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Authors: Joan Hess

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BOOK: Damsels in Distress
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“Claire, my dear,” he said as he stood up, “you’re just in time for a martini. Sunday afternoons can be so boring, don’t you agree? Make yourself comfortable.” Without waiting for a response, he went over to the bar and began to take out the necessary accouter- ments. “I suppose if one liked to watch sports on TV, it wouldn’t be so dull. Despite my all-American upbringing, I never developed a taste for watching men swing iron sticks at innocent white balls. What about you? Did you grow up playing lacrosse and field hockey?”

“Not really.” I sat down at a distance from the cigar, crossed my legs, and waited. After he’d brought a pitcher and glasses to the table and resumed his seat, I said, “I’m sorry for barging in like this. Serengeti left the front door open, so I just came inside.”

“Serengeti? What’s she doing here?”

“I have no idea. It’s your house, Salvador.”

“And she’s here?” He glanced back at the sliding door. “Did she say anything?”

I couldn’t help glancing back, either, as if she might be there, listening to us. “Only that she didn’t like it when I asked her if you were home. She models for you, doesn’t she?”

“Sometimes,” he said, “but not for the last week or so. We settled up after the final session, so I don’t owe her any money. You know, I thought I saw her on the second floor a few days ago. It was dark, and by the time I turned on the light, nobody was there. I decided I’d had too much wine. You think she’s in the house now?”

“She was ten minutes ago. She was here Friday evening, too. Luanne and I met her in the living room. Does she have a house key?”

Salvador rumbled unhappily. “I don’t know. With the exception of my studio, I rarely bother to lock doors when I’m in town. I don’t like the idea of her wandering around the house, especially when I’m home. I’d have a heart attack if she came into my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“Then talk to her,” I said sensibly.

“Maybe later,” he said, glancing once again at the door. “She and I don’t communicate very well. I have no idea about her personal life, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she lived under a rock in the woods. When I need her to model, I leave a note on the bulletin board at that coffee shop across from the arts center. She simply shows up. Afterward, I pay her in cash and she leaves.” He stared at the olives in his glass. “I think she does. Is it possible that she doesn’t? This is a big house, and I hardly ever go into some of the rooms. You know, in the last month I’ve noticed that I was running low on orange juice or bread when I thought I was well stocked.”

I wasn’t going to offer to help him search the house for her, so I changed the subject before he could suggest it. “Lanya came by the bookstore today. She said she told you about Angie and the fire.”

“A terrible thing,” he said, grimacing. “I didn’t know her. As far as I know, none of us did. I’ve been to a few big tournaments, but I can’t remember ever meeting anybody named Angie. There are legions of people at these things, with elaborate tents and RVs in camps that cover several acres. Almost all of the attendees use their ARSE titles instead of their real names. There are usually a thousand lords a-leaping and nine hundred ladies dancing, and the partridge is served at the royal banquet.”

“And the five gold rings?”

“Sovereignty of the kingdom until the next tournament. Whoever scores the most points in sword fights and jousts is coronated King or Queen. Same thing at the county level to become Duke or Duchess. Lanya and Anderson have won numerous times over the years.”

“Women engage in sword fights?” I asked. I didn’t object to the idea, but it seemed as odd as women playing professional football. There was no reason why they shouldn’t, if they had the physical aptitude and the desire. I just couldn’t think of a reason why they would want to engage in such a potentially painful activity.

“There’s no gender bias or age discrimination on the battlefield. Once the armor’s on, everybody’s an equal. Luckily, experience almost always wins over youthful bravado. Lanya is renowned for her ferocity and cunning.” Salvador leaned over and picked up the pitcher. “Ready for a refill?”

“No, thank you. I came by to ask you if you happen to have Edward’s address or phone number.”

Salvador sat forward so abruptly that the martini glass slipped out of his hand. Luckily, it rolled under a chair instead of shattering. Cursing to himself, he went to the bar and refilled a new glass, then sat down. He tried to look at me, but his eyes shifted away as if I’d said something ludicrous. “The jester? Don’t you think he’s a bit young for you?”

“Because I’m old enough to be his mother? Is that your point?”

“I was teasing, since you’ve made it clear that your virtues are beyond corruption. No, I don’t know much of anything about him. Lanya waits until October to put together a directory. After the semester begins, we do a few demonstrations on the campus to recruit new members. For now, you’ll have to ask her about Edward. Do you have an urgent reason to find him today?”

I did, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “No, nothing that can’t wait. So all your houseguests have gone?”

“The Japanese boys are back with their group. Gudgeon will probably show up again before he goes back to Australia. For the moment, I’m on my own. I presume you are, too.”

“Why would you presume that?”

“You were home alone last night.”

“My fiance is still out of town,” I said. “Luanne invited me to go to the biker festival, but I declined. Too noisy for my taste.”

“Mine, too. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

We both gazed at the backyard. Birds were twittering in the oak trees. A cat leaped on the top of the fence, stared at us, and disappeared. No motorcycles roared, not even in the distance. It was a pleasant neighborhood, I thought. If Peter and I couldn’t find anything suitable in the historic district, I might consider the area. A house as large as Salvador’s would unsettle me, but surely there were more reasonable ones. A pool would be nice, as long as someone other than I handled the maintenance. After certain distasteful events earlier in the summer, I had established an amiable relationship with a gentleman who owned a pool service. As long as I would provide him with coffee and listen to stories about his dog, he’d give us a reasonable deal. Peter had made a secret bargain with Caron; it occurred to me that it might include a pool, rather than a Porsche.

“Sorry about the disruption at the cocktail party the other night,” Salvador said, interrupting my meandering thoughts. “Benny’s a good sort, but he can be overly exuberant. He would have been a splendid Viking back when raping and pillaging were acceptable social activities. He’s a well-known structural engineer, so his employers tolerate him. That doesn’t mean I have to. We used to be close friends, but we’ve drifted apart. When I’m not locked in my studio working, I travel. I’m getting older, and he’s getting younger. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Why did Benny call you ‘Lord Zormurd’? That’s a fictional character, isn’t it?” I tried to remember the details my science fiction hippie had been burbling. “He’s out to rescue his bride from dragons and people who reside in swamps.”

Salvador snorted. “Something like that. Benny’s preferences in literature do not include the classics. He tends to get carried away with this knight business, and fancies himself to be an incredibly romantic figure. He has his eye on some of the ladies in our little group. They’re not always as eager as he is to indulge in lustful trysts in the moonlight, although he and Lanya…well, you know what I mean. I don’t know the details, but she broke it off because she was afraid Anderson would find out—or so she said. The three of them met back in college when they joined an ARSE fiefdom. I don’t know who was sleeping with whom during that time, but Anderson and Lanya ended up married.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Lanya told me. She drops by every now and then when Anderson is working late. She suspects that he’s having an affair with his secretary, which is likely to be true. I can’t blame him for not wanting to go home at the end of the day. He told me he’d file for divorce if he weren’t terrified that he’d end up with custody of the kids.” He shook his head, presumably in sympathy for one of the Perus. “I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse to be cast in the role of confidant. Sometimes I feel like a bartender.”

“A disinterested party, so to speak?”

“You’re referring to my call last night, I assume. Please forget about it. I overreacted to an unsettling piece of information. One of those things that’s hard to assimilate, like a punch in the gut when you’re not expecting it.” Salvador held up his hand, then realized it was trembling and quickly put it on the arm of the chair. His eyes were too bright and his voice too hearty as he continued. “Not to imply violence was involved. Nothing like that. In any case, a bottle of chablis washed away my woes. Or maybe it was a case of chablis. The details are fuzzy.”

“You sounded suicidal.”

“Now you’re overreacting, dear Claire. I may have a touch of romanticism in my soul, but I’m far too pragmatic to cause myself physical pain. At midnight I decided to absolve myself of sin through generosity. Luckily, my financial situation is such that I will feel nothing more than pinpricks. I will even give up my misanthropic ways, although that will be painful. However, all’s well that ends well, as the bard opined.”

“He wrote some tragedies, too.”

“I never cared for those.” He held up the pitcher and looked inquiringly at me. When I shook my head, he added a splash to his own glass. “I hear your daughter and her friend scored in the costume department. They’ll be a couple of sexy wenches.”

I didn’t care for his tone. “But they’ll still be less than half your age, and I’ll be there to keep an eye on them. You may think Lanya’s ferocious, but you’ve never seen me with a mace.”

“Do come by the archery stall and say hello. Will you be dressed in garb? Julius could probably find something for you, as well. Lady Clarissa of Farberville. You can waft about the fair, looking down your lovely nose at all the uncouth peasants and ruffians.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. I thanked him for my untouched martini and left. I did not spot Serengeti as I went through the house and out to my car. I peered in the backseat, just in case, and then drove home. The only thing I’d learned was that Salvador was a first-class gossip and had seemingly vanquished his personal devils. In exactly one week, the Renaissance Fair would be over and Peter would be home. If he wasn’t too tired, I would allow him to take me out to dinner. I would not mention Leslie, and if he had any sense, he wouldn’t, either. At least not on his first night home.

Caron and Inez were sprawled in the living room when I arrived at the apartment. The remains of a pizza were in a box on the coffee table, along with cans of soda, cartons of dip, chips, and a package of cookies. Sally Fromberger would faint on the spot at their idea of a well-balanced meal.

“How was the dress rehearsal last night?” I asked as I joined them.

“It lasted until two in the morning,” Inez said. “The so-called actors tripped, fell, giggled, sneezed, and forgot their lines. Two of them cried. One of them threw a vase at another one, who stalked off and locked himself in the ladies’ room for an hour.”

Caron rolled her eyes. “And those were the high points. The curtain collapsed. One of the stage lights started smoking. Mr. Valens blew the fuses three times, resulting in total darkness and wild accusations of groping from the wings.”

“Oh, dear,” I said. “I hope things go better tonight. What are they performing?”

“A tragedy.”

“Agamemnon? Oedipus Rex?”
I suggested. “Something by Eurípedes?”

“The Sound of Music,”
Caron said with a groan.

“That’s not a tragedy.”

“It will be. Trust me.”

Inez began to snicker. “The youngest von Trapp child is thirty- five, the oldest about sixty. They wear lederhosen. All of them have hairy legs, including the women. The nun yodels.”

“One performance, and then you’ll have earned your bodices,” I said. “Please stick to modest for Inez’s parents’ sake, if not mine.” When they ignored my remark, I added, “Did you hear about the fire last night?”

“Oh, yes,” Caron said. “We also heard about you. Are you sure you should be lecturing
us
about modesty? At least we don’t run around the neighborhood in bathrobes and bare feet, not to mention green, scaly faces. What if the news camera crew had shown up? Haven’t you already done enough to Ruin My Reputation?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Was I carted off to the animal shelter in a gorilla suit? Did I serve six weeks in detention for stealing the frozen frogs from the biology department?”

Inez blinked with impressive (if less than convincing) sincerity. “But none of that was our fault, Ms. Malloy. You said so yourself.”

“I most certainly did not,” I said, “and whatever I did say was an attempt to keep you out of juvenile court. When you turn eighteen, you’re on your own. I understand that even minimum security prisons lack spas and tennis courts.”

“Whatever,” Caron growled. She does not care to be reminded of certain undignified activities in the past few years.

I waited a moment, then said, “Are the fairies upset about their teacher’s death?”

“Some of them are creeped out,” said Inez. “I mean, they were in the house. They thought Madam, as they were instructed to address her, was kind of a freak and obsessed with perfection, but they were sad when they heard about her. That must be a terrible way to die.”

“Duh,” said Caron, who was still annoyed at me, and therefore at everyone else within spitting range. “Would you rather be disemboweled while you’re alive, or be trampled by a herd of buffalo? Thrown in a pot of boiling oil?”

“My three greatest fears,” Inez retorted. “They’re right up there with being accused of mooning over Louis Wilderberry in the cafeteria. Rhonda snickered about it the rest of the day. She did everything but announce it over the PA system.”

I realized I’d better intervene. “Did Sergeant Jorgeson get in touch with you earlier?”

Caron was still glowering. “Yes, and I gave him some names and telephone numbers. It’s not like he could have found anybody this afternoon. They all went to the lake. Rhonda’s uncle has a cabin and a party barge. Why don’t you have any cool relatives, Mother?”

BOOK: Damsels in Distress
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