KILLALOT Read online

  “No card is good or bad, but the Tower...Hmm...” The woman tapped the card with an arthritic finger. “It signifies destruction, great upheaval, perhaps a crisis.”

  Was this another warning? “What kind of crisis? Is there something I should avoid?” Though I wanted to solve this case, I didn’t want to end up leaping from a burning building.

  “You can’t avoid it. All you can do is learn from it.”

  “Wow. Okay. Thanks, I guess.” I handed her the money. “You’ll let me know if you hear anything else?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you survive your Tower experience.”

  Chapter 48

  Great. Now I was looking over my shoulder as well as looking for John Robert and trying to hear gossip about Angus, and Bianca, and Riley, and William. I kept trying to tell myself that the woman was just an actor trying to scare me off my investigation, but I was the one who picked the Tower, and it was one scary card. I was shaken enough that I nearly missed the hooded figure in my peripheral vision. John Robert? No, another hooded man. Another familiar one.

  “Thought you were on a diet,” I said to the monk sitting at a picnic table. He was chewing on a ginormous turkey leg.

  “I have it on good authority that turkey is diet food,” said Uncle Bob.

  I nodded at his pewter tankard as I sat across from him. “And the beer?”

  “Fooled you.” Uncle Bob tipped the stein toward me so I could see its contents. “Just water, for now. I’m allowing myself one beer at the end of the day. Hey,” he waved his drumstick at the crowd in the street or maybe at a pirate. “This is great. Why didn’t you bring me here before?”

  Was he teasing me? No, my uncle’s face looked as earnest as one stuffed with a turkey leg could. “It’s not like theater,” he said. “It’s more like a different world. And I get to be part of it. I love it here.”

  Uncle Bob a Rennie. Whoda thunk it?

  I looked around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned across the table. “Do you have your phone?” I whispered, leaning across the table.

  “Yes,” he whispered back, taking his phone out of a pocket in his robe.

  “I want you to Google a photo.”

  “Why are we whispering?”

  “I’m really not supposed to use a phone.”

  “You’re not supposed to be talking either.”

  Oops.

  “And it’s okay if I use the phone, right?”

  “Yeah.” I stopped whispering and sat back. “I’m not thinking straight. I’m a little freaked out.” I told him about the Tower card.

  “Wow,” he said, looking at his phone. “You’re right. That is one creepy card.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you should look up the tarot card. Try to find a recent photo of John Robert Turner.”

  “The playwright guy you’re working with?” He tapped on his screen. “I’ve been wondering why you hadn’t said much about him. Thought he was off your radar.”

  “Only because I was blinded by Broadway.”

  “So you still suspect him?”

  It was at this moment that I realized something. Uncle Bob had let me take the lead on this investigation. And I was screwing it up.

  I pushed away the guilt so I could do the work I needed to. “He’s got kind of a teddy bear face. And today he’s wearing a short brown hooded cloak.”

  “Sounds like an Ewok.”

  “That’s John Robert. Cuddly-looking but possibly dangerous.” Uncle Bob turned his phone toward me so I could see the photo he’d pulled up. “Yeah, that’s him. If you see him, follow him.” I tried to sound professional so Uncle Bob wouldn’t know how lost I really was with this investigation. “I’d be especially interested to know if he talks to Bianca, or any jousters.” I remembered that John Robert himself could ride. “Or any armor makers.”

  “There are armor makers here? This is the greatest place ever,” said Monk-le Bob. “You want to hear what I learned today?” I nodded, and he told me about hanging out at the jousting arena, asking questions. “The most important thing I came away with is that jousting is really specialized. You have to be strong, a good rider, and you have to practice.”

  “So our suspect has to be a jouster.”

  “Pretty much. They said a cowboy might be able to pull it off. They probably wouldn’t be able to do all of the things jousters do, like putting a lance tip through a wooden ring—man, that was impressive—but you said the imposter basically just rode toward Angus and knocked him off his horse, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, a cowboy could probably do that.”

  “Or a cowgirl.” I thought of Bianca.

  “Egads,” said Uncle Bob.

  “Egads?”

  “Thought I’d try some Ren faire speak. Is that Ren faire speak?”

  “Not sure. That’s why I’m a mime.”

  “Basically what I meant was, crap. Just when I thought we’d narrowed down our suspect list.”

  Chapter 49

  But we had narrowed down our list. How many jousters or cowboys/cowgirls could there be at one Ren faire? Now to figure out who exactly they were. I made a note to ask Doug. He might know.

  As I wiggled and jiggled my way through the faire, I realized I’d dropped another investigative thread: William’s accident. I had the feeling that his OD and Angus’s death could be connected, but how? William had seemed troubled that night—and he’d said something about an appointment. Could someone have given him some bad drugs on purpose, maybe some ‘devil weed’?

  And something else connected the two men: Bianca. She was conveniently nearby when the accident happened, by herself in the dark empty fairegrounds. Could she have had something to do with William’s accident, and then changed her mind when she heard me shouting for help?

  No one from the belly dance show was around, so I ducked into the falconry stage. “The average human male has a gripping strength of ninety pounds,” Bianca’s amplified voice floated toward me. I wanted to talk to her in private this time. “Owls like Snowy here have a gripping strength of a thousand pounds.” Maybe if I waited backstage. “Snowy is a barn owl. We got him after he’d been hit by a car.” Ah, one of the doors to the mews was open. “All of our birds came from wildlife rehabilitation facilities or zoos and for one reason or another, were deemed unfit to be returned to the wild.” I slipped backstage. “It’s illegal to keep a wild bird as a pet or to sell it. Owls like Snowy here are endangered. It’s all of our jobs to make sure they thrive.”

  I hurriedly searched the backstage area for any sign of drugs. Nada. The cages were all empty, the birds all out with Bianca and her assistants, flying and diving and doing cool bird-type things. The big cage in the back still had the sheet thrown over it. Ah ha. I walked toward it. Something inside the cage rustled. Was it really a bird? Was it still sick? I crept closer to see, and Aaah! Something flew at me, wings beating in my face. Everything was blackness and feathers and horrible shrieking and—

  “On her head!” Bianca’s voice cut through the tumult. The black maelstrom lifted, but not far. I felt claws on my scalp, even through my wig.

  “Nevermore,” said the raven on my head. “Nevermore.”

  “What are you doing here?” said Bianca.

  “Sorry.” I glanced at the big cage. Still covered. Edgar was my only attacker. “Oi fought your show wasn’t over until Edgar and you had dinner onstage.”

  “We have more than one show. What are you doing here?”

  “Oi wanted to see how you were doin.’ It’s the first time Oi had a chance to talk to you after the fing with William.”

  “The fing?”

  “The in-ci-dent.”

  “You could have talked to me outside.”

  “Oi’m supposed to be silent
in public. Besides, Oi just love birds, Oi do. Had a pet budgie when I was a tyke. They’re a bit like fairies, yeah?”

  “Fairies who’ll rip your scalp off.” She didn’t have to remind me that I had a large bird on my head. His talons were sharp. “But not Edgar. Though he does make a pretty good watchdog. Come here, boy.” She held out a hand, and Edgar blessedly left my head to fly to her. “Sorry. I’m just a little jittery after everything’s that’s happened. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have sent in the cavalry. I really appreciate you helping William. God knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t found him when you did.”

  “He’s going to be okay, roight?”

  “Yeah.” The light was low, but I saw tears gather in her eyes. “He’s a good man, you know.”

  “Seems like it. Was it an OD?”

  “Sort of.” She bit off the words, as if to tell me that was all she’d say.

  “Lucky you were about, yeah?”

  “And you.”

  “I was headin’ back to me car.” I waited.

  “It’s really none of your business, but I was letting some of the owls hunt before the storm came up. Don’t want to take all the wildness out of them.”

  “Sure. And Oi didn’t mean to be so nosy.” Yes, I did. “Thanks for fillin’ me in.”

  “No worries. But next time you want to talk to me, wait outside, okay? I don’t like people in the mews.”

  “All righty then. Toodle-oo.” I walked out of the mews and into the crush of the faire, thinking not about John Robert or William or even Bianca, but...

  What was in that cage?

  Chapter 50

  Riley would probably know, but I couldn’t call him. I’d just have to wait to ask him until tomorrow morning. I didn’t like it. I was not a patient person.

  I was also a pretty sucky investigator. I circled the faire several times, but couldn’t find John Robert. How had I lost him? An even better question: How had I lost sight of the fact that John Robert was a suspect? He might have been able to pull off the joust, given the way he rode that pinto this morning.

  And Hayden rode too. Rode well. And he was at John Robert’s ranch. Could he be a suspect? I couldn’t see any connection between him and Angus, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

  Since Matt had told me he wasn’t sure we’d be able to talk that night (a church supper), I’d planned to hang out at the afterhours faire party tonight, but it was a vague plan: I just hoped to pick up a little more information. But I needed to be proactive if I was ever going to solve this case. First on my to-do list: See William.

  I went to his onsite wizard tent near closing time. William looked fine, sitting straight and tall on his throne, smiling at the fans who were lined up waiting to talk to him. After everyone had left, I slipped inside. “Hiya.”

  When he saw it was just me, William slumped back in his carved throne, the powerful wizard turning into a tired middle-aged man before my eyes. “Prudence, isn’t it?”

  “Oi was just stoppin’ by to see how you’re doin’. After the incident and all.”

  “As well as can be expected.” Dark purplish shadows under his eyes. “Which means I should really go rest.”

  “O’ course, o’ course. Oi’ll leave you to it. It’s just I was ’specially concerned, seein’ as how it was me who found you.”

  “Was it you? My thanks. And my apologies. I really don’t remember the night at all.”

  “Nothing? Not even talkin’ wif me while you were smoking like Gandalf?”

  William shook his head. “Not even that.”

  “Word is maybe you got some bad stuff. That stuff you were smoking, maybe.”

  “Possibly.”

  Arghh. Could he be more vague? Maybe if I made him worry for me. “Is there someone that Oi should uh, avoid...buying from?”

  “Prudence.” He used his wizard voice as he stood up. “You should avoid buying. Period.”

  Well that was a bust. I left William’s tent and walked through the now-closed faire to my truck, where I used my cell phone to call Uncle Bob. He picked up on speakerphone—he’d already left and was on his way home. No, he didn’t see John Robert and no, he wasn’t going back to the office but I was welcome to, and if I did could I make sure not to leave anything stinky in the trash?

  I went home, changed out of my belly dancing costume and into street clothes, and drove to the office so I could use our computer and databases. It was time to start acting like a detective.

  Before going down the research rabbit hole, I emailed Doug. “Could you give me a list of any faire people who jousted in the past? And maybe any cowboys you know of?”

  Doug must have been working late, because his reply came right away: “Have no idea who may have jousted in the past. And cowboys I know of: Roy Rogers, John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. Hope that’s helpful.”

  I never did like sarcasm. But he was right; it had been too much to hope for. I put that puzzle piece aside and picked up the next one: Hayden. I ran him through Duda Detectives’s databases, Googled him, and looked him on IMDB.

  Huh. Hayden Sanders had quite the resume. He’d appeared in several TV shows and made a bunch of movies—mostly indies, but still. Ooh, he’d even appeared in an early film directed by Andre (yes, one-name, Oscar-winning Andre).

  But...I went on to IMDB to see what I could about the films he’d made, more specifically, where they were filmed. All but one in Southern California. All the TV shows listed in his bio had been shot there too. But Hayden said he was on the road most of the time. On the road where? Doing what?

  I searched, but I couldn’t find any reason for him to be on the road. Maybe he just liked to travel.

  There was a lot more info on John Robert, but nothing that led me to believe he was a jouster or a cowboy or—

  Cowboy. Shit. I grabbed my phone and made a call.

  “Unless you are calling me to apologize—and I do mean apologize with a capital A and drinks involved at a later date—I am hanging up on you.” Loud country music blared in the background.

  “Timothy—”

  “You are speaking to Anita.” Timothy’s drag name. “To Anita Mann, the second-place winner in the Arizona Gay Rodeo’s Wild Drag Race, which someone promised to watch.”

  “I know and I am so sorry.”

  “You should be. You didn’t get to see my new Cher costume—a bellbottom jumpsuit with rhinestones.”

  Of course there were rhinestones.

  “And you’ll never get see it either, because it’s white. Was white. I didn’t even think about it until I was being dragged through the dirt.”

  “I’m sure you looked fabulous.”

  “I did, and you missed it.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. And there will be cocktails involved.”

  “And hors d’ouvres.”

  “And hors d’ouvres.”

  “All right.” Timothy finally sounded mollified. And I really was sorry I missed seeing him ride a steer in a rhinestoned Cher jumpsuit. “I am only forgiving you because I think this double-undercover thing is eating your brain.” I was afraid it was. “So I guess I’ll share my tasty little tidbit with you.”

  “Okay. Good.” I had no idea what it could be.

  “My friend Frederick came to watch me tonight, like a good friend would” —okay, maybe he wasn’t completely mollified—“and guess who he pointed out?”

  “Who?” I couldn’t remember exactly who Frederick was or why Timothy thought I would know him.

  “Benjamin.”

  “Oh.”

  “He looked pretty fine, too, in his tight little Wranglers.”

  “Did you get introduced? Or did you want me to introduce you?”

  “No. Let me finish my story.” He paused, making sure I was going to give him the stage. “He looked fi
ne in his tight little Wranglers, and his pearl snap-buttoned shirt and his black Stetson, sitting on his horse.” Timothy paused again. “Now you can ask.”

  “His horse?”

  “Benjamin was one of the barrel riders tonight. Took home first place.”

  Chapter 51

  I hung up in a funk. All I wanted was for just one person to not be capable of killing Angus during the joust. Was that really too much to ask for?

  Okay, the fortune-telling crone probably couldn’t have done it. That was one person. Didn’t make me feel better. In fact, it made me think of that Tower card. Maybe it was my investigation that was going up in flames.

  And then, as if he knew I needed moral support, Matt called. “We’re still at the church, and I can only talk a for a few minutes,” he said. “But I wanted to let you know I’m coming home tomorrow night. Mom got admitted to the rehab center today, and between the social worker and the church, Dad’s all set up. My flight arrives at nine thirty. Could you pick me up?”

  “Of course.”

  “How’s your head today?”

  My head? With everything else going on, I’d forgotten all about it. I touched it. Still a little tender, but nothing bad. “Fine,” I said. Then I waited for Matt to say something about being more careful, or less stupid. He didn’t. Probably because he knew how hard it was for me to have admitted my stupidity to him. And because he wasn’t my mother. “Hey, I know you don’t have much time,” I said, “but can I vent?”

  “Shoot.”

  I told Matt all about my muddled investigation. Talking felt so good that I rambled on, and before he could get a word in edgewise, he had to go. “Dad’s fading. I need to drive us home.”

  I drove home shortly afterward too. I’d done all I knew to do, at least for right then. Matt texted me right before I went to bed. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow night. XXXOOO.”

  I fell asleep wondering how it might feel to have him next to me every night.

  John Robert had given us the weekend off from rehearsal, so I slept in an hour later the next morning. Bliss. I got dressed for the faire while eating a bagel. As I got into my truck I noticed I had cream cheese in my wig. Was this a thing that happened to women with long hair? I decided it was.