there’s anyone around who he suspects knows a bit more about acting or directing than he does.”
“What about George?” I asked.
“He’ll be happier without me, too.”
“Actually, I meant wouldn’t O’Malley be threatened by having George around,” I said. “But it was a stupid question. George would turn himself inside out to be agreeable to anyone—especially someone who might be holding auditions sometime soon. Why would George be happier without you? That’s the more interesting question.”
“He just came over and apologized to me for spilling the beans,” Jacks said.
“Beans?”
“He seems to have revealed—by accident, to hear him tell it—that I’d once had an affair with Terence.”
Chapter 28
“An affair with Terence? “Surely I’d misunderstood her.
“I’m probably going to have to tell the chief about it, right?”
“He was he telling the truth?”
“About his revelation being accidental?” She shook her head. “I doubt it. But about the affair? Technically, yes.”
I waited to hear more. She stood there, eyes closed, taking the sort of deep breaths I usually take when I’m counting to ten and trying to recapture my temper. Sometimes waiting people out doesn’t work nearly as well as a direct question.
“You could have told us you’d had an affair with Terence,” I said finally. “Back when we were recruiting you for the Faire.”
“Would you still have hired me?”
“Of course,” I said. “But maybe we wouldn’t have hired him. I mean, if we’d known having him around was awkward for you—”
“Good lord, it wasn’t.” She laughed. “Not for me, at least. No idea if he found it awkward, having someone around who knew all his tricks, but somehow I doubt it. And just for the record, I’d hardly call it an affair. More of a stupid fling.”
“Still. At least it might have been smarter to tell the chief about it.”
“Smarter? Maybe. Yes, I get that telling her myself might make me less suspicious than if she’d had to ferret it out herself. But I’m not sure she ever would have ferreted it out without George’s help. I certainly haven’t told more than one or two close friends about it, and they knew how mortified I’d be if it ever got out. Heaven knows how George got wind of it.”
“Terence wasn’t exactly a model of discretion,” I pointed out.
“No, but he was pretty protective of his public image. And I made sure he knew exactly what unflattering truths I’d make public if he ever told anyone about our fling. Pretty sure he’d have sworn George or anyone else he told to secrecy.”
“But you can’t expect George—or anyone else—to keep to that after his death. His murder.”
“Good point. Anyway, it’s water under the bridge now—the fling, and George spilling the beans to the chief. Maybe it’s even a good thing—the more she knows about Terence, and the way he used people, the better equipped she’ll be to find his killer. And while I understand why someone might long to be rid of him, I don’t approve of actually doing anything as drastic as murder—especially since they chose a time that puts me and a whole lot of my friends under suspicion.”
“How long ago was this fling?”
“Let me think … fourteen years ago. Almost fifteen.”
“That makes you less suspicious, don’t you think?” I asked. “I mean, if it had been only a few months, maybe she’d think you were still emotional about it. But after a decade and a half…”
“Yeah—seems a lifetime ago. It was right after my first husband and I filed for divorce.” She sounded curiously nostalgic. “And I really wanted to get away from it all. Away from him—my ex, that is … his friends … hell, away from our friends, and the whole D.C. theater scene. So I took this part at a dinner theater in Wisconsin. In Two for the Seesaw, which is a play with literally only two characters on stage, so it was just me and Terence marooned together in the middle of the most godforsaken wilderness imaginable.”
“The dinner theater was in a wilderness?”
“Okay, it was in a town,” she said. “Maybe you’d even call it a small city. Felt like the back of beyond to me at the time. And it was winter. I’d never seen so much snow. I think that was what drew us together.”
“The snow?”
“The feeling of being the only two sane people in the world.” She snorted with laughter. “There’s snowdrifts a foot taller than your head, you go outside for ten minutes and you start getting frostbite on your nose, and all the natives are chirping about what a mild winter we’re having and trying to teach you cross-country skiing. It was like being exiled to the Ice Age.”
“So you clung together, two orphans in the storm.”
“Something like that. It was a mistake, but far from the biggest I’ve made in my not-quite-half century on this planet—not by a long shot. And over and done with long ago. If either of my ex-husbands ever gets offed, you might want to check out my alibi. But Terence? Pffft.”
Maybe the chief would see it differently, but Jacks hadn’t just jumped to the top of my own suspect list.
“She has to check all of us out,” I said aloud. “I’m probably lucky I have an alibi for the early morning, even if it’s only Michael, who’s kind of obligated to alibi me whether I deserve it or not.”
“I think it’s in the wedding vows.” Jacks chuckled. “Right after the ‘in sickness and in health’ bit. Wish I had an alibi like Michael.”
Then she frowned, and seemed to be hesitating about something.
Actors. In theory, they should be better liars than the rest of humanity, and quite often they were. Whenever Michael and I needed to beg off anything we didn’t want to do—whether it was a tedious social engagement or a request for our volunteer services—I always tried to get Michael to do it. He sounded so much more convincing.
But when they weren’t trying to deceive, actors’ expressive faces could make it easy to follow what they were thinking.
“Spit it out,” I said. “Whatever you’re not sure you ought to be telling me.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I was already thinking maybe I should talk to the chief again.”
“About what?”
“Dianne wasn’t in her tent last night. For part of the night, anyway.”
Damn.
“Which part?”
“Well, it’s not as if I lay in wait for her all night. Her tent’s next to mine, and I happened to notice that she wasn’t there when I’d have expected her to be.”
“Understood. When did you notice her absence?”
“We were both in a group that walked back to Camp Anachronism around eleven, and I think we all went to bed shortly afterward. Then my bladder woke me up around midnight—I should lay off the mead; that stuff always makes me pee all night long. I had to go past her tent to get to the privies. And the moon was full or nearly, and when I glanced over at her tent, I could see through the front mesh window that she wasn’t there.”
Midnight was toward the early end of Dad’s preliminary estimate of when Terence died.
“Did you notice when she came back?” I asked.
“No.” Jacks shook her head rather hesitantly, as if still not sure she should be telling me this. “I hit the privies again at three-ish, and again at a little before five—seriously, if you see me drinking mead again, take the mug away. She wasn’t there either time. I didn’t see her until I went over to shower at maybe seven-thirty or eight. She was in there getting ready. But the fact that she wasn’t in her tent doesn’t mean she was off killing
Terence—for all I know, she’s started seeing someone. Or maybe she felt safer doubling up with one of the other women.”
I nodded. But we both knew that of the other women participants, she was closest to Jacks. That Jacks had actually offered to share her larger tent, and that Dianne had thanked her and said it was more than enough protection having Jacks next door.
“I haven’t told the chief yet,” Jacks said. “Because I wanted to ask Dianne what was going on. I just haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Do it soon,” I said. “And talk her into telling the chief.”
I didn’t have to say that if she didn’t tell the chief, I would. She knew that. And it occurred to me that maybe she’d confided in me as a way of forcing herself to go to the chief.
“Maybe I should just tell the chief,” Jacks said. “About my affair, and Dianne being AWOL. And ask her not to tell Dianne who blew the whistle.”
“I happen to know where the chief is right now,” I said. “And I suspect she wouldn’t mind being interrupted. Let’s go find her.”
Jacks grimaced, then followed me down to the lower level. I saw her safely to the storage room, and made sure it was locked up after the chief led Jacks into Cordelia’s office. Then I headed back upstairs.
I glanced around the Great Room, which was largely empty. Was O’Malley’s creative exercise over, then? I hoped so. After all, this was our busiest day. We didn’t need O’Malley distracting the staff and making them overstay their meal breaks. And what if some of the tourists wandered in on it? The Faire staff, especially those playing the Game, were supposed to stay reasonably in character whenever the tourists were around, and I doubted if people during the Renaissance spent much time doing mime or sense memory exercises.
The Falcon Always Wings Twice Page 19