An Unthymely Death (21 page)

“And without that will,” Ruby put in, “the Teen Center won’t get the house.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t hear,” Mrs. Jordan said. She stood up. “You might just as well leave.”

“Sit down, Elvira,” Juliet said. “You can hear us perfectly well. And if you can’t, just turn up your hearing aid.”

Mrs. Jordan sat down. “This is a good neighborhood, full of decent people. We don’t want gangs of teenagers hanging around. It’s bad for property values.”

“I knew you were unhappy about the idea of the Teen Center moving in next door,” Juliet said sorrowfully. “But I had no idea you were so upset that you would steal Mr. Pennyroyal’s will.”

“I!” Behind her glasses, Mrs. Jordan’s eyes widened. One hand went to her throat. “How can you say that, Pastor Giles? Why, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Please don’t compound your theft with a lie, Elvira,” Juliet said quietly. “When you took the will, I was standing in the hall outside the library. I saw you open the desk drawer, take something out, and put it in your purse. Until China and Ruby told me where the originals were kept, I had no idea of the significance of what I’d seen. But now—” She held out her hand and said, in a clear, firm voice, “Give us the will. Both copies, please.”

 

 

It took a few months for the Pennyroyal Teen Center to open, because the will had to be probated and then Jackie, the board president, had to go before the city council and request a zoning variance. To everyone’s surprise, Mrs. Jordan—who had been the most vocal opponent of the idea—didn’t put in an appearance, and all of the people who came spoke on behalf of the Center. With no opposition, the variance was approved.

“I just don’t understand why Mrs. Jordan didn’t show up,” Jackie said in a mystified tone, as we walked out of the council chambers. “Without her, the whole thing was
easy!
”

Ruby and I traded glances. When Mrs. Jordan surrendered the wills, Ruby, Juliet, and I had agreed that it would be best to keep the whole thing quiet. After all, we’d found what we were looking for, and that was the most important thing.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“With a happy ending,” Ruby added.

Jackie looked from one of us to the other. “I get the feeling that the two of you uncovered some sort of plot when you began looking for that will.”

“I suppose you could call it that,” Ruby said, tossing her head nonchalantly in an imitation of Kinsey Milhone, the alphabetic private eye. “Let’s file this one under P.”

Jackie frowned. “I’m not sure I see—”

“P is for Pennyroyal,” Ruby said, with a dramatic flourish. “That’s a catchy title, don’t you think?”

I sighed. “If you’ve got to call it something, why don’t you just call it ‘The Pennyroyal Plot’?”

Ruby snapped her fingers. “That’s it, China! The Pennyroyal Plot.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Jackie said firmly. “I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Are you buying?” Ruby asked.

“Of course,” Jackie replied expansively. “In fact, this one is on the Teen Center. We’ll go anywhere you like.”

“Wonderful!” Ruby said. “In that case, let’s go to Thyme for Tea and see what’s left from lunch.” At my questioning glance, she shrugged. “Well, if Jackie’s going to spend the money on us anyway, she might as well put it into
our
cash register, don’t you think?”

“I guess I can’t disagree with you there,” I said.

A VIOLET DEATH

HEY, fairies!” Energetically, Ruby Wilcox waved both arms. “Come on, fairies, show your stuff! And don’t drag those wings, you’ll tear them!”

A dozen six-year-old fairies in pastel tulle with gold crowns and gauzy, gold-flecked wings pranced across the grass behind Ruby and up onto the stage. Ruby herself was dressed as Peter Pan, with her ginger-red hair frizzed all over her head. She and Mavina Miles, a plump, fussy Wendy in blue dress, white pinafore, and white stockings, were in charge of the fairies.

It was May Eve, that magical evening when all the fairies in the world come out to celebrate the return of the flowers. As Ruby had just told our own wide-eyed group: “The Little People dance all night long on May Eve, and if you’re very lucky you may catch a glimpse of one. You should never, never try to kidnap him, though, or steal his shadow, or you’ll regret it the rest of your life.” And then, as their eyes got bigger and bigger, she added, “The best thing to do is to leave a gift—a pretty seashell, something sweet to eat, or something glittery—under the oldest tree you can find, or beside a stream. But don’t leave anything that’s made of metal, for it might rob the Little People of their magical powers.”

I’m sure that all this sounds pretty weird to you. You’ll probably think we looked weird, too, since most of the grown-ups doing this gig were dressed up like various fictional characters—Peter Pan and Wendy, Alice, Peter Rabbit. I wasn’t exactly in costume, but I was wearing a Fairy Festival T-shirt and a circlet of rosemary on my head.

Weird or not, it’s all part of the annual May Fairy Festival, organized by the Myra Merryweather Herb Guild and held in the Pecan Springs Park on the weekend closest to May Day. On Friday night, the littlest fairies dance and the older children perform fairy-tale skits on the outdoor stage. On Saturday, there’s a Maypole, free art projects for kids, and booths where local craftspeople and vendors sell their wares. The Herb Guild sells refreshments and puts the money into its scholarship fund. The kids and their parents all have a great time playing make-believe.

By nine-thirty that Friday night, the party was over. The frazzled moms and dads had taken their sleepy fairies home, leaving Ruby and me and a half dozen other members of the Herb Guild to police our section of the park, picking up lost crowns and torn fairy wings and litter. Now that the lights were on and the magic had worn off, we all looked a little ridiculous in our costumes. Tired, too—and the festival wouldn’t be over until tomorrow.

“I need your expert opinion, China,” Mary Driscoll said, coming up with a plate of cookies. She was dressed as the Roman goddess Flora, with silk flowers sewn over a flowing gauzy tunic, and a honeysuckle circlet. “Tell me what you think of these,” she said, offering me one.

I munched. “Yum,” I said. “What’s this?”

“The recipe calls them Lemony Basil Cookies,” Mary replied, “but we’re calling them Faerie Blossom Cookies. Do you like them?”

“They’re great,” I said, filching another one. “Be sure and leave one under a big tree. The Little People will love you for it.”

Pansy Pride, the Herb Guild president, trotted up, carrying a plastic bag full of trash. Pansy’s Cinderella outfit was rumpled, her makeup was smeared, and she looked tired and cross. I couldn’t blame her. Herding an unruly flock of fairies all evening is enough to wear anybody out. “Okay,” she snapped, peering nearsightedly at Mary. “Whose idea was it?”

“Whose idea was what?” Ruby asked, joining us. She looked tired, too. Every year, those fairies seem to get a little harder to corral.

“Who decided to stage the make-believe murder beside the Maypole?” Pansy scowled. “Mavina and whoever else dreamed it up ought to be ashamed of themselves, considering that this is a children’s festival. The kids see enough violence on TV, without—”

“Make-believe murder?” I asked, surprised. “What are you talking about, Pansy?”

“I’m talking about Mavina Miles,” Pansy said. When we only stared at her blankly, she added, “Come on. I’ll show you.” We followed her to the grassy area of the park where, earlier that afternoon, we had erected the Maypole. A woman in a blue dress and white pinafore was lying facedown, a rusty stain between her shoulders.

Ruby gasped. “Pansy,” she whispered, “put your glasses on. That’s real blood!”

I knelt down and gently turned Mavina over, feeling for a pulse in her neck, hoping that she was still alive. But we had come too late. Her eyes were closed, her plump, round face was pale. In her hand, she was holding a crushed tussie mussie centered with a cluster of fragrant, dark-blue violets.

She was quite, quite dead.

 

 

It was midnight before I got home. McQuaid was sitting at the kitchen table with a book, a Lone Star longneck, and a grilled cheese sandwich. He glanced up at the clock when I walked in.

“A midnight revel with the Little People?” he asked, his dark eyes teasing.

“You might put it that way,” I replied wearily. I went to the cupboard, got out some of my favorite DreamyThyme tea, and turned on the fire under the kettle. “On the other hand, you might say that it was a late-night date with murder.”