Fair Isle and Fortunes Page 7

  “How will you encourage Nora to join the knitting class?” I wasn’t sure I’d be interested in going to a crafting class if my best friend had just been killed.

  “I’m not sure yet. We’ll get Theodore to help us. He can make some posters. Clara and I can go back to the village tomorrow and put them up in a few strategic places. Naturally, the class is going to fill up without any need for extra advertising, but we’ll find out where Nora lives and works and make sure she gets a poster.”

  “Well, good luck.” We were passing through Woodstock, and traffic was Sunday-afternoon busy.

  Her voice was laced with laughter when she answered. “Lucy, you’re coming with us, of course. You have to drive.”

  “Sylvia, you have a perfectly good car of your own and a driver.” I shifted gears, never an easy task with my left hand. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to this driving on the wrong side of the road business, and the last thing I needed was another precarious trip out to Moreton-Under-Wychwood. “Besides, tomorrow is Monday. My shop will be open.”

  “I cannot drive into that small village in my chauffeured Bentley. They’ll think I’m showing off.”

  Showing off had never seemed to bother Sylvia before.

  “And besides, the sooner we get this murder business solved, the better it will be for you and your fellow witches.”

  I wasn’t sure how much help I could be, since my sleuthing abilities were amateur at best. Still, she was right about the Bentley.

  I let the vampires out in the back lane, and then I wedged the tiny Ford in the equally tiny parking spot behind my shop and flat. We went into the back door off the garden that led up the stairs and into my flat.

  The mouthwatering smell of ginger snaps assailed my nostrils, and I immediately felt better. I turned to the others. “Gran’s upstairs. Why don’t you come up?”

  Clara yawned. “I’m rather tired, but perhaps I’ll come for a short visit before I go to bed.”

  Sylvia was like Rafe and seemed to survive on catnaps, never appearing tired. The three of us went upstairs. Sure enough, Gran was bustling about in the kitchen. She pulled me into a hug as soon as she saw me. “I heard what happened.” She looked worried. “Mabel and I came back from Dublin as soon as we heard. Lucy, you must be careful. Of course witches and pagans are much more tolerated these days, but fear still makes normal people do terrible things.” I recalled the behavior of the villagers in the coffee shop this morning and shuddered. I had firsthand experience of what she was talking about, and I really could’ve done without it.

  “I’m more worried about Violet. I’m fairly protected here in Oxford, but she and Aunt Lavinia both live in the village.” I struggled with myself and then said, “Margaret Twig lives near there, too. I really felt animosity toward them.”

  “It’s the murder,” Sylvia said. “It’s got everyone in that village edgy.”

  I felt much less edgy immediately. Homemade cookies somehow kept grimness at bay. “Gran, I can’t believe you made gingersnaps. You must be tired from traveling.”

  “Not at all. It was a lovely, restful weekend. I was tempted to make something different. But today I thought you needed something familiar and well-loved.”

  Like my Gran. “I do. Never stop making them. They remind me of being here with you when I was younger.” They made me feel safe. In a world that had become increasingly chaotic, I craved anything that would give me the illusion of safety.

  We immediately began telling Gran about our day.

  I became aware of him before he appeared at the top of the stairs from the direction of my shop, and not because he knocked, rang the bell, or in any other way acted like a normal visitor. Rafe strolled in. “I smelled baking,” he said, as though that excused his behavior. He nodded to the three vampires and then came and put his hands on my shoulders and studied my face. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m all right.” It was a lie, and he knew it.

  “There’s something very odd about that woman’s death,” he said as though he were discussing one of his rare manuscripts and he’d discovered an oddity. I couldn’t help it, I giggled. “Really? You think so? A woman in the middle of a fair is struck down by a longbow and you think there’s something slightly peculiar going on?”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “Not a longbow, actually.”

  Honestly, it was an exercise in self-restraint not to roll my eyes constantly when he was around. The man was so annoying because he knew everything, not only because he’d been around for hundreds of years, but because he was naturally intelligent. Super intelligent, in fact. “What kind of bow was it, Rafe?” Okay, I asked it in a snarky kid with attitude in the back of the classroom kind of way. But, again, he ignored my sarcasm. “I’m not sure. But I suspect it was a recurve. It’s smaller than a longbow, the arrow travels faster, and the aim is more accurate.”

  “Okay, I’m not exactly up on medieval archery techniques. Longbow, shortbow, recurve, whatever. An arrow killed her.”

  He shook his head. “Lucy, in a case like this, I suspect that detail is everything.”

  “A case? What are we? Holmes and Watson?” Actually, it wasn’t a bad comparison. Rafe was the insomniac with the brilliant mind and an eye for detail. He also had a socially unacceptable appetite. I, on the other hand, was partly comic relief and the one who got to ask him the dumb questions, which he could then answer, showing off his brilliance. It was very annoying.

  At least I didn’t write up the cases in order to give a man with an oversize ego an even fatter head.

  He said, “I think it would be a very good idea to make a visit to the Wychwood Bowmen.”

  I shuddered. “Do you really think they’re interested in talking to us?”

  “I think they could be persuaded.”

  He never said things like that if he didn’t mean them. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Tomorrow, they have an afternoon drop-in session for members and potential members. It’s a good way to get to know the club and ask some questions.”

  “And you know this how?”

  He looked at me like I was being a bit dense. “I looked it up on the Internet.”

  I don’t know why I’d assumed he’d consulted the vampire network. Sometimes, everyday tools worked just as well.

  I accepted a cookie and the fresh cup of coffee that Gran had brewed me. And I began to pace. I trusted everyone in the room right now, and we’d already been through some difficult times together. In the theory that five brains are better than one, especially if one of them is at genius level, I asked aloud, “Who kills a woman in the middle of a fair?”

  I took a sip of coffee and put my mug down on the coffee table. “And was the death an accident? Or was it murder? And if it was murder, was Elizabeth Palmer the intended victim? Or is this somehow random?”

  “Good questions,” Sylvia said.

  I continued, “And who kills someone with an arrow? It’s so, I don’t know, historic.”

  Rafe nodded. “I’ve been thinking that, too. If it was indeed murder, and I suspect it was, then was the mode of death a message in itself?”

  I stared at him. “You mean like using a bow and arrow was itself a message? But the person receiving it would end up dead.”

  “Unless it was a warning to someone else?”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  He began to pace now, too. It was annoying that we both had that habit when we were thinking. “They don’t do it so much anymore, at least not in England, but public punishment and executions were commonplace. People would come from miles around and bring the children to see a highwayman hung or a disfavored queen have her head chopped off.” He looked up. “Putting a thief in the stocks in the middle of the village square was a good deterrent to other thieves.”

  If I was following his reasoning, what he was trying to say was… I didn’t know what he was trying to say.

  I wasn’t sure he knew, either. I thought he was puzzling out so
mething as he was saying the words. “What if Elizabeth Palmer was involved in something she shouldn’t have been? And she had a partner or partners? By killing her in that public way, the murderer sent her associates a very clear message.”

  “You mean the way someone once tried to kill me to stop me from snooping?”

  He smiled rather grimly. “Exactly like that.”

  It did put a whole new complexion on this mystery. But everywhere you looked at it, the thing was a mystery. “We don’t know enough. We don’t know enough about Elizabeth, about her background. We don’t know enough about her husband or friends. And, apparently, this isn’t the first murder they’ve had in Moreton-Under-Wychwood.”

  He glanced at me oddly. “No doubt they’ve had dozens of murders over the centuries. This is a very old village. But no doubt you’re referring to the unsolved murder from thirty years ago.”

  Whatever muscle controlled the eye roll was really getting a workout today. “Yes, Professor Smarty-Pants, I was referring to the cold case of thirty years ago. What do you know about it?”

  “Not much. I wasn’t living in the area at the time.”

  I related what Joanna had told us about the murder, then looked around. “What do you think? Could these two deaths be connected in some way?”

  Sylvia spoke up. “I would think it’s impossible to know the answer to that until we solve both murders.”

  I let out a sound that was half grunt, half wail. “Solve two murders?” It was all right for them. They were permanently retired and rich. I had a shop to run. “Look, I wish you well in your sleuthing, but I have to think of Cardinal Woolsey’s. Besides, I’ve got to get everything ready for this new class we’re now running on Wednesday.” Which reminded me, I needed to run down and get it all set up on the computer.

  I wasn’t going to drive all the way to Moreton-Under-Wychwood with my supplies and Sylvia ready to teach a lesson without being sure I had enough students. Never mind about solving murders, I also had a business to run.

  “Lucy, you’re coming with us to Moreton-Under-Wychwood tomorrow,” Sylvia reminded me.

  “What about Cardinal Woolsey’s?”

  Gran was the one I most thought would be on my side, since she had started the shop. She said, “Violet could run it. Violet’s perfectly competent when she puts her mind to it. Besides, you’re doing this for her.”

  And then Rafe said, “You’re also coming with me to visit the Wychwood Bowmen tomorrow afternoon. I very much doubt whether you’ll make it into the shop at all tomorrow.”

  Well, now that my entire day was spoken for, I could pretty much throw out my agenda book. If I had one.

  I threw up my hands in frustration. “Fine!” In truth, I might’ve argued with them, except I was delighted at the prospect of a day out. I didn’t really want them doing all the sleuthing without me. It was a lot more fun to uncover clues in bright spring sunshine than to be stuck inside with wool all day. Naturally, I wouldn’t say that to Violet when she showed up to work tomorrow.

  Rafe said, “There are too many things we don’t know.”

  I looked at him. “Do the police have the cause of death yet?” He had connections everywhere, and we often had the coroner’s report before the actual detectives did.

  He said, “The heart was pierced through. Death would have been practically instantaneous. I believe they’ve interviewed most of the fairgoers and haven’t gathered anything terribly useful.”

  “No one saw a Robin Hood type headed for the village hall?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  “But it was the arrow that killed her.”

  “No question. And, if it was aimed at Elizabeth Palmer, it was an excellent shot. We’re looking at an expert bowman.”

  “Or woman,” Sylvia said, tossing her head back. “I played Joan of Arc in a film once. I studied archery for the part. I have to say, I was quite good.” She smiled. “At archery, I mean. As an actress, I was superb.”

  Instinctively, I turned to Rafe, who nodded. “Yes. Good point, Sylvia. A reasonably strong woman could have made that shot.”

  I looked at Gran and thought about inheritances. I’d been an underemployed cubicle worker when Gran had changed my life forever. She’d never told me that when she passed away I would become the new owner of both Cardinal Woolsey’s knitting shop and the flat above it.

  Of course, I could’ve sold the property, but every day I was glad that I hadn’t. This life suited me, and I never would have discovered that if Gran hadn’t made me her beneficiary. People’s lives changed every day because of wills, life insurance policies and inheritances of one kind or another. “Who benefits from Elizabeth’s death? Is there a life insurance policy? Did she have a will?”

  Rafe nodded at me approvingly. “Good. You’re thinking strategically. I’ve asked Theodore to have a snoop around and see if he can find the answer to those questions.” So, as usual, Rafe was way ahead of me. Still, I’d found my way there in the end.

  Theodore had been a policeman in life. Now he kept busy as a part-time private investigator, but he also took great pleasure in painting scenes for amateur theater productions and, of course, knitting. In fact, between all the members of the vampire knitting club, we had a lot of talent, a lot of experience and, perhaps most important, any number of creatures with nothing but time on their hands and the ability to slide through the streets at night, where they could unobtrusively listen in on conversations and see things that they perhaps weren’t intended to see.

  The vampires tended to have super senses, so they could see better than humans, definitely hear better and smell better. They were like hunting dogs with human brains and communication abilities.

  We didn’t normally meet on Sunday nights, but I never had any trouble getting my vampires together for an impromptu knitting session. I suggested we meet that very night in the back room of my shop. The more quickly we got the vampires helping with this case, the faster Elizabeth Palmer would receive justice.

  There was a trapdoor from the back room of my shop that led down to the tunnels underneath Oxford where most of the vampires lived. Clara stood up. “Excellent idea, Lucy. I’ll let everyone know. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to head to bed.” Gran had been surreptitiously yawning, too. I wondered if more recent vampires needed more sleep than the older ones, but I had no idea, and it felt like an awkward question to ask. Sylvia said she’d go down with them.

  Rafe lingered behind. He fiddled with things and put them down. Behavior that was very unlike him. Then suddenly, he turned to me. “Do we need to talk?”

  What had we just been doing? Salsa lessons? “Talk about what?”

  He fussed some more. He picked up one of Gran’s Victorian china dolls that I didn’t have the heart to move from an upper shelf where they’d been ever since I could remember. He straightened her lace cap and replaced her on the shelf. In an awkward tone, he said, “About us?”

  I burst out laughing. “Rafe, you must be the first vampire in all of history to utter the ‘We have to talk’ line.”

  He straightened the next doll on the shelf. “I feel awkward, that’s all.”

  He’d kissed me back in February in a magical wood on a silvery moonlit night. We’d both agreed at the time that it would be a moment that existed out of time and out of history. Something that we wouldn’t refer to again. Had I thought about that kiss since it happened? Of course I had. I’m female, human, and it was a great kiss. But I did not want to have the talk.

  I had no idea where this odd relationship with Rafe was going. At times, I imagined being with him forever. But the trouble was my definition of forever was the lifespan of a normal mortal. His forever was, well, forever.

  I would age, and he wouldn’t. I would die; he wouldn’t. As much as I cared for him, I had no interest in becoming a vampire myself. I had enough trouble imagining what I’d do next weekend, never mind the next millennium. So, for now, I was content to let that kiss remain in the magical
world, at least until I was ready to make some decisions.

  He finally stopped fiddling and turned to face me. His face was serious, and the way he was looking at me made my heart speed up. “I care for you,” he said simply.

  Why is it that the simplest lines can mean more than a hundred bouquets or long, flowery speeches?

  Maybe because I knew how deeply Rafe meant those words.

  I was tempted to tell him that I cared for him, too. But then he’d kiss me again. And my life would become more complicated than I was able to handle.

  “I know,” I replied.

  Chapter 11

  The vampire knitting club met that night, at our usual time of ten p.m. Those who lived under my shop came up, some of them yawning, having just woken up, some looking ready for the night’s adventures.

  I was at the end of my day and tired, but they all looked as fresh as a bunch of bloodsucking daisies. My heart sank just a little when I saw that Silence Buggins was among them. Silence had been on a trip to visit another Victorian-era vampire she’d known in life. It had been so peaceful without her. If ever anyone was badly named, it was Silence. Her name had come from one of the virtues as was common in Victorian times, but sadly, it was not a virtue that poor Silence possessed.

  She was the biggest chatterbox I’d ever known. Also a braggart, and that was an unfortunate combination. She was usually convinced she was right. To give her credit, sometimes she was. She was definitely convinced that modern society was full of moral decay. She had brought not only her Victorian values with her but her Victorian garb. She still wore button-up leather boots. She wore high-necked dresses with lace collars and, though I had never pried, I was convinced she wore corsets. Her hair was always piled high on her head, and she never left the house without her hat on. In many other cities in the world she would’ve looked like an oddity, but fortunately, Oxford was full of oddities.

  Theodore didn’t come out of the trapdoor with the rest of them—he walked in the front door of my shop with Rafe a little before ten. I could tell at once that he had news. He looked altogether too pleased with himself, and his innocent baby blue eyes were sparkling. No doubt he’d already told Rafe everything. I was becoming accustomed to Rafe always knowing everything before I did. Well, not everything. I still managed to surprise him from time to time.