Poisoned Pins (33 page)

Although I knew it was unreasonable to hope that Peter might have a moment to climb out of his hazmat suit and call me, I kept glancing at the telephone. It remained aloof. I ate a sandwich and a handful of limp carrot sticks, sold a gardening book to an elderly woman clutching an evil cat, and helped a newly wed find a cookbook for her first formal dinner party. At least I would never have to sweat over the consistency of hollandaise sauce or the presentation of raspberry mousse parfaits. Should the highly improbable specter of a dinner party loom, Peter understood the concept of caterers, having never seen his mother do more than pour tea. Other than that, any entertaining we did would involve a barbecue grill—and I would not be waving the tongs.

Late in the afternoon Caron and Inez came into the store. Their fatigued and slightly glazed looks suggested the meeting at the high school had not been brief. This time I did feel some sympathy for them, since I loathe meetings on principle. They exemplify the only legitimate reason for carrying concealed weapons.

“That bad?” I said.

Caron sat down on the stool. “Three hours' worth of ‘That Bad,' “ she said. “Rhonda Maguire would not shut up. She acted like her entire grade depended on convincing everybody how fascinated she was by this dumb fair. Even Miss Thackery was getting pissed off by Rhonda's incessant questions and comments. Half the class was dozing, the other half squirming like they needed to pee.”

“Rhonda's knowledge of the Middle Ages is limited to Disney movies,” added Inez. “King Arthur and the Seven Dwarfs meet Robin Hood and the Little Mermaid Marian. It was too pathetic.”

“So what did you find out about your duties at the festivities?” I asked.

“We're on the concessions committee,” Caron said, “but it's not as bad as it sounds. Some woman from ARSE, Lanya or something, is in charge. We're going out to her farm to meet her tomorrow. Supposedly she's done this before and knows how to get all the food and drinks donated. We have to round up volunteers to work at the booths, but Miss Thackery said we can recruit from her other classes. If we can pull it off, we may not have to take a shift.”

Inez nodded. “Yeah, but we have to make our own costumes. Peasant blouses and long skirts. Miss Thackery has a bunch of catalogs we can look through for ideas.”

“That should be interesting,” I said. “What about your classmates?”

“Carrie and Emily are in charge of the pony rides,” Caron said, snickering. “They get to hold the ponies' leads and walk them in a circle. Around and around and around, all day long, trying not to step in piles of pony poop. Maybe we'll take them some lemonade in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Louis Wilderberry and some of the other football players are going to be pirates,” Inez contributed. “First they have to set up all the tents, stages, tables, and that sort of thing, but then they can spend the rest of the day promenading around, waving their cardboard cutlasses and singing sea chanties. Some of the kids who take band are going to learn to play lutes and recorders so they can be strolling minstrels.”

“And Rhonda?” I said delicately.

“This is way funny,” said Caron. “She and the other cheerleaders are going to be fairies. They have to wear green leotards, flimsy little skirts, pointy ears, glittery
wings, and green makeup on their faces. You know, she looked a little green when Miss Thackery told her. They have to dance on one of the stages every hour, and spend the rest of the time painting kids' faces. Another woman from ARSE volunteered to be their dance instructor, so they have to go to her house to learn how to flutter. I can hardly wait.”

“It doesn't sound that bad,” I said.

Inez stared at me. “Would you like to dress up like a fairy in front of all your friends? She'll look like an escapee from a preschool production
of Peter Pan.”

“Even Louis was snorting under his breath,” added Caron. “C'mon, Inez. We'd better start calling potential concession workers. I for one am not going to peddle turkey legs and ice cream bars all day.”

I watched them leave, then opened the file that Fiona Thackery had left on the counter. The Renaissance Fair would open at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning. Food and drink available included the aforementioned turkey legs, ice cream bars, and fresh lemonade, along with ale, mead, rum drinks (in honor of the pirates, I assumed), and sweets. Areas would be roped off for sword fighting and mud wrestling. At a safe distance, would-be Robin Hoods could test their skill at archery. Stage performances with dancers, magicians, musicians, and one-act plays would occur throughout the day.

On Saturday evening there would be a grand banquet presided over by the Duke and Duchess of Glenbarrens, with a feast and entertainment. Separate tickets required, limited seating, advance reservations suggested.

All in all, it seemed harmless.

 

 

Don't miss
the next Claire Malloy Mystery from Joan Hess

DAMSELS IN DISTRESS

ISBN:
0-312-31501-5

 

Claire Malloy, mild-mannered bookseller and mother of a petulant teen, is dragged kicking and screaming to a local Renaissance Fair where she is stuck in the midst of medieval mayhem-only to find herself involved in a real-life, modern-day murder mystery.

Now available, in hardcover, from St. Martin's Press
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