I was wondering why she wasn’t screaming and running all over the Village looking for me. She had to know that I was the one who’d put the blue dye-pack in her shower head.

I swear it was non-toxic. It was just a prank—the best prank
ever
—but it shouldn’t have killed her.

Was anyone going to believe me?

I studied Wanda again. She was half-in and half-out of the shower. There was a long red gash that looked like a knife, or sword wound, in the center of her chest. Blood was everywhere. I guessed that her attacker must have surprised her as she was getting out of the shower.

Her eyes were still open—those cold, baleful eyes that had driven me crazy the last few years.

Wanda had been the Village nurse, but a meaner, nastier person would be hard to imagine. And it wasn’t only me. She seemed to have it in for everyone.

Now it seemed someone had it in for her too.

Pat Snyder, who played William Shakespeare every hour from ten a.m. to six p.m. on the Village Green, peeked around the open door to the cottage.

“Well?” he whispered. “Is she blue? Where is she? Why haven’t I heard her cursing you?”

“There’s a slight problem. She’s dead.”

He crept into the bedroom and stared at Wanda’s body for a minute while he absently stroked his triangle-shaped beard. It was a pose he assumed quite often as Shakespeare. “This is bad, Jessie. This is
very
bad.”

“You don’t have to tell
me
. I’m the one who dyed her blue! Who do you think they’re going to accuse of killing her?”

“Definitely a
bad
business. You should call the Bailiff, or the police.”

“I thought of that.” He was no help at all.

“I have to go. The Main Gate is open.” He made his excuses. “Visitors will want to see me.”

With that, he was gone.

Big surprise.
No one wanted to be around Wanda when she was alive. Dead, she was even less desirable as a companion.

Shakespeare was her ex-husband. I’d told him, and a few others, about my prank. That could make them all accomplices.

Standing there with Wanda’s dead body made me shiver. It was a terrible death, even though I hadn’t liked her. Something about the helplessness of this poor, blue woman in her shower made me realize that she was more than simply evil Wanda Le Fey. She was a victim.

A victim whose killer the police would be looking for shortly. I needed to get out of there!

A white space on her wrist caught my attention. I recognized it as the place she’d usually worn a leather bracelet with a remarkable turquoise-colored stone set in it. I’d always admired it.

I glanced carefully around the bathroom. There was no sign of the bracelet. Yet she had to be wearing it when the dye dropped on her in the shower, or her wrist would be blue too. The showerhead still dripped blue dye.

Curious.

“Jessie?”

I almost jumped out of my skin when Chase Manhattan—Bailiff, Protector of the Village, and my fiancée—called my name. Far worse, I put my hand out and made a big print on the glass shower door.

I was going to pay for that!

“What are you
doing
?” He glanced at Wanda’s body. “What happened? I thought you were dying her blue. Did she have some kind of allergic reaction to the dye?”

“Not unless that reaction included a big knife being stuck in her chest.” I pointed at the knife wound without moving closer. “I came to see why she wasn’t on the cobblestones, shouting for me. The front door was open. I found her like this.”

Chase went over and put his finger on Wanda’s throat. “No pulse. She’s cold too. She’s been dead for a while. I have to call the police. Don’t touch anything else. We’ll wait outside until Detective Almond gets here.”

“Okay.” I put my hands in the pockets of my long blue skirt. It was meant to mock Wanda’s embarrassment at being blue. It should’ve been the best prank in the world. Instead, it was beginning to look like the prank may have backfired on me.

Chase called the police. We went outside and he hugged me, mussing my short, straight brown hair. “Everything is going to be okay. It was supposed to be a joke. The other part has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m not sure Detective Almond is going to see it that way.”

Chase looked more like a pirate than the Village equivalent of a police officer. He was six-foot-eight, two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle wrapped in a leather vest and britches. He wore his long, brown hair in a single braid and had a gold earring in one ear.

He was the chief of security for the Village. The Ren Faire could get a little wild sometimes, with 10,000 people a day passing through our Main Gate.

“Even
he
won’t think you killed Wanda,” he said. “He knows about the pranks that go on here all the time.”

“He also knows that Wanda and I hated each other. He’s gonna like me for her murder.”

“You watch too much TV, Jessie. Detective Almond will look at all the evidence as it comes in and come to a logical conclusion, like he always does.”

I wasn’t as convinced of that fact as Chase was, but that was a basic difference between us. Chase always looked for the best in people. I always looked for ways to survive around them.

I knew Detective Almond was going to think I killed Wanda. My best defense was trying to figure out who had
actually
killed her.

I had no idea where to start. Even though I couldn’t think of anyone who
liked
Wanda, I couldn’t think of anyone who disliked her enough to kill her either.

“I have a dress fitting, and I’m expecting my loom today for the museum.” I glanced at my wrist, forgetting momentarily that my watch was at our home in the Dungeon.

Those of us who work at the Village—shopkeepers and actors— weren’t allowed to wear modern watches or carry cell phones while we were working. The Village was supposed to represent a true Renaissance experience.

I could argue with some of what Adventureland, our parent company, considered ‘true’ Renaissance, but that was another story.

“I think you should be here if you want to make a good impression on Detective Almond,” Chase said. “It’s only going to make him cranky if he has to look for you. You know he hates walking around the Village.”

I didn’t want to tell Chase that I had an awful feeling that Detective Almond would arrest me on the spot as soon as he heard the circumstances of Wanda’s death. The only chance I had was to find her killer—before he could lock me up and throw away the key.

Chapter Two

Chase and I were getting married in about a month. Despite his belief that I should wait there for Detective Almond, he also knew it could take a while for him to get there. The police didn’t like coming out to the Village. They called it ‘the crazy place’. That was why they had trained Chase to take care of things.

Playing on my need to go to another fitting for my wedding gown—what sane bridegroom-to-be would deny that?—I promised to come back to Wanda’s cottage as soon as he sent one of his security people for me. He kissed me and let me go.

I didn’t want to lie to Chase, and technically, I hadn’t. I
was
supposed try on my wedding dress again that day at Stylish Frocks, the shop that made all the costumes for the Village. But knowing my time was limited, I went to find Shakespeare instead. I figured if anyone knew who’d killed Wanda, it would be him.

Also, I couldn’t quite cross him off of my suspect list. He’d hated Wanda too. Maybe when he’d found out about my prank, he thought it would be a perfect time to kill Wanda and blame it on me.

I liked Shakespeare. I didn’t want to think he could kill anyone, but I knew that I didn’t kill her.

Minstrels and flower girls were lining up at the Main Gate to welcome our visitors. There would be music and flower petals for at least the first few hundred people at ten a.m. After that, jugglers would trade places with minstrels, and Robin Hood and a few of his Merry Men would indulge in a little swordplay. The day would pass with everyone taking a turn at the gate.

By closing time, there would have been fools, knaves, and varlets waving goodbye to the last visitors and bidding them return soon. We needed them if we wanted to continue our crazy existence.

I knew Shakespeare would be at his place at the podium on the Village Green. He’d be writing an ode with a big quill pen to some pretty girl in a tight, overly-filled bodice. He’d spout poetry and snippets from Shakespeare’s plays. He was very good at his role.

But he wasn’t at his stone podium when I got there. Mother Goose hadn’t seen him, and neither had King Arthur, who was on his way to take the sword from the stone.

Shakespeare was probably afraid the police would want to question him. I didn’t blame him. Nearly everyone in the Village had secrets they didn’t want dragged out in the open.

I was scared too, even though I didn’t have any secrets that would interest anyone. The idea of being in jail on my wedding day wasn’t very appealing.

It wasn’t a large village, and I knew where he lived. The sooner I spoke with him about Wanda’s death, the better for both of us. It’s not good to be uninformed when talking to the police.

“There you are, Lady Jessie.” My assistant, Manawydan Argall, bowed to me. “I’m afraid the ruffians who have delivered the loom won’t allow me to sign for it.”

Manawydan (I called him Manny) was fresh out of college with a degree in the arts. He was a short, African-American man with neatly trimmed hair and large glasses. He was always punctual, always knowledgeable, and a snappy dresser besides. His clothes were Victorian rather than Renaissance, but he always looked nice. And he smelled wonderful— like flowers, sunshine, and fresh air.

I was the director of the museum that would feature arts and crafts from the Renaissance. My brand new Ph.D. was in historic arts and crafts, with my dissertation being the Proliferation of Medieval Crafts in Modern Times. I’d studied and apprenticed with almost every craftsman in the Village. I’d made baskets, arrows, hats, glassware and swords.

It was still hard to believe that I had a full-time job working at the Village. I didn’t have to teach history classes at the University of South Carolina anymore. I could be with Chase all the time. It didn’t get much better than that.

The vertical loom was one of the centerpieces of our new exhibit about tapestry making. It was from Pennsylvania and had been used in the early 1700s. It was made of rough-hewn lumber and would have cost the Village a fortune, but the owner was letting us borrow it. He would also be there for our grand opening where he would be weaving for the visitors.

My hunt for Shakespeare would have to wait. “I’ll sign for it. Let’s get this over with.”

I thought my size twelve feet and long legs would leave Manny in the dust, but he kept up without breaking a sweat. We ate up the space between Shakespeare’s podium and the manor houses near the gate at Squire’s Lane.

The first visitor through the Main Gate was wearing a gorilla suit. Dressing up in Renaissance style meant different things to different people. Behind him was a high-born lady in a beautiful purple gown with a silver girdle. She was with a knight in full armor.

That
was going to get a little hot by the end of the day.

Most people were in Myrtle Beach on vacation when they visited us. They wore what we call street clothes—shorts, jeans, bikini tops, and T-shirts. Some of their sandals could be considered authentic Ren Faire gear. That was about it. Many bought or rented costumes while they were at the Village. It wasn’t necessary to dress the part to have a good time, but I thought it helped get into the spirit.

Other books

[Wexford 01] From Doon & Death by Ruth Rendell

THE RISK OF LOVE AND MAGIC by Patricia Rice

What Endures by Katie Lee

Jae's Assignment by Bernice Layton

The Listeners by Monica Dickens

Making the Cut by Anne Malcom

Body Shot (Tapped Out) by Cari Quinn

Bloodmoney by David Ignatius

Jinx by Meg Cabot

La colina de las piedras blancas by José Luis Gil Soto