Sugar and Spite (17 page)

“And exactly how is that?” John said, raising his chin a couple of notches and looking down his nose with that aristocratic disdain perfected by the British.

“Never mind,” Dirk said. “I just want you to know that I’m on to you, that’s all. And I’ll tell you something…” He turned on Savannah, who was trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. Not to spare Dirk’s feelings. But, laced once again in the accursed corset, she was afraid she might pass out if she did anything that required extra oxygen… like laugh.

“Yes, dearest,” she said. “What wouldest thou say unto me?”

“If I’m the only horse’s ass there wearing a getup like this one, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said, taking him by the arm and leading him toward the door. “You won’t be the only one there dressed in blue tights, but you might be the only horse’s ass.”

By nine-thirty that evening, Dirk, Savannah, and Jake were pulling into the parking lot of the Medieval Faire, which was nothing more than a hard-packed field of dirt, surrounded by bales of hay to mark its perimeters. Compared to their previous visit, there were hardly any automobiles there. Only the moonlight illuminated the lonely scene. A few campfires glowed, dots of red scattered across the hillside, and a couple burned in a valley below.

“I told you it would be closed,” Dirk mumbled, still disgruntled about the distribution of the costumes. He was even less happy now that he had seen Jake’s regal, wizard’s attire. “There’s not gonna be anybody here who can tell us what we need to know.”

“Quite the contrary,” Savannah said. “The ones who stay and camp out overnight in the tents and pavilions are the people who work here, who are true devotees. They’re far more aware of what goes on than the guests who only visit in the daytime. Ryan says it’s a close-knit community, and everybody knows everybody. That’s why we had to dress up, so that we’ll fit in.”

“If everybody knows everybody,” Dirk argued, as they climbed out of his Buick and headed down the moonlit path toward the encampments, “they’ll know that we ain’t nobody.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Jake said. “We’ll stand out like sore thumbs.”

“Naw. You guys worry too much. Ryan says they frequently have visitors at night, like groupies who hang out after hours. That’s who we are.”

“Well if
Ryan
says it, it must be true,” Dirk snapped. “He’s certainly never led us on a wild-goose chase or dressed us up in dumb-ass outfits just to—”

“Oh, stop your complaining. I’ve heard just about enough bellyaching out of you for one night. If we catch Polly’s killer, it’ll all be worth it, right?”

He mumbled an incoherent response and trudged a few steps behind Savannah and Jake as the path narrowed. Savannah wanted to yank him bald, but decided to cut him some slack, considering all that was going on in his life at the moment. A guy couldn’t be at his jolly-self best all the time.

Besides, he didn’t have enough hair to make it worth her while.

“How do you want to handle this?” she asked Jake, keeping a low tone. Dirk wouldn’t approve of her deferring to Jake, but he was the only one with a badge and valid, legal authority at the moment. Besides, when push came to shove, she’d do whatever she wanted anyway. So, she might as well give the guy the illusion of control… a trick most women knew, but men like Dirk failed to comprehend or appreciate the advantages of.

“I think we should split up, cover twice as much ground,” Jake said.

He was already starting to pant a bit, even though they had only walked about a quarter of a mile from the parking lot and down the dirt path toward the encampments. Savannah noted his burgeoning waistline and lack of conditioning and momentarily seethed at the thought that she had been fired from the police force under the feeble excuse that she was “overweight” and “out of shape.” Of course, it had been hog-wash, but that was the reason etched in black and white on the documentation, and she was still irked. Just couldn’t help it.

Of course we’ll split up… duh
, she thought. They wouldn’t go traipsing around like the King’s Army, making themselves ridiculously obvious. But she bit back her words and let Jake continue.

“I don’t want him alone,” he said, nodding back toward Dirk. “If he gets into any sort of trouble, somebody needs to be around to witness what goes down. I mean, he’s not armed, but… still, you never know.”

Not armed, huh? Savannah flashed back on her slipping Dirk her Ruger.22 just before they left her house. Of course, he had been forced to surrender his badge, and his own gun was still with ballistics, the murder weapon in a case. He wouldn’t be getting his hands on it anytime soon, if ever.

Sure, her butt would be in a major sling if anyone found out she had loaned him the Ruger, but she wasn’t going to let him run around unarmed, virtually naked, after a killer.

“So, what are you saying?” she asked Jake. “You want me to stay with Dirk?”

Jake thought carefully before answering. “No, I think I should be with him. But will you be all right on your own?”

“If I need you, I’ll fire three shots into the air,” she said. When a look of horror crossed his face, she quickly added, “Just kidding! I’ll holler. It’s not that big a place; you’ll hear me.

He looked doubtful but nodded anyway. “Okay, I guess. But don’t take any unnecessary chances. If, by any stretch of luck, somebody tells you that he’s here tonight, don’t go after him yourself. Come get us.”

“No problem,” Savannah said, knowing that, like any other cop, Jake’s motivation lay more in collaring the killer himself than in her safety. But, what the heck, she played along. “I’ll let you know if I get anything at all. And you guys do the same.”

“We will. Have you got your copy of the picture… the one of the knife?” he said.

“The poniard,” she corrected him.

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“No, not whatever. This crowd knows the difference, and you should, too, if you’re going to be mingling.”

“Okay. Poniard.”

“Yes,” she said, “thanks for asking. I have the picture here in my purse or pouch or whatever this leather thing is that Ryan gave me. But I’m not going to be showing it unless I have to.”

“Why not?” Jake asked, so innocently that it scared her. This was the investigating officer in whose hands Dirk’s life rested. Scary stuff.

“Because it looks like an evidence photo. The weapon is lying there on a stainless-steel table with a ruler next to it. You know, people watch Court TV these days. They’re smarter than they used to be.”

Dirk picked up his pace and caught up with them. “And,” he added, “thanks to
NYPD Blue
, they know that we tell them bald-faced lies to get the truth outta ‘em, too. Bein’ a cop ain’t what it used to be.”

“It never was,” Savannah replied.

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

They had just about reached the encampments. The smell of roasting meat, fresh coffee, and strong ale tantalized their noses, in spite of their large dinner and later pie indulgences.

“So, you guys are going together and I’m gonna go off on my own,” Savannah said, giving Jake a questioning look.

“That’s right,” Jake replied. He glanced at his watch. “Why don’t we meet over there by that big rock in, say, half an hour?”

“Wait a minute,” Dirk said, his feathers highly ruffled. “Since when are we splittin’ up like that? I go with Savannah; you’re on your own, buddy.”

“No. That’s not how it’s going,” Jake said, bristling a bit himself. “I’m in charge here and—”

“Hang on, hang on,” Savannah said, grabbing Dirk’s arm and turning him toward her. She could see the evening diving into a bucket headfirst. “I want it this way. A female can get a lot more information out of a male without another male hanging around.”

Dirk looked doubtful.

She pointed to her bodacious cleavage. “Especially when she looks like this. See y’all in half an hour. And I’m betting you, I’ll do better in my corset then you two will with your tights and oversize codpieces.”

* * *

“I’m looking for a man with a twelve-inch poniard.”

“So, who isn’t?” replied the lusty wench who was ladling a wicked-looking amount of dark ale from a wooden keg into a huge pewter mug.

Savannah laughed. “Not just any man, and not just any twelve-inch poniard.”

“Ah, a lady of discriminating tastes,” the lass replied, one eyebrow lifted. “Now there’s where we differ. Any poniard of such hearty proportions is worthy of a maiden of ill repute, such as meself.”

She offered the foamy-topped tankard to Savannah, who graciously refused. The self-proclaimed strumpet took a hearty draught herself. “And what sort of… blade is it you’re searching for, m’lady?”

Savannah sat down beside the young woman on a bale of hay that had been covered by some roughly woven blankets. A dry, night wind caught the canvas flap of a nearby tent and fluttered it. Over their heads, flags bearing crests also snapped and popped in the breeze. A campfire about ten feet away sputtered and showered tiny, glowing ash into the air. The mystery meat that was roasting over it on a spit smelled incredible.

“I saw this poniard the other day here at the faire,” Savannah said, “and I want to either buy it or find out where I can get one just like it. The hilt was a cobra’s head with red stones in the eyes.”

“Why would you want something like that?” The woman pulled a dagger from her leather belt and handed it, hilt first, to Savannah. “Now here’s a fine piece, to be sure, with authentic rune symbols on the handle. ‘Tis much finer than any cobra nonsense. Besides, the fellow who carries it is a lad of low degree, and you’d best not venture into his vicinity if you can avoid him.”

“A maiden of ill repute rates him a lad of low degree,” Savannah said with a smile. “Not a high recommendation.”

The maiden licked the foam off her upper lip. “That fellow crawls lower on his belly than the cobra on his poniard. Cut a wide path around him, if you know what’s good for you. His name is Snake, and it says far more about his conduct with ladies than it does about his… weapon.”

“Where is Sir Snake?” Savannah asked. “So that I can avoid him, that is.”

The maiden shook her head and chuckled. “My warning has fallen on deaf ears. You’re so smitten with his vulgar poniard that you won’t heed my words of wisdom. Ah, well… it seems the stars are against you, m’lady. The knave you seek is here this very night. He’s down near the river among the gypsies. They’re the only ones who haven’t banished him… yet. I wager they will, once they’ve relieved him of his poniard and other valuables.”

“Thank you so much,” Savannah said, rising. “And exactly where are the gypsies camped… so that I can be sure to go the other direction, of course.”

“Of course.” She pointed in the distance, where a large bonfire lit a copse of oaks near a narrow creek that glimmered, a thin silver ribbon in the moonlight. “That’s where you’ll be most likely to… not… find him.”

* * *

At the edge of the gypsies’ camp, Savannah ran into Dirk and Jake, who were hurrying down the path in the same direction.

“I understand our guy is here tonight,” she told them.

“Yeah,” Dirk said, panting slightly, “that’s what we heard, too. I can’t wait to get my hands on the—”

“Now, now… none of that vigilante nonsense,” Savannah said, cutting off Jake, who had opened his mouth to say the same thing. “You’re just here to identify the guy, and I’m here in case Jake needs somebody to help knock the stuffin’ outta the little weasel.”

As they approached the camp, they heard the classic sounds of a violin and an accordion, as well as some hearty singing, clapping, and tambourine jingling. Near the large bonfire, a couple of young women and a man performed a feverish dance, whirling and spinning in brightly colored costumes to the musicians’ merry tune.

A red-and-blue-striped caravan had been drawn close to the fire, and food and drink were being generously dispensed from the back of the wagon. When it came to merrymaking, it seemed the gypsies were even more experienced than their counterparts higher up the hill.

“You guys hang out here for a minute,” Savannah told them. “It’ll be better if I ask about him.”