Holding Court (10 page)

I walk slowly over to where Cami and Gran are sitting. “I see a golden knight.” I stop and stand in place like a statue with my hands in fists stacked at my waist. “He stands on a wheel with five spokes and he holds…a crusader’s sword! He waits”—I pause to heighten the drama and then point at Cami—“for you.”

She jumps out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Oh, my gosh! A golden knight? Is it a statue? A golden statue?”

I nod. “You will meet this golden knight more than once.”

“Oh my gosh! It’s an Oscar, isn’t it?” Cami flaps her hands around like she can’t breathe. “Are you saying I’m going to win an Academy Award?”

“The honor repeats,” I say, and then I wobble a bit for effect.

Cami grabs my arm. “Oh, thank you, Sister Elizabeth. You can’t imagine what this means to me. I’ve been acting since I was five years old. I’ve always dreamed of winning an Oscar.”

The room erupts in applause.

“Nice,” Cami whispers in my ear. “If only it were a real premonition.”

“Who says it’s not?” I whisper back.

“Grayson looks amazing in that Prince Charming outfit.”

“I know,” I whisper back miserably. “And Bree looks like Cinderella post-bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.”

The applause dies down and the crowd turns their attention back to King Henry.

“Ruination is found in a sequined gown!” I yell into the lull as King Henry opens his mouth to address the crowd.

Dead silence.

“Thanks, Sister Elizabeth,” Cami says loudly and pats me on the back. “I’ll make sure I wear something else when I accept my Oscar. A nun who gives fashion advice, who knew?” Cami totally mugs for the crowd as everyone bursts into laughter, and I take the opportunity to flee the Great Hall.

Chapter Sixteen

Tit for Tat

Floyd steps out of the shadows as I slip through the huge wooden doors propped open at the back of the Great Hall.

“Well, hello, Sister Elizabeth. We meet again,” he says and tips his poufy red hat at me.

“And how is the Keeper?” I ask, feeling much less nervous in his presence knowing there’s a huge crowd of people who can see us through the open doors if he decides to strangle me or something.

“Just keeping an eye on things, as is my duty. Too bad I only have the one.” He taps his eye patch with a hoary fingernail. “I do hope I didn’t frighten you earlier, Sister Elizabeth. I’m simply looking for a little tit for tat.”

“Tit for what?” I feel a blush creeping beneath my wimple.

“I’m suggesting a mutual exchange of information, nothing more, I assure you. I’d like to know how you came to be in the secret passageway, and seeing as how you’ve been snooping around the castle ever since you got here, I assume there’s something you’d like to know as well. And given that my grandfather helped build the place and my family members have served as caretakers ever since, it’s likely I have the answer you seek.”

“So, if I tell you how I ended up in the secret passageway, you’ll answer any question I ask?”

“Certainly. If I’m able.”

I don’t see what I have to lose, since I can tell him how I ended up in the passageway without mentioning anything about the dead body. “Deal,” I say and I tell him about trying to hide in the alcove and accidentally triggering the opening behind the suit of armor.

“I see. So no one told you about the secret entrance?”

“Nope. Okay, my turn. Actually, I have two questions. Number one, who else knows about the passageways?”

He gives me a sly smile. “I can tell you that King Henry did
not
know about them. He was rather angry with me when he discovered their existence, thanks to you.”

“You didn’t tell King Henry about the passageways? Why not?”

“You never know when a secret might come in handy.” He gives me a wink. “I’ve told the King a few of Lunewood Castle’s secrets, for his own safety you understand. Old Mr. Lune had quite a sense of humor. He used the passageways to play tricks on his houseguests, when he wasn’t spying on them, that is. He also used them to pay special visits to some of his more attractive female guests.” He winks at me again. “His granddaughter-in-law, the current Mrs. Lune, kept mostly to the ground floor and had everything else closed off to save on utilities. She never learned half the secrets my grandfather built into this place for old Mr. Lune. And now I’m the last living soul who knows them all. Mr. Bacon has been so focused on getting Tudor Times up and running, I hated to bother him with minutiae.”

“I see. How thoughtful of you.”

He gives me a wide grin, and his yellow teeth make me think of feral hamsters. “Prithee, tell me, what’s your second question, Sister Elizabeth?”

The trumpeter starts playing the closing processional that signals the end of the banquet, and I turn to see King Henry and his entourage getting up from the high table.

“Is anyone missing today?” I ask Floyd.

“Missing?”

“Yes. Have you noticed if anyone is missing who should be here?”

“That is an interesting question. Who are you looking for?”

“Are you going to answer all of my questions with questions?”

“Perhaps. Does that bother you?”

“Dude. That’s really annoying. Forget I asked.”

“The Keeper will ponder your question and let you know when he has an answer.”

“Great. Thanks. This has been fun. You’re like a Tudor Magic 8 Ball. ‘Reply hazy, prithee ask again.’”

“I should have thought a young woman with your talents would know the answers before she even asked the questions.”

I give Floyd an eye roll and turn to go. I glance into the Great Hall and see Gran watching me. I give her a wave and make a beeline for the Great Wardrobe to change out of my costume. I am so ready to be done with Tudor Times for the night.

There’s a small crowd of people in the Great Wardrobe who’ve also finished their shift. I grab my backpack and wait in line for an empty dressing room. When it’s finally my turn, I change back into my street clothes and transfer my stun gun and the pearl to the front pocket of my capris. I give my hideous wimple hair one last look in the mirror and exit the dressing room.

“Jules!” Bree is standing at the front of the dressing room line, waiting to change out of her costume. She gives me one of her you-are-my-best-friend-in-the-whole-world hugs. “How was your first day flying solo? Did you hear Angelique had a baby boy?”

“No, I hadn’t heard. That’s awesome.”

“King Henry was just telling me. He called the hospital before our dinner performance. I loved your premonition for Cami, by the way.”

“Thanks. She’s destined for stardom, our Cami.” I smile at Bree and then look up to see Grayson watching us from the back of the line.

“It was perfect. The gown advice was my favorite part.”

“Yeah, Tudor nuns are known for having their finger on the pulse of Hollywood fashion. Um, I’d better get going. I rode my bike and I want to try to beat the crowd down the hill.”

“Oh, do you want a ride? I’m sure Grayson wouldn’t mind. We should all carpool tomorrow so you don’t have to ride your bike. That hill must be a killer.”

“That’s okay. It’s fine on the way down, it’s just that the road’s really narrow, and now that I think about it, I can probably catch a ride with Gran and—”

“Hey, Grayson,” Bree calls out, “we have room for Jules, don’t we?”

Grayson walks toward us, and I subconsciously pat my wimple-hair.

“What’s up?” Grayson asks Bree.

“Jules’s bike will fit in the back of your car, won’t it? It seems silly for her to have to ride all that way when we can easily take her home. Hang on, let me get out of this costume.” Bree darts into an empty dressing room, and I’m left standing with Grayson.

“Hi,” I say and attempt a dazzling smile so as to distract him from my bad hair and any lingering aura of nunliness.

“Hi,” he says. “How’d it go today? Better than yesterday, I hope.”

“Uh, yeah. No dead bodies today, just the threat of imminent childbirth and a creepy guy with hamster teeth.” I reach up to pluck a piece of straw out of his hair, and he inhales sharply as my hand brushes against his cheek. “Hay,” I say, wanting to touch his cheek again. And his lips. And—

“Hey,” he says quietly, his eyes locked on mine.

I swallow hard and hold up the piece of straw. “It was in your hair. Must be one of the hazards of being a squight.”

He stares at the piece of straw and then looks toward the dressing room where Bree is making the transformation from Tudor queen to supermodel-worthy modern beauty. “Jules, I…I can’t give you a ride,” he says and walks away.

“I didn’t want one anyway,” I mumble, and throw the piece of straw in the garbage.

“I’m happy to see you made it through your shift without any more mishaps with your costume,” Geoffrey says, eyeing me from his table in the middle of the room.

“Yup. It’s a little sweaty but no afterbirth.” I toss my costume in one of the laundry bins and feel a blurt coming on. “Sneaky cherubs lead the way!” I advise Geoffrey, which almost sounds like a normal thing to say.

He nods. “See you tomorrow, Mistress Verity. Congratulations on surviving your first day as the Maid of Kent,” he says, and I decide I could definitely get used to working at a place where people don’t even blink when I let loose with one of my blurts.

“Thanks, Geoffrey. Keep rocking that fanny pack.” I make a break for the exit, then stop dead in my tracks. Tacked up on a bulletin board next to the heavy wooden door of the Great Wardrobe is a hodgepodge of fabric scraps and snapshots of Tudor Times employees in costume. In one of the pictures there’s a young woman standing next to Henry VIII. She’s making some sort of adjustment to the heavy gold necklace lying on his chest while he grins directly at the camera. I recognize both the necklace and the girl. The last time I saw her she had it wrapped around her throat.

I’ve found the missing dead girl.

I grab one of the employees entering the Great Wardrobe. “Hey, can you tell me who that is?” I point to the snapshot.

“You haven’t met Mr. Bacon?”

“No, not Mr. Bacon. The woman helping him with his costume.”

“Oh, that’s Sarah.”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah, Sarah Buckley. She’s the wardrobe assistant.”

“Do you know if she’s here today?”

“No clue. You could ask Geoffrey.”

I walk over to Geoffrey’s table and wait while he helps one of Henry’s wives unpin her headdress.

“Did you need something, Mistress Verity?” he asks when he notices me hovering.

“I just wanted to ask you about your assistant, Sarah. Is she here today?”

“Sarah? No, she sent me a message last night that she had a family emergency and wouldn’t be in today.”

“Last night? What time?”

He sets the headdress down and puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t believe I checked the time. You do ask a lot of questions, Mistress Verity. And here I thought you already knew all the answers, being psychic and all.”

“I just…she looks like someone I saw the other night and I was wondering if it was the same person.”

“Well, when she comes back you can ask her yourself.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” I say, even though I know she won’t be back. Ever.

Chapter Seventeen

Dying to Tell

I’m dying to tell someone I’ve figured out who the dead girl is. Okay, maybe that’s not the best choice of words. I really, really want to tell someone I’m not crazy and I didn’t hallucinate the girl in the passageway. I pull out my cell phone to see if I can catch Gran and Cami, and someone grabs my arm.

Certain that I’m about to get busted for using technology on the premises, I’m surprised when I look up into the worried face of one of King Henry’s knights.

“Hey, I’m Mike. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Mike the Knight gestures for me to follow him a little ways down the hall. “You’re the new nun, right?” he asks.

“Jules Verity,” I say, holding out my hand.

“Mike Finkler. I play Sir Nicholas Carew, one of King Henry’s Knights of the Garter. I heard you talking about Sarah.”

“Oh.” Crap.

“When did you see her? Was it last night?”

“Um, I’m not sure if it was her or not.”

“Where was she? She was supposed to meet me after work last night and she never showed. I’ve tried calling her but she’s not answering her phone.”

Oh, jeez. I’m pretty sure Mike won’t share my relief at discovering Sarah is my missing dead girl. “Geoffrey said she had a family emergency.”

“Yeah, that’s what he told me, too. Did you happen to notice if she was carrying anything with her? A jeweled weapon, like a dagger maybe?”

“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure she didn’t have a dagger.”

“Well, if you see her again, tell her I’m looking for her.”

“Okay, sure.”
You’re not the only one.

“Thanks. Good to meet you, Jules. I’ll see you around.”

I dial Cami’s number as I make my way toward the staff parking lot.

“Hey, where are you guys?” I ask when she picks up.

“We’re halfway down the hill in Rosie. Are you off?”

“Gran brought the golf cart? I was hoping you guys could give me a ride.”

“Your mom’s van is a ‘voracious gas guzzler’ according to your grandmother. If you hurry, you can probably catch us on your bike.”

I hear Gran say, “Ha ha,” in the background. And then, “You’d better watch your carbon footprint, missy.”

“Okay, I’ll see you when I get home. I have news!”

“Really? What is it? Grayson Chandler
is
secretly in love with you? I knew it!”

“Oh, shut up. No. I figured out who the dead girl is.”

“You did? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, except now I feel guilty about being relieved that she wasn’t a vision of the past or whatever like Gran told King Henry.”

“How’d you figure out who she was?”

I tell her about the picture on the wall in the Great Wardrobe and about my conversation with Mike the Knight.

“Are you going to tell Hank?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” I don’t know what to think about Hank. On the one hand I can’t really picture him having anything to do with murder. But on the other hand, it’s his necklace, his castle, and his secret passageway—that he supposedly knew nothing about. “I want to see what I can find out about the dead girl first.” And I want to find out if Hank is connected to her in any way other than employer and employee.

“Well, hurry up and get home. You’ll probably beat us there. Ow! Your grandmother just punched me in the arm.”

“You deserve it. Okay, I’m unlocking my bike right now. I’ll see you in twenty.”

“Ride safe.”

“I will. Bye.”

I strap my helmet on, hop on my bike, and head down the hill toward downtown Lunevale.

I’m pedaling along, thinking about Sarah, and the pearl, and wondering how it all connects, when I become aware of the sound of an engine behind me. The road leading up to the castle is narrow and bounded by hedges on either side so there not only isn’t a bike lane, there isn’t even a shoulder to scooch over onto. I slow down and inch over as far as I can, hoping the car will pass. Instead the engine sound gets louder and I turn to see who the dickhead is that’s riding my ass. The next thing I know I’m flying through the air. I have time to think,
Well, shit,
before I hit the hedge and everything goes black.

When I open my eyes I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to heaven, because Grayson Chandler is looking down at me.

He cups my face in his hands. “Jules? Jules, are you okay? Please say something.”

“You look really good in tights,” I say.

He looks confused for a second and then laughs. “If I didn’t suspect you have a head injury, I’d swear you were flirting with me, Juliet Verity.” He lets go of my face and straightens up. “Are you all right? You were totally lights-out just now.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “And so are you.” I smile at him dreamily.

“Uh, well, as much as I’d love to hang out by the side of the road with you, I think we’d better get you to a hospital.”

“I don’t like hospitals. They smell like misery and fish sticks.”

“Jules, I think we should get you checked out,” he says. “There’s a huge crack in your helmet.”

“Nah, I’m okay,” I say and I knock on my helmet for effect. “Ow.”

“I’m taking you to the ER. At the very least, you probably have a mild concussion.”

Grayson pulls me upright and slings my arm around his shoulder. “Can you make it to my car?”

“Nope. You should probably carry me nestled in your arms. Oops, did I say that out loud? Ooh, look at the pretty stars. My head hurts.”

Grayson pulls me against him and half carries me over to his car.

“This would be so much more romantic if you had a horse,” I say.

He turns me toward him and leans down to look into my eyes. I’m about to pucker up when he says, “Your pupils look okay, but you’re definitely dazed and confused.”

“Yes, definitely,” I say. “It’s the head injury talking. A nun would never say such things.”

He helps me into the passenger seat. “I’m going to grab your bike. Hang on a second.”

I lean my head against the seat back and try to clear my muddled brain while he loads my crumpled bike, and then we’re off.

“What happened?” he asks. “Did you hit a rock or something?”

“I don’t think so.” I play the scene over in my head. “I heard a car behind me and I looked back to see why they weren’t passing and the next thing I know I’m lying on the ground looking up at you.” I pause, remembering my tights comment. “Also, we should remember that I have a head injury and am not responsible for anything I might have said.”

“Duly noted, although I kind of like Head Injury Jules. Not that I actually want you to have a head injury. So, yeah, I saw your bike on the side of the road and pulled over. You must have just crashed. What did the car look like?”

“I don’t know. It happened so fast, I didn’t really get a look at it.”

“Are things always this dire with you?” he asks, and then he looks over at me and smiles and my insides go all melty again and I have to restrain myself from telling him that Head Injury Jules really wants to kiss him right now.

“It’s been kind of a crazy couple of days,” I say instead.
Do not think about how gorgeous he is. Think about the dead body. Or the fact that you are still wearing your bike helmet and probably look like a total doof. Do not think about the fact that you are alone in a car with Grayson Chandler and he is grinning at you like he’s thrilled you’re here. Focus on the fact that he has the sweetest, most perfect girlfriend in the world who has been nothing but kind to you even though almost everyone else at Lunevale High thinks you’re a freak.
“Where’s Bree?”

His smile disappears. “She got a ride home with Kaitlyn, her lady-in-waiting. She’s kind of upset with me right now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No,
I’m
sorry, Jules. If I had just given you a ride in the first place this wouldn’t have happened. Do you think it was an accident? Just someone being a dick or did they try to run you off the road on purpose?”

“I don’t know. Why would someone want to run me off the road?” And then I realize. The dead girl. I figured out who she is. What if someone was trying to shut me up? “The dead girl is Sarah Buckley, the wardrobe assistant,” I say. I want someone else to know.

“The dead girl? You mean the one you saw in the passageway? Really? It was Sarah? How do you know?”

“I saw a picture of her in the Great Wardrobe. I’m sure it’s her.”

“You don’t think it was a hallucination? Or some kind of, I don’t know…psychic thing?”

“No. She was real. I don’t hallucinate things. I mostly just have a blurting problem. Cami calls it Psychic Tourette’s Syndrome because I can’t control it. But it’s really not a very accurate description because only like ten percent of people with Tourette’s have a problem with blurting out inappropriate stuff, which is actually called coprolalia. But since I don’t know what else to call what I do, her description sort of stuck.” I’m babbling. I clamp my lips together and sneak a glance at Grayson.

He’s staring straight ahead but his forehead is all crumpled up like he’s struggling with a question on a calculus quiz. Or trying to figure out how to get me out of his car.

“Basically, I blurt out random stuff that usually makes no sense at the time, but is somehow important for me to say. At least, that’s the current theory,” I explain.

Grayson doesn’t say anything for the next couple of miles and I wish I could take back my revelation. Coprolalia? Did I really need to go there? Maybe I should remind him again that I have a head injury.

He finally looks over at me and says, “So you didn’t cheat on that math test in sixth grade?”

“Nope.” I can’t help but cringe when I remember how he looked at me that day. Like I was lower than the lowest lowly thing.

“Then how did you know the answers ahead of time?”

“I have no idea. And I only blurted out the answer to one of the questions so it’s not like I knew all of them.”

“You got suspended from school.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know about my PTS. You thought you were turning in a cheater. The sad thing is, all I wanted to do was ask you if you were interested in coming over to play Stormin’ Da Castle.”

“No way.” He laughs and shakes his head.

“Way. I’d been dying to ask you ever since you came to school in your Anybody Want a Peanut? T-shirt.”

“Wow, I had no idea you were a
Princess Bride
fan.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the greatest thing in the world. Except for a nice MLT.”

“A mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich?”

“Yeah, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe. They’re so perky, I love that.” I pause. “I feel compelled to say that I’m just quoting Miracle Max here. I don’t really like mutton. I actually think it tastes like wet wool.”

“Inconceivable!” Grayson says. “I wish I’d known about our shared love.”

I gulp and then realize he’s still talking about the movie. “My dad took me to a special showing for the twentieth anniversary. I was instantly smitten.”

“Me, too.” Grayson gives me a dimpled smile and I remember how instantly smitten I was the first time I saw him looking like an eleven-year-old Westley in his Fezzik T-shirt. And then he got older and instead of noticing what was on his T-shirts I started noticing what was under them, namely his legendary abs. Of course, he was madly in love with Bree Blair by then and had been avoiding me for years on account of the whole math test disaster.

“I should have realized. You were the only person who laughed when I read my
Morons
poem in Mrs. Keatley’s class. I thought it was hilarious.”

“It was hilarious. But you kind of had to know Vizzini.”

“You’re probably right. You have the best laugh ever, by the way.” Grayson is quiet again and then he says, “What’s a Hepplewhite, anyway?”

“What? Oh.” Oh God, the booger blurt. “It’s a style of furniture named after an English cabinetmaker.”

“Furniture? Interesting. I’ll let you know if I find any boogers. Although I have to admit, I’m not feeling very enthusiastic about the prospect.”

“Yeah, no. I can’t imagine how finding a booger depository is crucially important to your future. And somehow I don’t think it’s going to leave you madly impressed with my psychic skills.”

“You can’t…” He pauses. “I mean, you don’t know how to read minds or anything, do you?”

I laugh. “Nope. My talent is completely uncontrollable, as far as I can tell. Sometimes I know what I’m going to say right before I say it, but usually I’m just as surprised as everyone else.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I can’t have you going around reading my mind. That would be embarrassing.”

“For both of us, I’m sure,” I say and let out a hearty chuckle as if I find the idea amusing rather than terrifying. “You believe me about Sarah, right?”

“Of course. Why would you lie?”

“Did you know her? Sarah, I mean.”

“Not really, but I think she was friends with Bree.”

“Who isn’t friends with Bree?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“True,” he says and glances over at me. “Did you tell Hank?”

“No, besides Gran and Cami, you’re the only person I’ve told.”

We pull into the ER parking lot. “Let’s go get your head checked, Buttercup.”

I barely manage to restrain myself from saying, “As you wish.”