Wicked Weaves

“I cannot recommend this work highly enough. It has everything: mystery, wonderful characters, sinister plot, humor, and even romance.”
—Midwest Book Review

“Well-crafted with a satisfying end that will leave readers wanting more!”
—Fresh Fiction

PRETTY POISON

“With a touch of romance added to this delightful mystery, one can only hope many more Peggy Lee Mysteries will be hitting shelves soon!”
—Roundtable Reviews

“A fantastic amateur-sleuth mystery.”
—The Best Reviews

“For anyone with even a modicum of interest in gardening, this book is a lot of fun.”
—The Romance Readers Connection

“The perfect book if you’re looking for a great suspense.”

—Romance Junkies

“Joyce and Jim Lavene have crafted an outstanding whodunit in
Pretty Poison
, with plenty of twists and turns that will keep the reader entranced to the final page.”
—Fresh Fiction

“Complete with gardening tips, this is a smartly penned, charming cozy, the first book in a new series. The mystery is intricate and well-plotted. Green thumbs and nongardeners alike will enjoy this book.”
—Romantic Times

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Joyce and Jim Lavene

Peggy Lee Garden Mysteries
PRETTY POISON
FRUIT OF THE POISONED TREE
POISONED PETALS
PERFECT POISON
Renaissance Faire Mysteries
WICKED WEAVES

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for authors or third-party websites or their content.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

WICKED WEAVES
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the authors
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2008

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-1-436-25997-2

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

http://us.penguingroup.com

We would like to dedicate this book and the Renaissance Faire Mysteries to Sandy Harding, our editor at Berkley, who makes us laugh and is the best listener in the world, and to Jacky Sach, our agent, who is always encouraging, even when our ideas are crazy. It is a pleasure working with both of you. You guys are the best!

One

“We believe he is dead, faithful squire,” Queen Olivia pronounced in grand, dramatic fashion. “The tournament belongs to our favorite, Sir Reginald.”

“You are right as always, Your Majesty.” The master-at-arms used one foot to push the black knight’s head down when he tried to stand after being forced from his horse during the joust.

The crowd on Sir Reginald’s side of the field roared its approval. The other side booed, of course. This
was
Renaissance Faire Village, after all, a faithful replica of an English Renaissance town where one could expect to find fairies flitting about, William Shakespeare creating odes, and strong knights competing in rugged jousts. Or so the flyers from the parent company, which owned three other villages, said.

“Sir Reginald,” the queen trilled as the handsome knight kissed her hand, “you truly know the meaning of a good knight kiss.”

The crowd laughed at the queen’s double entendre. I waited impatiently at the side of the hay-covered dirt field, flipping a swath of sweaty brown hair from my forehead. Late June wasn’t the best time to dress in Renaissance costumes, especially in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, but that was part of the show.

No one in the crowd paid any attention as I bent down to help the black knight, aka my brother Tony, to his feet. They were all watching Sir Reginald depart the jousting field, accompanied by the queen and her court. Queen Olivia was in a flirtatious mood, bending close to her favorite and slapping her fan at one of her ladies-in-waiting when she came too near. Considering the king already knew about the queen’s recent brief affair with Sir Reginald and the fact that the lady-in-question was actually the handsome knight’s wife, I knew there were fireworks to come.

It wasn’t unusual. Fortunately, it was difficult for the crowd to tell the difference between what was real and what was acting. They were generally dazzled by the actors, who came from high school and college drama departments across the state to keep up with crowds during the summer months when visitor traffic was at its height.

Last year, Queen Olivia punched King Harold so hard he fell off the royal dais. The crowd laughed, not realizing Livy had actually caught Harry fondling one of the flower ladies who walked through the Village selling her wares . . . of one kind or another.

“Looks like Harry and Livy are at it again,” Tony said as he clanked toward the stables. “I don’t know how they stay together. Or why, for that matter.”

I fell in beside him. “That’s easy. Where else would they find a sweet job like this?”

He laughed, causing his horse to snort. “Don’t make it sound so great. If I ever get enough money together, I’m going to Vegas. This place gives me the creeps sometimes. It’s unnatural to live stuck in the past, especially when it’s not even
your
past.”

“Then why are you still here, besides the fact that you owe me a hundred dollars?” I hoped he’d get the hint and give me my money. He’d owed it to me for more than a month, and it wasn’t like I was rolling in cash. I’m just a thirty-something assistant professor who likes to spend her summers at Renaissance Faire Village. “You’ve been jousting here since you got out of college. You could get on a bus tomorrow for $49.50 and try your luck at the slots you’re always talking about. What’s stopping you?”

The smile on Tony’s face died. He took off his gauntlets. “You know, Jessie, you have an evil way with words. I have to change. I’ll see you later.”

As I looked at Tony, I realized how different we were. Despite being twins, Tony had managed to come out handsome, brown-eyed, and useless, like my dad. Fortunately, I looked more like my mother. At least I had her nose, her blue eyes, and her ambition. I wish I had her petite frame as well. She was medium height, while Tony and I towered over people at six feet. That’s not a bad height for a man. It’s not a bad height for a woman, if you’re a supermodel. For an ordinary woman, it means no heels and a little slouching.

“Before you go, could you let me have that money?” I hated to sound heartless, but I didn’t like living on crackers and Pepsi. The Village only paid once a month. And I wasn’t going to break into my savings.

Tony gave me
the look
. That meant he couldn’t believe I was asking him for money at a time when he was feeling sorry for himself.

Too bad.
He always did this, and I always gave in. I was going to stand my ground.

He took two dollars out of the pocket of his jeans and put it in my hand. This was accompanied by a lot of clanking as he reached beneath his armor. “I hope that helps you out. It’s all I’ve got left.”

I looked at the money, and I looked at my stupid brother. Then I gave him the money back. “I want that hundred dollars out of your next paycheck.”

I love my brother, but I wish I’d never brought him to the Village. It was my sanctuary from the modern world. I’d spent every summer here since I was in college. But I wasn’t going to let him push me into leaving, especially since I was in the midst of pursuing my Ph.D. at the University of South Carolina at Columbia.

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