Treacherous Toys (17 page)

I smiled at him. He looked so handsome walking beside me, the wind blowing his hair. “Is that what I can expect if we break up? A sharp cut?”

He smiled back and put his arm around me. “That’s not going to happen. I never want to live without you. I thought you knew that.”

I felt all warm inside and changed the subject. “That leaves me back with Edgar as my suspect.”

“Or Christine. When Detective Almond finds out she was having an affair with Harry, she’ll be suspect number one. If she isn’t already.”

“I thought that was me because I found the body.”

“Maybe. He did mention something about keeping an eye on you. I told him I had that covered.”

“Anyway, I don’t think Christine is guilty.”

“Because you feel sorry for her?”

“No, because raising eight kids alone isn’t going to be any fun—even with the insurance money. Besides, there’s the threatening note.” I told him about the crude note I’d found on the workshop door.

He shrugged. “I agree, but she could have done the note herself. And the police could argue that she doesn’t realize she and Harry won’t be together. She might think she’ll get the money, have Harry, and live a good life.”

“I thought you didn’t think she was guilty?”

“Not me. I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. And I’ve worked with the police enough times to know how they think. Edgar is a long shot. Christine is a bird in hand.”

I had to laugh at that. “Please, stop mangling all those metaphors. It’s giving me a headache.”

He stopped walking. “We should immediately return to the Dungeon for emergency first aid.”

I had to stop walking, too. It struck me that there were some things I needed to say to this man who was so important to me. “I love you. You know that, right? I know I’m being stupid and stubborn over this thing with staying in the Village. I’m just scared. I wish I wasn’t, because you’re the most awesome person I’ve ever known.”

“I know.” He smiled and kissed me. “But you’ll come around. I’ll be here to soften you up until you do.”

As we were romantically standing in each other’s arms, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, a short man dressed in elf green and peasant brown made a loud coughing sound. “Excuse me,” he said finally after we’d ignored him for a few seconds.

“Sorry.” I glared at him for interrupting the moment. “Do you want something?”

“I’m Officer Paul Miller from the Myrtle Beach Police Department. Detective Almond told me to contact you right away, Ms. Morton. I’m supposed to arrange a time here, at your convenience, to take your statement about the recent character death here in Renaissance Village. He said, and I quote, ‘It might be faster than waiting for her to come to the station.’ End quote. You can call him if you like.”

Chase smiled and held out his hand to the other man. “He might be right. I’m Chase Manhattan, Village bailiff.
You must be one of the undercover officers Detective Almond is assigning here until we crack this case.”

Paul shook Chase’s hand with plenty of gusto. “It’s very nice to meet you. Detective Almond always has good things to say about you.”

“Really?” Chase raised one brow as he looked down at the officer. “That’s good to know.”

“Oh yes. He’s always talking about what a good police officer you’d make in the real world because you do such a good job in what he calls the
squirrel factory
. I think he’s referring to the Village. Although I don’t know why. It seems very pleasant here.”

“I see.” Chase laughed. “I’ll have to remember to thank him for that, Officer Miller.”

“Please call me Paul. I’ll just be one of the crew now, Mr. Bailiff. I understand that I’ll report to you while I’m here. I don’t know if knaves have names or not.”

“I’m not sure either about the names, Paul. Where would you like to take Jessie’s statement?”

“Where’s good?” We all looked down from our vantage point at the Village stretched below us. “Where would you go?” Paul asked.

“The Dungeon,” I answered. After all, he was there to talk to me. “I’ll lead the way.”

Chase’s radio went off—something about a lost child. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “Let me know how it goes.”

Paul was full of pleasant conversation, asking curious questions about the Village as we walked down the cobblestones to the Dungeon. It was the only place I could think of where there wouldn’t be tourist cameras or listening ears as he asked me questions about what had happened the day Chris was killed.

I took him upstairs to our apartment, and he raved about how quaint and interesting it must be to live over the Dungeon. I agreed with him, even got him a bottle of water. Everything seemed to be going just fine.

He took out his tape recorder as well as a notebook and pen. We both sat down, and I was fooled into thinking this would be a continuance of our conversation on the way here.

But the first question out of his mouth was, “Do you have any verification of your whereabouts at the actual time Mr. Christmas was killed?”

“W
hat do you mean?” I demanded. “You sound like I’m a suspect.”

He smiled politely. “You
were
first on the scene, Ms. Morton. Were you having an affair with Mr. Christmas? There had to be some reason you were there to see him even though everyone else was gone.”

“Are you insane?” I bounced out of my chair. “I barely knew him. We’d just met a few hours before. I hadn’t slept with him and had no plans to do so. I’m shocked that you’d even ask. And I was going to make toys. That’s what my job is.”

“Sorry. These are the questions Detective Almond told me to ask. I’m just doing my job. You want to see the killer caught, don’t you?”

“Whatever.” I didn’t believe Detective Almond had told him to ask those questions. I stalked around the apartment—it
was too small to stalk far. I fingered the swords in Chase’s collection, wishing I could use one on Paul.

“And your location during the approximate commission of the crime, sometime between noon and two
P.M
.?”

“I was on my way to meet Chris at the workshop. Or I was eating at the Pleasant Pheasant, buying a turkey leg for Chris, or getting out of bed with Chase. Take your pick.”

“How long after the crime took place would you say you were at the scene?”

My temper was about to get the better of me. This wasn’t what I’d expected. “Very soon. So soon, I think the killer was still there.” I showed him my bruises. “I got these from him as he left the scene.”

“So you’re convinced it was a man? Why not a woman?”

“You mean Christine, don’t you? You think his wife killed him.”

“Maybe.” He smiled again. I wanted to hit him. “Do you think his wife killed him?”

“No! I know she has a big insurance policy on him—”

“And she was having an affair with another man, isn’t that correct?”

I
really
didn’t like him anymore. He was worse than Detective Almond. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “I don’t know that for sure,” I lied. “I’m guessing you don’t know either.”

“We know she was having an affair, Ms. Morton. She’s still seeing Harold Martin. I think they call him the king, is that right? Do you think her lover helped her kill her husband?”

“No,” I responded fiercely. “Because I don’t think Christine killed anyone.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time with her since the death of her husband, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Has she told you where she was when her husband was killed?”

“Yes.” What was he getting at?

“Has she told you where she was when he died?”

“I know where she was. She was with her son purchasing a new camera for their work.”

His eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to me. “Would it surprise you to learn that she was back in the Village for an hour, without her children? Where was she during that hour, Jessie? Has she confided in you? Holding back won’t help, you know.”

“She hasn’t said where she was, but I know she wasn’t far from her children. She’s a good mother.”

“That may be true. However, that left her with plenty of time to kill her husband, leave the workshop, probably knocking you down as she ran out, then return after Bailiff Manhattan arrived.”

“That sounds like a stretch to me.” But there was a cold sensation in my chest. The police had obviously thought this through. The way Detective Almond had thrown out the idea—I hadn’t thought he was serious.

“Has she ever shown you a gun, Ms. Morton?”

“No! Guns aren’t allowed in the Village. As far as I know, she doesn’t have a gun.”

“You know there was no murder weapon found at the scene, don’t you? We believe she still has it. Probably hidden somewhere in her apartment.”

“I don’t believe it. She didn’t kill him. Everything you’ve said is circumstantial.”

“We’ll see.” He turned off the tape recorder and put down his pen.

I glanced at all the scribbling in his notebook before he
put it away. I couldn’t tell what he’d written, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t good. I felt like I’d been mauled by a pit bull.

“Thank you for your cooperation. That’s all I’ll need from you—at least for now.”

I couldn’t believe he could look and sound so harmless while we’d been out in the Village, then turn so vicious once we got inside. I really believed he tried to make me feel threatened so I’d reveal something about Christine that would help the cops make their case against her. What a weasel!

“Where would you recommend eating here at the Village?” He was back to the sweet weasel part of his character. “I’m starved!”

“Get out of my apartment,” I said through my teeth. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

He made a placating face. “Please don’t take this personally. May I call you Jessie?”

I marched the few feet it took to reach the door and opened it for him. “No, you can’t call me Jessie. And get out now before I call security.”

He persisted. “Let’s let bygones be bygones. I’ll buy you a drink. You can tell me exactly what a knave is expected to do in the Village.”

“I don’t think so. You’ll have to find someone else to interrogate about that. Good-bye.”

He shrugged and looked a little mystified that I was throwing him out. But he left. I slammed the door closed after him. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be a tough guy or what. I didn’t care. I didn’t plan on answering any more of his questions or helping him out in any way. He was on his own.

I sat down on the bed and thought about the case he’d
just laid out for me. It sounded bad for Christine. It would be a terrible tragedy if they arrested her. They still needed a better case against her but that could be possible.

I’d been wishy-washy, too. Hadn’t I felt the same about her for a short time? She
did
appear to be guilty of something. I could even see the cops’ point about Harry looking guilty. I didn’t know how much the large insurance policy was for, but it sounded a lot like motive when it was paired with the fact that she’d been cheating.

Maybe I’d cut my own throat by kicking Paul out. If I’d kept calm, I could’ve floated the idea that Edgar could be guilty. That way, Paul wouldn’t pay much attention to me.

I couldn’t have helped it anyway. He’d tricked me into trusting him, then attacked me when we got here. I was going to have to find out about Edgar on my own.

In the meantime, I thought I should warn Christine about the police making a case against her. Maybe she had a friend or family member who could take care of her children if something happened to her. Otherwise they’d probably go to Social Services. I wasn’t sure exactly what that system was like, but I remembered my grandmother always saying how happy she was not to have lost me and Tony to them. It sounded bad anyway.

Chase still hadn’t returned, so I decided to see if Christine was back from meeting with her lawyer. I was on my way to the manor houses when I spotted Roger Trent. He was beginning the trek to the castle to set up for the King’s Feast. The Village was closed for a few hours and would reopen later for the event.

All of the craft people brought their wares to the castle on feast nights to sell to the large crowds who came for the dinner and show. It was a sales highlight for most of them. Everyone did well at the King’s Feast.

“Hi, Roger.” I smiled at him, hoping he was in a good mood. “I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Hi, Jessie. I don’t mind, if you carry half of this stuff for me. What’s up?”

Roger could be curt, part of his background as a police officer, I supposed. He was still in good shape, too. His shoulders and chest were wide, narrowing down to his hips and muscular legs. He kept his head shaved, and he was almost as tan as his brown jerkin and trousers.

I explained the basic situation to him. He’d given me mostly baskets from his wife, Gullah weaver Mary Shift, to carry. I’d apprenticed with both of them and had learned a lot from them. I was also instrumental in bringing them together. It was satisfying to see that their relationship was still working.

“So, do you remember Chris and Alice Christmas being here as king and queen?”

“Sure. I had dinner with them many times at the castle. They were good people. I was sorry to hear Chris had been killed.”