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Authors: Joyce Lavene,Jim

Wicked Weaves (7 page)

BOOK: Wicked Weaves
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The trick to basket weaving, which I was still trying to master, was holding everything together in your hands while you put it together with everything else. It sounds easy. It doesn’t even look hard when you see someone else do it. But you almost need three hands to pull it off.
I pulled up some longer pieces of grass, made them equal lengths, then plaited them together like a braid. I made several braids, then worked at putting them together with other long pieces of grass. Of course I didn’t have my bone and nothing to stitch with because the grass kept breaking. I guess that’s why Gullah women never used fescue to make baskets.
I looked up and noticed that I’d attracted a crowd around me. There were murmurs of how interesting it was to watch me and what a good idea it was for the county to hire a historical reenactor to sit outside the courthouse. I smiled and chatted with them, explaining that I was from Renaissance Faire Village. Some of them threw some coins and dollar bills into the billowing folds of my skirt.
This was all right! I’d never thought about taking my show on the road. Maybe I could make some money on the outside of the Village.
Just as I had those thoughts, an officer stopped to see why everyone was standing around. “Have you got a vendor’s permit?”
“No.” My crowd began to disperse. So much for making some extra money.
“You need a permit to sit outside and solicit money.”
“I wasn’t soliciting, Officer. I was working on my basket weaving and people were watching me. I didn’t realize they were throwing money.”
“That’s the worst excuse I’ve heard all day. Do you have a permit or not?”
I was about to tell him what I thought about his request when Chase came down the station stairs with Mary at his side. “Wait! There’s my lawyer!”
The officer waited there until Chase saw me. He explained why I couldn’t be there taking money from strangers under the guise of basket weaving. “If she’s gonna dress like that, she’s gonna raise a crowd. We can’t have that around the police station.”
“I understand, Officer. We’ve been looking for her all morning. Believe me, once we get her back to the hospital, she’ll be adequately sedated.” Chase looked at me significantly, and the officer looked, too.
“Okay. I understand. Keep a better eye on her next time. She’ll have to turn in that money.”
“That’s fine. Come on, Jessie. Let’s go home.” Chase’s voice was geared toward a two-year-old. He grabbed my arm, gave the cop the pitiful amount of money from my skirt, and hustled me out to where a silver car was parked.
As he opened the door, all I could think was,
You have a BMW?
“Next time just paint a big target on your skirt,” he growled as he pulled out into traffic.
“Chase, do you have money? I know you don’t work. Are you rich or something?” I knew I had more important things to think about, but I couldn’t get over my surprise. Who would’ve guessed Chase had a car at all? And if he had, who’d expect it to be something nice and not some ratty 1982 Dodge or something? This was a sweet new BMW.
“Could we talk about this later?” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. Mary was in the front seat beside him. She was sniffling a little, and I realized she was crying.
Okay. So sometimes you have to hit me in the head with a battle-ax to get my attention. “I’m sorry, Mary. Are you all right?”
“If you don’t mind someone threatening you and asking you why you murdered your husband, I’m fine.”
Did everyone have to have an attitude? I sighed and tried again. “I’m glad you were able to get us out, Chase. Now what?”
“Nothing right now. Neither one of you was charged with anything. You might be called on to testify if they ever figure out what happened and take someone to court. Mary is their prime suspect. Or as they call it, their person of interest. She had motive and, according to them, opportunity, which is only being disputed by your statement that you were with her, Jessie.”
“What does that mean, Chase?” Mary asked. “Will they come for me later?”
“It all depends. If they find something at the crime scene that points to you, they could bring you in and question you again.”
“Well, we know they won’t find her fingerprints on the basket weaving that killed Joshua. I think we established that it was my piece of crap weave that looked like hers.”
“Of course my fingerprints weren’t on that weave,” Mary threw back at me. “But my spit might be, and maybe some sweat. I guess that makes us
both
killers.”
“Take it easy, Mary.” Chase put his hand on hers where it lay on the seat between them. “We know you didn’t do it. We might have to come back a few times to get this settled. They’ll get tired of seeing you after a while and start looking for the real killer. Right now you’re just a convenient suspect.”
“Maybe we should nudge them in the right direction,” I added. “Maybe if we give them a few alternatives, they’ll leave Mary alone.”
“And how would we do that?” she asked. “You can’t accuse everyone in Renaissance Faire Village of killing my Joshua. No one knew him there. Why would anyone kill him?”
“Someone knew him and wanted him dead for some reason.” The rationality of it hit me after I said it, but it was true. “What about Abraham?”
“Who’s Abraham?” Chase turned on U.S. Highway 17 to go back out to the Village.
“He was there with Mary earlier today,” I explained after telling him
briefly
about Mary’s past.
She turned and glared at me. “That was told in confidence! You didn’t ask my permission to tell him.”
“Sorry. But I thought he should know, since he’s your lawyer and everything.” I was taking some serious grief over this whole thing, and I wasn’t sure why. I’d done all I could to help Mary. It seemed to me she could be a little grateful.
She didn’t apologize, and I didn’t push the matter. Chase shook his head. “About me being your lawyer: it worked okay for today, but you guys may need real criminal lawyers. Probably public defenders, if you’re actually accused of something.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had fantasized about Chase for so long and it was so close to being reality. Now my fantasy was turning into a big, hairy dust ball. “You mean you wouldn’t defend us in court?”
“I’m a consultant patent attorney. I couldn’t represent you in court. I’m not trained to do that.”
I searched through everything I knew about lawyers, which took about fifteen seconds. “So what does a patent attorney do?”
“We research patents for wealthy clients who want to buy them.”
“You’re not a criminal lawyer?”
“That’s what he said, child. You should learn to listen.” Mary nodded as she looked out the window.
“But you acted like one. The police must’ve thought you were one.”
“I watch TV. I loved Perry Mason when I was a kid.” Chase grinned at me in the rearview mirror. “But I was thinking of myself more like Matlock when I was in there today. You throw some legalese at someone, and they think you know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s just fine.” I vowed to use my brother Tony’s lance on Chase when we got back to the Village. What was he thinking, posing as a criminal lawyer when he was really nothing more than some rich guy’s flunky? Okay, it obviously paid well. And who knew Chase had a real job and a real profession of any kind. I was actually astounded. And totally excited.
Five
I realized I’d been a little too excited over finding out about Chase’s hidden, respectable side when I woke up in his bed the next morning.
He was gone, but the indentation of his head on the pillow next to mine said it all. I didn’t see a note, and I was embarrassed not to have woken up when he left. In my defense, it had been a hard day, and I sleep like the dead on a regular basis anyway.
But now it was morning. Chase lived in the dungeon located between the big tree swing and the Dutchman’s Stage. It was two-story, with a mock jail on the ground floor and his living quarters in the top.
There wasn’t time for me to pick up a new costume when we’d finally gotten back yesterday. Weeknights and Sunday, the Village closed at six p.m., staying open Friday and Saturday until ten. Except for the King’s Feast after the Village closed on Sundays. There was nothing open when we got back. Mary had walked back to Wicked Weaves, and I’d followed Chase to the dungeon. I think there was talk of him having a Corona or two sitting in his fridge, and I was incredibly thirsty.
I put my dirty costume back on, even though it made my skin crawl. It was early yet, according to the horse with the clock embedded in its side on Chase’s dresser. I walked around the small rooms looking at his stuff. I’d known him for a long time, but I felt like I didn’t really know him at all. Especially after last night.
He obviously liked horses. He had a collection of them scattered through his place. I looked at the suit he was wearing yesterday. It was still in a puddle of clothes I vaguely remembered taking off of him. Guess he forgot to take it back to Milton last night. I liked that idea. It meant he was focused on me.
My memory didn’t stop there, and I was sure it showed in my face when he walked back through the door a few minutes later. “Coffee? Cinnamon roll?” He grinned as he said it. Apparently there were no misgivings on
his
part about last night.
“I should go. I have to turn in my costume, and I don’t think Mary would be happy if I have to work with her as a strumpet or a fairy.” I tried to stalk by him without looking up, but Chase is a big guy with broad shoulders. I think that’s why they’d made him bailiff. He would’ve made a good bouncer.
“You promised me we weren’t going to go through this.” He put the cinnamon rolls and two cups of coffee on the dresser by the bed.
“Through what?” I tried my best to look completely unaffected by anything that had happened. I probably fell short, considering I couldn’t find one of my shoes, and my blouse was stained. And why is it there’s never a hairbrush when you need one? I’m not one of those pretty sleepers who can wake up looking like Miss America.
“Jessie, we both know this has been a long time coming.” He smiled and took my hand. “I’m surprised you held out this long.”
I snatched my hand back. “Held out how long?”
“
This
long. I mean, there’s you and me, and what happened between us last night was incredible. We were perfect together.”
I looked him over. “Would you say that’s a ten on your scale?”
Something in my tone must have seeped into his incredibly thick head. “I know we’re not going to do this. I know we can have something special together.”
“It was very special for last night, if you know what I mean.” I held my head up and swept my filthy linen skirt around toward the door. “I don’t know what I expected from you.”
“Can’t we talk about this?”
I grabbed a cup of coffee. “I have to get to work. Thanks for everything. I’m sure it was as wonderful for me as it was for you.”
I walked regally out the door, down the stairs, and out into the cobblestone street. I felt confident he’d come after me, and we’d work everything out. It
had
been a special night. Why did morning always have to screw things up?
And I was right. Only a minute later, Chase came out after me, calling my name. “Jessie, stop!”
I stopped. It was good to be right. A few Village idiots (and I mean that literally) watched us as they practiced telling each other stupid stories that didn’t make any sense and hitting each other in the head with rubber chickens.
“You forgot your shoes.” The offending slippers dangled on two of his fingers.
So much for working things out. I stalked back to him to snatch my slippers. But when I reached for them, he held them back. “What are you doing? Give me my shoes.”
He laughed. “Take them. You’re
so
bad.”
I couldn’t believe he was taunting me with my own shoes. “That’s really mature. I can see why I was so attracted to you.”
“You still have to come and get them.” He held them up and jiggled them around. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid to come get them?”
That was it. I launched myself at him, but he stepped out of the way, and I almost careened into one of the Lovely Laundry Ladies who washed clothes every day at the Village well. They laughed, and that made me angrier. “Chase, give me my shoes!”
“Come on, Jessie. Come get them.”
I ran after him through the Village as merchants and tavern keepers threw open their wooden shutters to greet the day. Servants and varlets were sweeping the cobblestones, while delicious aromas of roasting turkey legs and corn filled the air. A few minstrels were practicing before the crowd at the Village Square, while jesters pranced, bells ringing, laughing at the slow moving Green Man.
Chase was tall and a good runner, but I was tall, too, and faster. When I could reach him, I gave him a hard push that landed him in a pile of fresh hay that was ready to be fed to the camels and elephants later that morning. Unfortunately, the move threw me off balance, and I landed in the hay with him. I tried to grab my shoes and run, but Chase grabbed me instead and kissed me. It was a poignant reminder of last night.
BOOK: Wicked Weaves
2.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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