Wicked Stitch (8 page)

B
efore going outside the merchants’ building, I went back to my booth and stored my purchases under the table.

“You made quite a haul,” Ted said.

“I actually showed great restraint and didn’t get half the things I wanted. And I
was
able to learn a few things about yesterday.” I told him that while few of the merchants had anything nice to say about Clara, most of them had seen her arguing with someone yesterday. “One of the people she was arguing with was Nellie.”

“And that never made it into Nellie’s statement,” he said. “Imagine.” He took out his cell phone. “Granted she was shocked and upset last night, but I’m still going to call Manu and let him know so he’ll be sure to bring that up when they question Nellie later today.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” I kissed his cheek. “I’m off to do more sleuthing.”

He grinned. “Don’t forget your purse.”

I held up my arm and showed him that the
dainty drawstring purse was hanging from my wrist. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you need me before then, call me.”

“I will.”

He was already talking with Manu when I left the merchants’ building.

As I walked out into the sunshine, I was happy we had such beautiful weather for the opening day of the festival. The first person I encountered as I began strolling through the fairgrounds was the lady falconer and Herodias.

“Hello!” I said. “Good morning, Herodias.”

The bird peered at me. I’m a dog person. I can tell what Angus is thinking . . . or at least I can
imagine
what he’s thinking. I had no clue whether this falcon was happy, unaffected either way, or wanting to rip my eyes out.

Her handler, however, was friendly today.

“Hi, there,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name yesterday.”

“I’m Marcy Singer,” I said. “I own the Seven-Year Stitch, and I have a booth set up in the merchants’ building.”

“Of course. Your shop is there on Main Street. I’m Amelia Banks.”

“Nice to meet you, Amelia. Do you do needlecrafts?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. I’ve never had enough patience for it. My mom does, though. I think she’s been in your shop a time or two. It has a memorable name—I like that.”

“Thank you. How’s Herodias today? Does the crowd bother her, or does she just take it in stride?”

“She’s pretty used to it by now,” said Amelia. “We go to a lot of these types of festivals, and we go to schools and nature centers . . . things like that. Where’s Angus?”

“I decided to leave him home this morning,” I said. “I thought the food and all the commotion might be a bit much for him to handle. We have a high fence around our backyard, and since the weather was so pretty today, I let him stay out there. He has the back porch, a swing—which he loves to lie on—and plenty of food, water, and toys.”

She laughed. “By the end of the day, I’ll probably wish I’d gone to your house to stay with him.”

“Me, too,” I said. “Incidentally, did you happen to see anyone else arguing with the lady with the rabbit yesterday, or did you notice anyone hanging around the merchants’ building who looked as if he or she didn’t belong there?”

“Not that I recall. Why?”

“Haven’t you heard? That woman was found strangled to death with the scarf she was knitting,” I said.

Amelia gasped. “Here? That happened
here
?”

I nodded. “I’m the one who found her. I didn’t realize she’d been murdered, though. I thought maybe she’d just had a heart attack and had fallen over or something, but I later heard it was murder. The woman manning the booth next to mine said
she thought it might have been a vagrant, so you and Herodias be careful.”

“We will. You, too.” Amelia looked distracted as she started walking away. “Talk with you later!”

“See ya!”

Well, she hadn’t appeared to know anything. But maybe if she picked up any information, she’d stop by the merchants’ building and share it with me. People were going to think me a terrible gossip when this was over, but how else was I going to help Ted find out who’d killed Clara? So far, the only viable suspect we had was Nellie . . . and frankly, I didn’t think she was all that viable.

I walked past archers who were shooting at their targets—away from the other Faire-goers, thank goodness. I spotted the juggler again. This time, he was tossing four balls of different sizes and colors. There was a large red one, a smaller blue one, a yellow one, and then the smallest, a green one.

“Hey, there! Hey, pretty one! Stop and talk with me!”

I turned, realizing the woman’s lilting voice was directed at me. “Hello.”

“Hello. I am Hecate, Queen of the Witches, goddess of magic and witchcraft.”

She was a lovely older woman with red hair and green eyes. In fact, it struck me that she faintly resembled the actress Agnes Moorehead, who was famous for her role as Endora in the sitcom
Bewitched
.

“Beware,” she told me. “That Macbeth has a
lean and hungry look about him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I haven’t met Macbeth yet, but I’ll certainly take your word for it,” I said. “Tales of his ambition precede him.”

“That they do.” She brought her hand around with a flourish and directed it toward a tent. “Won’t you come in and have my sisters tell your fortune?”

Okay, with that enigmatic expression, she looked a
lot
like Agnes Moorehead playing Endora.

I hesitated, and she gave a throaty laugh.

“Come, darling. Don’t you want to know what’s in store for you?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, with a nervous chuckle. “It depends on whether it’s good or bad.”

She arched a brow.

I suppose I
could
question the witches while I was having my fortune told.

“Okay,” I said.

“Fabulous. Step right this way.”

Hecate ushered me into the tent. “My sisters, we have a seeker.”

Three tables were set up inside the tent, each draped with an ornate fabric. The “sisters” sat in chairs behind the tables. My mind might have been playing tricks on me, but they looked enough like the actresses Jessica Lange, Angela Bassett, and Kathy Bates that they could’ve been their stunt doubles.

“These are the three witches from
Macbeth
that
chanted
double, double, toil and trouble
?” I asked. “I didn’t expect you guys to be so pretty.”

The one that looked like Jessica Lange threw her head back and laughed. “I like this one, Hecate. I’m glad you brought her to us.”

Hecate laughed, winked at her, and then left me alone with the witches.

“How does this work?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

“You start with me and pay Hecate on your way out,” said the one who resembled Angela Bassett. “Come on over and let me see your hands.”

I walked over to the table that was draped in black and gold velvet. There was a stool in front of the table, and I sat down.

“Place your hands on the table, please,” she said. “As a woman, palmistry of your right hand reveals what you were born with. Your left hand shows what you’ve accumulated, your potential, what
could
be.”

“All right.” I stared down at my hands, eager to hear what she saw in them.

“You have water hands. You’d be successful in some artistic endeavor . . . fashion or beauty, perhaps,” she said.

“I run an embroidery shop.”

She smiled but continued looking at my hands. “Your emotions are more important to you than reason. You often go with your heart and not your head.”

“Well, that’s true . . . although I
do
think I’m a reasonable person.”

“We have only five minutes,” she said.

In a nice way, she was telling me to hush and listen to what she was saying.

“I see love in your life. You’ve been hurt in the past, but now you’ve found a love greater than the one you had before.” She glanced up for confirmation.

I nodded.

“You are a lucky woman. This love . . . this passion . . . runs deep. You also have a life filled with adventure.” Her brow furrowed. “Some good adventures . . . some not so good.” She straightened. “Be careful, child. I think maybe you tend to meddle where you have no business sometimes. That can be dangerous.”

My eyes widened. “It’s—”

Faux Angela raised her hand. “Shhh. Tell us nothing yet. Go to my sisters and see what they have to say first.”

“All right.” This experience was starting to unnerve me and make me feel that my money could’ve been better spent on another ornate necklace or more essential oils.

“Come on and have a seat,” said the woman who reminded me of Jessica Lange.

I went over to her table. It was draped in blue and silver velvet. These women liked their velvet.

Faux Jessica placed a deck of cards in front of me. “Shuffle those and then remove three from the deck. Put them facedown in front of me.”

I did as she requested.

She watched my eyes as she turned the first
tarot card over. The picture on the front was of a woman in clerical garb.

“It’s the High Priestess,” she said. “This card signifies some mystery . . . and silence. The High Priestess is the guardian of secrets, so this card might mean that someone is trying desperately to keep something hidden.”

She flipped over the second card. “Interesting.”

There was a man on the card holding a wand.

“It’s the Magician,” she said. “He represents communication . . . and sometimes trickery. You should be careful who you trust.”

The final card was the Ten of Swords. It showed a man lying on his stomach with ten swords in his back.

Well,
that
can’t be good
.

I tried to read the expression on faux Jessica’s face, but it was unfathomable. I wouldn’t want to play poker with this woman . . . especially given the fact that every time I have a good hand, I squeal with delight. Fortunately, I only play with Ted.

“The Ten of Swords is a card representing betrayal, overthinking, or mental defeat,” said faux Jessica. “It’s a sign of conflict. Given these three cards, I’d say . . . well . . .” She gave an elegant shrug. “If I were you, I’d watch my back.”

I gulped. “Thanks.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t let those two freak you out!” called the Kathy Bates look-alike. “Come on over here and let me find your Life Path number.”

“After all this good news, I can hardly wait,” I
said, making my way to faux Kathy’s red-and-blue-velvet-draped table.

She laughed. “Now, really, was what they told you all that bad? You’ve learned you have a good man who loves you—but you already knew that—and that you’ve got some mystery and conflict in your life. Let me see what I can come up with.”

She asked me my birth date and promptly told me that my Life Path number was seven.

“One of the things your Life Path number says about you is that you enjoy piecing together intellectual puzzles,” said faux Kathy.

“Now tell us what’s weighing on your mind, child,” said faux Angela.

“It’s the death of that woman in the merchants’ building yesterday,” I said. “I’m the one who found her. Isn’t there any way you guys can tell me who killed her?”

Faux Jessica smiled. “I wish we could, but things are never that easy.”

“I can tell you one thing,” said faux Angela. “This was not a random act. That woman had many enemies.”

“I don’t want a murderer to go free,” I said. “And I don’t want people to blame me because I’m the one who found her body. I want to find the person responsible and bring him or her to justice.”

“That’s very noble,” said faux Kathy. “But be careful, sweetie. Make sure your risks and potential rewards outweigh any negative consequences.”

Faux Jessica nodded. “Be cautious and
judicious.” She tapped the Magician card. “Remember the trickster.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I will.”

I paid Hecate as I left, and she smiled and gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. I didn’t feel comforted in the least. I wanted to get back to Ted. I decided I’d get us some lunch and head back to my booth.

I walked to the food court and looked around at the various trucks, carts, and tents.

“Tinkerbell!”

I turned and smiled. “Captain Moe!”

I hurried over to his tent and hugged him fiercely.

After giving me a comforting hug, he held me slightly away from him and looked down at me. “Are you all right, Marcy?”

“I’m just on edge,” I said.

As he led me over to a couple of folding chairs in a deserted corner of the tent, he called out instructions to his two staffers to take care of everything for a minute.

We sat down and he took my hands.

“You’re trembling, Tink,” he said. “Let me get you a drink.”

“No. I’ll be fine,” I said. I told him about the encounter with Hecate and the three witches.

“It’s their job to foretell gloomy fortunes,” said Captain Moe. “It lends itself to the atmosphere building up to the play.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m the one who found Clara dead . . . and then Nellie had Ted thrown off
the case . . . and then these fortune-tellers basically told me to watch my back and that not everyone is who they claim to be.”

“Which is advice they could’ve given to
anyone
, Marcy. Think about it. You’re letting your emotions rule your head.”

I took a deep breath. “You’re right. But they told me I meddle in other people’s business and that I should be careful who to trust.”

“King Duncan trusted Macbeth. Remember?”

I nodded. “So you think it was just . . . an act?”

“Of course. If you’ll notice the fine print on the sign outside their tent, it says ‘For entertainment purposes only.’” He squeezed my hands. “You read more meaning into their interpretations because you have Clara’s death on your mind. My suggestion is to steer clear of the witches. Maybe
they’re
the ones you can’t trust.”

I smiled. “You’re a wise man, Captain Moe.”

“I’m just happy to see you smiling again.”

“If you want to make me positively delighted, then put some burgers on that grill for Ted and me,” I said.

I
went back to my booth and found Ted looking almost as frazzled as I felt. He’d obviously been running his hands through his hair. Seeing it that way made me want to do the same, but not necessarily out of frustration.

I placed the bag containing our food on the table. “Are you all right?” I carefully smoothed his hair back into place.

He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m great . . . maybe feeling a little like a fish out of water, but I’m trying to get the hang of things.”

“You don’t have to now. I’m back. And I think I’ve done all the exploring I care to do,” I said. “Let me go get us a couple of drinks and—”

“I’ll get those,” he interrupted. “It’ll be my pleasure. Is water okay?”

“Water will be great. Thank you,” I said with a grin.

He walked away from the booth, and I moved the bag to the corner of the table until he returned. I wondered what kinds of aggravation he’d
endured while in charge of the booth. The prices for everything were clearly marked, unlike the merchandise in some of the other booths I’d visited, so I couldn’t imagine there’d be a dispute over cost . . . unless someone had wanted to haggle. I’d heard that some people liked to haggle the way they supposedly had at medieval marketplaces. Everything was still neatly arranged, just as it had been when I’d left.

Ted returned and set two bottles of water on the table. “Why are you looking so perplexed?” he asked.

“I’m simply wondering what made you so uncomfortable while I was gone,” I said.

“Oh, it was nothing.”

At my urging, he finally related the tale of two elderly, hard-of-hearing ladies who’d come by and asked Ted about every item in the booth. First, they wanted him to tell them what he knew about blackwork. The extent of Ted’s knowledge was that it was embroidery done with black thread. They wanted to know if blackwork had been popular during the Renaissance era. Ted, figuring the blackwork class wouldn’t be so popular and that I wouldn’t have so much of it for sale in my booth had it
not
been, had told the ladies that indeed it had been outrageously popular.

“When they began questioning me about motifs, I asked them to please come back by in about half an hour when you’d be here,” he said.

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“About an hour ago.”

I giggled. “You’re wonderful . . . and I truly do appreciate your holding the fort for me.”

“Now, what about you?” he asked. “I thought you’d come back here bursting with tales of all the fun you’d had. I figured you’d be spouting Old English to the point that I wouldn’t be able to understand thee a whit.”

“Yeah . . . well . . .” I opened the bag, took out the burgers, and handed Ted his. “These were made by Captain Moe, so that’s a plus . . . maybe two or three pluses.”

“So give me the minuses.”

I told him about Hecate and the three witches of
Macbeth
. “I realize it was only for fun and that they’re probably being spooky when predicting everyone’s future, but that entire episode made me feel off-kilter. Especially the part where faux Jessica told me I should watch my back.”

“I can understand that.”

“I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m on edge over finding Clara”—I lowered my voice—“and the fact that she was murdered.” I unwrapped my burger before looking up at him. “Will Manu be interviewing me again?” He’d questioned me briefly before I’d left last night, and, of course, I’d already told Ted everything I knew.

“More than likely,” Ted said. “He’ll need to make sure you didn’t forget anything when you gave him your statement last night . . . see if there’s something else you might’ve remembered . . . that sort of thing.”

“Right . . . because until the killer has been
found, as the person who found the body, I’m still a suspect.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Time of death should put you in the clear.”

“Really? Or are you just telling me that to make me feel better?” I asked.

He bit into his burger and then held up his index finger to let me know he couldn’t answer with his mouth full.

“Hmmm . . . well played, detective,” I said. “When I talk with Manu, I should probably stick to the facts and not mention the gossip I heard while out exploring the festival, right?”

He swallowed. “Absolutely right. You should spill the gossip to me, and let’s see what we can make of it.”

“I didn’t hear much,” I said. “I asked around to see if anyone had seen anybody lurking near the merchants’ building that looked like he or she didn’t belong there or might be up to something, but no one noticed anything. The witch faux Angela did say this was no random act of violence . . . that Clara knew her killer. But then, that, too, could have been merely some drama to add to the witches’ flair.”

“I’m inclined to agree with her, though. I mean, it’s an understandable observation,” he said. “The killer strangled Clara and then left.”

“Someone had to have seen
something
, Ted. A person can’t just come into a crowded festival, kill a woman, and then leave without a trace.”

“The festival wasn’t so crowded last night. And
sometimes crowds are the easiest places in which to disappear.”

We fell silent as some Faire-goers—not the two ladies who’d been by earlier with all the questions for Ted—came and bought some collars and cuffs from me. Once they left, we finished our burgers.

“We’re too late for lunch, Paul,” said Vera, as she and Paul approached our booth.

I wiped my mouth on a napkin. “You guys look adorable!”

“Thank you!” Vera twirled so I could further admire her gold brocade dress. The matching Tudor French hood had a white tulle veil that flowed out behind it.

“You’re positively elegant,” I told Vera. I turned to Paul. “And you . . .”

Vera hadn’t been kidding about that blousy orange surcoat with the huge white ruffled collar. He also wore a floppy hat and carried a lute.

“You’re quite the minstrel,” I finished.

He swept the floppy hat off and bowed. “Thank you, m’lady!”

“Might you play us a tune?” Ted asked.

“Maybe later,” said Paul. “I’m here mainly as a reporter rather than a troubadour.” He lowered his voice. “Especially given the events of yesterday evening.”

Vera jerked her thumb toward the booth beside mine. “What’s with the old nun? Is she a friend of Nellie’s?”

“She’s a festival volunteer,” I said. “Her story to me was that Nellie was under the weather. I’m
guessing the fairgrounds committee is trying to keep the death hush-hush for fear that it will scare people away.”

“If anything, it would do just the opposite,” said Vera. “People can be gruesome. The festival would probably have a big bump in attendance from rubbernecks who wanted to see where someone died.”

“That’s true,” Ted said. “What’s your take on everything, Paul?”

“If it’s the committee’s hope to keep Clara’s murder under wraps, they’re out of luck,” he said.

Ted jerked his head backward, indicating that Vera and Paul should come deeper into the booth so the four of us could talk with less fear of being overheard.

I stood and we went to the back corner of the side where Clara’s booth was located. We knew no one would be shopping in there.

“Why do you say that?” Ted asked Paul.

“Of course you know the coroner is finishing up the autopsy today and that every reporter in Tallulah Falls County is going to want the details—including yours truly.”

“Actually, I’m currently out of the loop on this one,” said Ted. “Nellie Davis had me removed from the case.”

Vera gasped. “That old shrew! Why would she do such a thing?” She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe she had something to do with her sister’s death, and she knows that if you’re on the case, you’ll find it out.”

“The lady in the jewelry booth told me she saw Nellie and Clara arguing yesterday,” I said.

“I haven’t been to her booth yet,” said Vera. “I came directly to yours. Does she have some pretty pieces?”

“She does.” I placed my hands on my collarbones to draw her attention to my choker. “I bought this from her. I’m going to send Mom her information.”

“Ooh, that’s lovely. And it matches your dress perfectly. Paul, we have to go there next.”

“Of course, dear,” said Paul. “Is there any way you can override Nellie and get back on the case, Ted?”

“Not as things stand right now,” said Ted. “But I’m still unofficially looking into things. And I know you well enough to guess that you are, too.”

Paul smiled. “Absolutely.”

“What have you found out about Clara so far?” Ted asked.

“She was widowed about six months ago,” said Paul. “She has two children and four stepchildren. I get the feeling that she and the stepchildren don’t get along very well.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because she was Clara,” said Vera. “You’d met the woman.”

“True,” said Paul. “But she and the stepchildren were at odds over the fact that Clara—who’d only been married to their father for two years—was appointed the administrator of his estate. She’d been fairly lenient in the disbursement of funds to
her own children, but she wasn’t as generous with her husband’s brood.”

“That figures,” Vera said. “And the man wasn’t even the father to Clara’s children.” She shook her head.

“How do you plan to write this up?” I asked Paul.

“Well, naturally, I won’t mention her history with her stepchildren because I imagine Manu is looking into their alibis and things of that nature,” he said. “And while I’ll mention that she’d recently opened a shop in Tallulah Falls, I certainly won’t comment on its similarity to your shop, Marcy. That sort of thing is fodder for a tabloid, not a respected newspaper, eh?”

We agreed that he was correct.

“I imagine the article will be brief. I’ll state that she was a widow who’d recently started a business called Knitted and Needled in town, that she was the sister to Nellie Davis, owner of Scentsibilities, and that she is believed to have been murdered here in her booth at the Renaissance Faire.”

“‘Believed to have been’?” I echoed.

“Of course. There’s always the possibility she was murdered elsewhere and moved here, isn’t there?” he asked.

“I suppose,” I said.

Ted gave his head just the slightest of shakes, and I had to admit that when I found Clara, I thought perhaps she’d gotten that scarf hung up in the rocking chair and accidentally strangled
herself. I didn’t believe she’d been killed at another location.

“I’ll have to wait and see what the coroner thinks about that,” said Paul. “Vera, darling, would you like to go on to the jewelry booth now?” He looked at Ted and me. “We’ll be back along shortly to let you know what we turn up.”

They headed out, and Ted and I remained where we were.

“I
know
she was killed here,” I said. “And I know that someone is bound to have seen something.”

“I agree with you, Inch-High. But Paul is being thorough . . . and that’s good.”

“It is. You know what, though? I don’t think he realizes I’m the one who found Clara’s body.”

“I don’t think he does, either,” said Ted. “Despite his not wanting to sound like a tabloid reporter, I’m afraid he’d jump on that tidbit if he knew of it. I mean, I trust Paul. I think he’s a good guy and all . . . but the fact that Clara’s rival is the one who found her body might be too juicy to ignore.”

I went back to the table and got a drink of my water.

Nellie Davis walked past my booth and into her own. I was glad I’d put all my purchases—especially the ones I’d gotten from her booth—under the table.

I started to speak to her, but she didn’t even glance in my direction. She stared straight ahead as she passed.

As unobtrusively as possible, I slid to the left, hoping to hear what Nellie might be saying to Sister Mary Alice.

Ted came up behind me and placed his hands on my waist. I started at his touch.

He suppressed his laughter as I glared at him.

I nodded in the direction of Nellie’s booth.

“I know,” he whispered. “I saw her.”

“I want to know what they’re saying,” I said.

We were both quiet and straining our ears, but although we could hear sounds, we couldn’t make out either woman’s words.

“I could just happen to wander into the booth,” I said.

Ted shook his head gently. “Wait to see whether Nellie leaves. Maybe you can speak with her yourself, or maybe you can go talk with Sister Mary Alice afterward.”

“You’re right. I don’t want to be rude . . . I just want to know what’s going on.”

He placed his fingertip on my nose.

“I might be nosy,” I said. “But we need to know what happened to Clara.”

“Even if Nellie did it, I doubt she’s confessing her sins to the nun . . . who isn’t really a nun,” Ted pointed out.

“I know. This is just frustrating.”

At that moment, Nellie came out of the booth. Ted and I quickly began looking at some patterns.

She stopped, turned, and stepped inside my stall. When she spoke, her voice was low and ragged. “My sister’s death will be avenged.”

“I hope it will be,” I said.

Nellie merely turned and left without another word.

“Still want to go over and speak with Sister Mary Alice?” asked Ted.

“No, I believe we’re pretty clear on what Nellie’s thinking. She’s convinced that one of us killed her sister . . . and I’m fairly certain she thinks I’m the one.”

Faux Jessica’s voice came to mind:
Watch your back
.