Floral Depravity (17 page)

Only then did I catch a glimpse of movement in my peripheral vision, then a sudden blow to the back of my head.

As I fell to the ground, almost in movie slow motion, my subconscious decided to provide a sound track. Perhaps the dried fish reminded me somehow of the sea, because I lost consciousness to the lyrics of “Yellow Submarine.”

My head was throbbing, compounded by crowd noise, as if I were at some raucous college football game. I was upright somehow, but every muscle in my body screamed. I opened my eyes but they refused to focus. I tried to move, but my hands seemed restrained. No, more than my hands.

Finally the world swirled into focus and I saw feet gathered around me in a circle. And when I cautiously lifted my head, something struck me on the cheek.

I must have been dreaming because I suddenly smelled tomatoes, that glorious scent of summer.

I blinked and looked up again, and there was Brad with his camera.

“Hello, Brad,” I croaked. Had to be a dream.

“This is great!” he said. “Audrey, you're such a sport!”

A nearby spectator threw another tomato. This time I saw it coming and tried to duck, but when I jerked away, the sore spot on my head came into contact with a hard object.

“No, not the tomatoes!” someone called. “They're a New World food. Use the cabbage.”

By this time I was awake. “What's going on? Where am I?”

“Stop!” Now I was hearing Nick. Soon his face appeared in my field of vision. “Are you okay? How did you end up in here?”

“In where?”

“Audrey, you're in the pillory.”

“The what?”

“The . . . the stocks.” A mass of rotten cabbage landed nearby. Nick turned to the crowd. “What's wrong with you? Can't you see the lady is barely conscious? Get out of here. Show's over.”

Brad set down his camera. “I'm sorry.” He looked around. “I had no idea. Everyone was buzzing about someone in the stocks, so I wanted to get some shots. I figured you were doing this for fun.”

“Does it look like she's having fun?” Nick asked Brad. “Help me get her out of here.”

Together they lifted the top of the stocks and Nick helped me upright. I had trouble standing. My back and my legs were stiff and achy and any sudden motion made my head swim. When I was finally able to straighten, stretch my back, and take in my surroundings, the sun had just cleared the horizon. It couldn't be much past dawn. And the sky was red with color.

Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.

Or maybe I was seeing the world through tomato-colored glasses.

Nick and Brad helped me hobble to a bench.

Soon Melanie and Carol hustled over. “We're sorry, too,” Carol said. “We just figured it was part of the whole experience.”

“I saw someone in the stocks,” Melanie said. “But I didn't know it was you. Or else I wouldn't have thrown that—”

I held up my hand, then reached back and felt the knob on the back of my head. “Does anybody have ice?”

“We're not supposed to have ice in the camp,” Melanie said.

“But I can get some if you don't tell anyone where it came from,” Carol added, half running off.

“Mum's the word,” I said. I really didn't care about the whole bizarre black market in this place.

Nick slid next to me on the bench. “Here, let me see that.” He gently pulled back my hair. “There's no broken skin, although you're getting quite a lump. It looks like you've had a significant encounter with the not-so-proverbial blunt object.”

“And here I was just filming it!” Brad raked a hand through his hair. “I can be so dense sometimes.”

I opened my mouth but was in no mood to argue with him at the moment.

“Do you remember what happened?” Nick asked.

“I was coming to see you,” I started.

“Me?” he asked.

“But you weren't awake yet, so I wandered around the camp a bit. I went to check out the food vendor's stall. And . . .” After that an old Beatles song played in my head, but it hardly seemed relevant, so I didn't mention it. “That's the last I can recall.”

“We should call Bixby,” Nick said.

“He's the one who cautioned me not to come out here alone. If he gets wind of this . . .” What could he do? Technically we were both deputies, equal in rank. Unless some deputies were more equal than others. I suspected that was probably the case.

“But you can't let someone get away with assaulting you,” Brad said.

“I'm not. Because I'm going to catch whoever did this,” I said with mounting resolve. “The more I find out about Barry Brooks, I'll admit, the less I like him. But now my father is in jail, Nick could get sued, and whoever did this”—I pointed to my throbbing goose egg—“well, they've made it personal.”

“Audrey.” Brad collapsed on his knees in front of me. I sure hoped he hadn't picked this moment to propose. “We have to get you to the doctor. You're not talking sense.”

“What did I say?”

“That your father was in jail. He's been gone for years.”

“No,” Nick said. “The father is her father.”

“Huh?” Brad looked up at Nick.

“Father Richard, the friar, is really Audrey's father,” Nick said. “He's a bounty hunter.”

“Whoa,” said Melanie. “Your father is a priest
and
a bounty hunter? That's kind of freaky. In a cool sort of way.”

“He's not a real priest,” I said.

Carol rushed back with ice bound in what looked like old rags. “They're clean,” she said. “Just dyed to look like old rags.” She looked around at the faces. “What did I miss?”

“How about we take Audrey back to our cottage and get her cleaned up,” Melanie said. “I think there's a story here.”

Since the cottage the girls shared was just outside the clearing with the stocks, I agreed. And they even allowed me to walk unaided, with a quick stop at the nearest garderobe, although Nick was close by in case I should take a tumble. Fitting us all in that cramped cottage was tight—Nick, Brad, Melanie, Carol, and me—but I was glad to no longer be a public spectacle. So I told them the whole story while Melanie and Carol tried to blot the tomato juice out of my Joan of Arc outfit.

“Well, Bixby's right about one thing,” Nick said. “You shouldn't be wandering around here alone. Apparently you're on someone's radar.”

“Liv's been dying to come,” I said, “but if I let her, Eric would kill me.”

“I don't blame him,” Nick said. “But I'd be glad to help.”

“So would I,” Brad said.

Melanie and Carol nodded.

“I can't keep you from the other things you're supposed to be doing.” I looked at Nick. “Your baking.” I turned to Brad. “Or your filming.” I looked at the girls. “Or your schoolwork.”

“But if we take turns, it's not so much,” Melanie said.

“But no more wandering around in the dark.” Nick tapped the tip of my nose to emphasize his point. “Especially if it was the killer who attacked you.”

“Who else would it be?” Brad said. “I can't imagine anyone bonked Audrey over the head for no reason.”

“You must have been getting close,” Melanie said. “Where exactly were you when someone attacked you?”

“I was in the area by the blacksmith and the food vendor, across from the father's—my father's—tent. But all of them are in jail.”

“Not anymore,” Nick said. “I saw Chandler Hines this morning. Looks like he made bail.”

I bit my bottom lip. “I'll bet my father's out, too, then, considering that's what he does. Strickland may be the only one still locked up. Or Joe, as I guess he's known as in these parts. Which does, oddly enough, eliminate the one clear felon of the group.”

“At least as far as the head conking goes,” Carol said. “The person who attacked you might not be the killer.”

“True,” Melanie said. “But who else here would have attacked Audrey?”

“Could it have been some kind of prank?” Brad asked. “Maybe Strickland did kill Brooks and someone else just hit you on the head because . . . okay, I got nothing.”

“I can't believe Joe's some arch-criminal,” Carol said. “I worked with him last year. He wasn't that friendly, but I would never have thought he was a fugitive.”

“Just your common, everyday drug dealer,” I said.

“So,” Melanie said, “someone bonked you on the head and carried you over to the stocks. We're going to be looking for a fairly strong man. No offense.”

“I don't know.” I pounded some dust off my clothing. “I'm awfully dirty—and sore. I'm going to lay odds that I was dragged. So the person who conked me could be a man or a woman. I wasn't in a condition to put up a struggle at that point. But this cottage is right near the stocks. Did any of you see or hear anything?”

Melanie shook her head. “I'm a pretty sound sleeper. I think it's all this fresh air.”

“I might have.” Carol furrowed her eyebrows. “I woke up once, maybe around four. And I heard a woman talking. Would that have been the time?”

“I arrived sometime between three thirty and four, I think. I didn't look at the time. Did you recognize the voice?”

Carol nodded. “I think so. It sounded like Raylene Quinn. But I can't be sure.”

“That's interesting,” I managed. Again, another clue seemed to point to Raylene. “Carol, you and Melanie work for Brooks's entourage, right? In the stables? Any chance I could tag along? I'd like to get to know everybody a little better.”

“Yes,” she said, “but I'm off today. Tomorrow might be better anyway. It's tournament day. There'll be plenty of work to share, and everyone will be around.”

“Plan on it, then.”

“But there's no proof, even if it was Raylene talking,” Nick said, “that she attacked you. Or that she killed Brooks.”

“No,” I said. “But if it was Raylene, we've just learned that she had an accomplice.”

When heads snapped toward me, a question on every face, I explained. “Well, she wouldn't be wandering around the camp at four in the morning talking to herself, would she?”

*   *   *

Nick insisted on
walking me to my car, driving me back to town, and escorting me directly to my doctor's office—despite my insistence that I was fine. I would have appreciated a change in clothes first. One little girl in the waiting room must have jumped to the conclusion that I was an elf, because she kept dropping hints of what she wanted for Christmas. But the doctor squeezed me in, and I accepted his free sample of painkillers anyway and promised him that I'd be sure to call the office if I experienced any signs of concussion.

When we finally went back to my place so I could change, Nick volunteered to wash out my costume—well, technically it was still his costume. And with all that work that went into hand-stitching it, I figured he had a right to see to its proper maintenance. It was still drip-drying in my bathroom when we headed to the shop.

“I can drop you back at camp, if you'd like,” I offered. “The doctor cleared me for driving. And all I'm going to do this morning is make bouquets for a wedding tomorrow.”

“He might have cleared you, but the meds he gave you say you're not to drive. So get used to being chauffeured.” He pulled the CR-V into my spot behind the shop and was about to open the back door when I heard Liv yelling.

I tugged open the door. “What's wrong?”

A red-faced Liv was nose-to-nose with my father, giving him a piece of her mind. Well, more like nose-to-chest, but she was still intimidating with her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing. He was backed into a corner, taking it. Amber Lee stood at her work station trying hard not to look amused.

“Well, hello, Dad,” I said. “I see you've found your way out of jail.”

He smiled at me. “Your cousin and I were just getting reacquainted. She sure takes after your mother's side of the family.”

Liv crossed her arms and glared at him.

“I'm declaring a moratorium on infighting until after the killer is caught,” I said, then adopted a casual air. “So when did you get out?”

“About ten last night. The accommodations weren't exactly to my liking. And I'm not fond of orange as a wardrobe choice. I will add that you have several fine choices of bond service here in this part of Virginia.”

“That's a relief to know,” Amber Lee said, then went back to her work.

“They don't like giving discounts, however,” he said. “Even though Chandler Hines and I shared the same bondsman, so we saved him a trip. I was hoping for a two-fer.”

“So he got out last night, too?” I asked.

“Yes. They'd rather not hold you if they can help it. But why the curiosity about Chandler Hines?”

“Someone attacked Audrey early this morning,” Nick said.

“Are you all right?” Liv was at my side in a shot, poking and probing.

I shooed her away.

Nick offered his hand to my father. “By the way, Nick Maxwell. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Sir?” he said. “Must be a suitor. Audrey? Is this your young man?”

“Dad. Not now.”