“It never occurred to you that he might be looking for me?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I misjudged Carlton. We were grad students, caught up in our cleverness as we ruthlessly shredded authors for their shallow insights and lack of literary merit. It was a departmental pastime to deconstruct books and disparage them for such trivial concepts as plot. We fueled ourselves with cheap red wine and moldy cheese. When our friends started getting married, so did we. Once we landed here in Farberville, isolated and forced to rely on each other, we began to see the folly of it. I got pregnant, and Carlton looked for adulation from his students. Gratuities for grades, so to speak.” I stood up and went to the window to breathe in some fresh air. “What I just said was not an excuse. I knew what I was doing, although even at the time I was already having misgivings.” I gave myself a minute to recover from admitting frailty, which is not among my favorite activities, and to think how best to continue. “To contemplate for even one second that you might be Edward’s father would mean that I am totally incapable of judging character.”
“So basically it was about you, not me or Edward or Caron or any of the other players?” Peter said.
“I did not wish to precipitate the decline of civilization as we know it,” I said. “If we can’t trust a bookseller to carry forward the beacon of enlightenment, we might as well rely on cable reality shows.” I waited to see if he wished to argue the point, but he seemed to be at a loss how best to refute my remark. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, you can understand why I was reluctant to discuss it with Jorgeson. We really should look into the timing of all this. I’m not sure how Edward’s paternity issue fits in, but it’s hard to dismiss it as coincidental. He was singing his ballad when Salvador’s body was discovered. Very peculiar, don’t you agree?”
“ We
won’t look into anything. All
you
need to do is give a detailed and precise statement that includes all these tidbits you failed to mention. One of the officers will meet you in the interview room and keep you supplied with sharpened pencils. After you’re done, someone will take you back to the bookstore so that you can snatch up the beacon and carry it forward. I have an appointment with the captain in ten minutes, and I need to organize these reports.”
“Shall I cancel our dinner reservations?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll call you later.”
I went around the desk and reaffirmed my faith in his character, then trooped down the hall to the interview room. The next two hours were tedious and unworthy of further description.
The officer who drove me back to the store had agreed to a small detour by the newsstand, and I was working on the
Sunday New York Times
crossword puzzle when Anderson Peru came inside. He was carrying a purse, which I found rather unnerving until I recognized it as mine. As he dropped it on the counter, I glanced up and said, “Do you know a seven-letter word for a medieval scourge?”
“See if ‘Clarissa’ fits,” he said sourly.
“That’s eight letters. Should I be honored by your unexpected visit, or alarmed?”
Anderson grimaced. “Neither. All I want to know is what the hell is going on. The police made it clear that Salvador was killed yesterday afternoon. How could that happen when all those people were wandering around the site? The archery range was away from the tents and stalls because of safety concerns, but it wasn’t in a remote corner of the pasture. Salvador knew what he was doing— he’d done it dozens of times. We all have.”
“He wasn’t shot with an arrow,” I said.
“No, he wasn’t.” Anderson looked around the store. “Is there somewhere we can sit down? I didn’t get any sleep last night. The police questioned everybody at the house, and then had me give them a tour of the fairgrounds. It looked like a video game version of a ghost town. I kept thinking Benny was going to spring out from behind a stall and attack me with his sword. By the time I was allowed to go back to the house, I was too freaked out to try to sleep. You seem to have some sort of connection with the detectives, Claire. What happened? Who killed Salvador?”
Anderson looked worse than Peter. His hair was unkempt and he hadn’t shaved. His regal finery had been replaced with torn jeans and an unironed shirt. It was obvious, even from a distance, that he’d unwound with whiskey into the early hours of the morning. The Duke of Glenbarrens was less than impressive.
I suggested coffee in my office. As he settled himself with a groan, I said, “What about the battle-ax? Was it Salvador’s?”
“Benny’s,” he muttered. “He had it earlier, but he stashed it in the prop box at the Royal Pavilion when he went took off his armor after the preliminary rounds. He doesn’t remember seeing the ax when he retrieved his armor for the final battle. That’s understandable, since the box had all of the jester’s toys, as well as my armor and oddments of garb, and, as always, the Threets’ lunch basket.”
“William and Glynnis don’t partake of the turkey legs and ale?”
“They prefer chicken salad sandwiches and martinis,” Anderson said, rolling his eyes in the same way Caron did when particularly vexed. “Anyway, I didn’t notice the ax when I took out my armor just before four o’clock, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was ... I guess you’d say I was distracted. The box is supposed to be padlocked to prevent theft. It wasn’t, though, because all of us needed access throughout the day. Benny admits it was a dumb mistake not to take the ax to the house, but he said he was tired of lugging it around with him. Mine cost more than a hundred dollars, and I keep it locked in a closet most of the time. If my kids ever got their hands on it, they’d hack up all the furniture and make a bonfire.”
“He must be feeling pretty bad about leaving the ax where anyone could take it.”
Anderson accepted a mug of coffee and leaned back in the chair. “I can assure you that he’s feeling bad. As soon as we got to the house, he headed for the liquor cabinet. The detectives were not pleased when they arrived to question us and found Benny sprawled on the sofa, watching a movie on the VCR and doing a steady critique of the dialogue and characters. It was one of the kids’ movies, animated. Benny found it as fascinating as a documentary by Jacques Cousteau.”
“Oh, dear,” I said as I sat down. “He has a serious drinking problem, doesn’t he? Has he acknowledged it?”
“It’s not as bad as it appears. When he’s away on a project, he’s a fantastic engineer, and in a crisis, he’s the first person they call. He’s so intelligent that it’s frightening. When he gets home, he indulges himself to the extreme. He really is a Viking at heart, even when he’s wearing a hard hat and supervising the construction of a bridge or an oil rig in the Middle East.”
“A lusty Viking, from what I’ve seen,” I said tactfully.
“If you’re referring to his purported affair with Lanya, you can forget about it. You’ve seen her. She has the sex appeal of a turnip— make that an organic turnip from her garden. Benny chases college girls, and has remarkable success. Did Salvador say something to you about it?”
I almost choked on a swallow of coffee. “Obliquely. I am not unobservant, Anderson. There’s more to your fiefdom than devotion to the study of the Renaissance.”
“You have an active imagination, Lady Clarissa. You really should send in an application to the central office and get a membership card. You might enjoy making tapestries of lovesick virgins and valiant knights astride stallions.”
“I’ll put that on my to-do list, right below self-flagellation. Benny himself told me about his relationship with Lanya when the three of you were in college. Was he lying?”
Anderson’s forehead creased with annoyance. “That was twenty years ago. After we graduated, Benny went on for another degree and Lanya and I lived in a couple of places before settling here. Benny’s company is headquartered in Chicago. He didn’t like the weather, so he moved here. When he’s not overseeing a project, he uses his computer to communicate with his department. They’re content to keep him several hundred miles away from the men in suits. As for Lanya, she was delighted when Benny decided to live here. He flatters her with his avowals of undying adoration and pretends she’s still sexy and desirable. They’re not having an affair, though. Benny’s not that desperate.”
I wasn’t as convinced as he was, but I couldn’t see what it had to do with Salvador’s murder so I let it go. “Were you surprised by Edward’s ballad?”
“In a way,” said Anderson, relaxing. “Salvador seemed adept at avoiding sticky relationships. For some reason, women found him attractive. I thought he looked like he’d just recovered from a life-threatening disease. If I were a woman, I’d be afraid I’d catch something from him. But he’d always show up at parties and ARSE events with a new one gazing at him like he was friggin’ Zeus.”
“So you believed it?”
“Why not? Men make mistakes when they’re young. Look at me—father of four, married to a woman obsessed with bees and herbal teas. She makes soap. Do you know how much a bar of soap costs at the grocery store? Lanya prefers to spend a whole day in the kitchen, stirring a pot of lye, ashes, and who knows what else. She’d build a generator out of scrap metal if she knew how to do it. It’s ridiculous. As for Salvador, I think it’s credible that he got some woman pregnant and abandoned her. He played the role of a sensitive artist, but he was pure ice inside. A manipulator with no conscience to slow him down.”
“You don’t sound as though you were fond of him,” I said, wondering if Anderson realized he shared those traits as well. Birth control has been readily available for decades, yet he blamed Lanya for their offspring. He hadn’t abandoned her outright, but he had no sympathy for her daily grind at the farmhouse. He worked off his anger at the battle arena, and his sexual frustration at his office in the evenings. I shuddered as I remembered his reference to my late hours at the Book Depot.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Would you like some more coffee?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Lanya seemed upset last night. Is she better today?”
Anderson shrugged. “I don’t know. After she finished with the detectives last night, she locked herself in the front bedroom. She was still there this morning. I made a call to make sure the children can stay with their friends for another day or two, then left. Fiona and Julius are at the fair site, supervising the removal of the tents, trash bins, picnic tables, and all that. I didn’t want to talk to them, so I came into town to drop off your purse and see what I could find out about the murder investigation. What’s your connection with the police, Claire? You took charge last night as if you were used to this sort of thing, and then you were allowed to leave without answering interminable questions at the house until two o’clock in the morning. One of the detectives winced every time your name was mentioned. Are you out on parole?”
“It’s more like probation,” I murmured. “Don’t you think you should go home and check on Lanya?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” He stood up and looked at me. “I’m puzzled about you. If ARSE were doing anything remotely illegal, I’d suspect you of being an undercover government agent. Regrettably, we’re too disorganized to engage in subterfuge. We’re barely able to pull off a potluck. Your superiors will be disappointed with your reports.”
“I promise you that I’m a member of only one organization known by an acronym, and that’s the ACLU. I had no intention of getting caught up in any of this ARSE business. Fiona bullied me into letting you use the portico. After that, it simply escalated. Rest assured that I will not be applying for membership in the future.”
He grinned, then left. I returned to the crossword puzzle and filled in a few obvious words, but I was unable to focus on it. The customers who drifted in were more interested in gossiping about the Renaissance Fair than purchasing books. Several of them inquired about my role as Lady Clarissa, which did not amuse me. My responses became terser until I realized I was imperiling my source of income and hung the
closed
sign on the door. When my science fiction hippie tapped on the glass, I shook my head at him and retreated to the office. Peter had not instructed me to remain available for the rest of the day. I suspected he thought I would be, but I was not responsible for his imperious assumption.
I carefully locked the back door before I headed along the railroad tracks. The sky was dark, and I could hear distant thunder.
The temperature was cooler than it had been earlier, which would have been a relief had it not been for the suffocating humidity. It was definitely a day to curl up with the crossword puzzle or immerse myself in a genteel murder in a country house at the edge of the moors. There was no point in fretting about Edward, Lanya, or even Salvador.
The police cars in front of Angle’s house were gone. Yellow tape fluttered in the sporadic gusts of wind. I ignored my impulse to poke around, and was feeling noble as I went up the back steps and into the kitchen. Caron had left a note on the counter stating that she was sick and tired of calls from reporters (my fault, no doubt) and that she and Inez had decamped for the afternoon. Whither they’d gone was not mentioned.
I put on the teakettle, made a sandwich, and settled on the sofa to fret about medieval scourges and South American tapirs. Ten minutes later, I was on the balcony, sipping tea and thinking about the peculiar dynamics of the local fiefdom. Lanya might be having an affair with Benny—or with Salvador. Fiona might have been having an affair with Salvador as well, although Julius might be more than a little perturbed. Anderson might have been having an affair with Fiona. Edward might be having an affair with Glynnis Threet, for all I knew. That would leave William Threet and Julius out of the loop. Then again, the staid meetings could have been a cover for madcap orgies with all combinations possible. I indulged myself for a moment with a vision of ripped bodices and bits of armor strewn about the porch, lawn, and pasture.
Peter and Jorgeson had most likely solved the crime, and were petitioning a judge for a search warrant while the guilty party sweated in an interview room. Although there had been at least five hundred people wandering around the previous afternoon, it was impossible to imagine someone without a motive attacking with a battle-ax.