Harrowing Hats (17 page)

He frowned and took a big drink of wine. “Really? No magic moment?”

“I’m afraid not. I remember liking you a lot—admiring you. But I don’t have a specific moment. I just knew I loved you one day. I don’t think you were even around. I think I was at the university.”

He made a noise somewhere between a
hmm
and a
humph
.

“Is that okay? I mean, maybe everyone doesn’t have a magic moment, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t in love, right?”

Chase’s radio went off. There was a problem with the water at the Good Luck Fountain in the Village Square. It was shooting up fifty feet in the air, according to Chase’s security minions.

“I have to go.” He got up, found other pants to wear that weren’t as cute, and gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t wait up. This might be a long night.”

I wasn’t happy about the situation. We didn’t resolve the magic-moment issue. I still felt kind of out of the loop. He’d looked so hurt when I didn’t remember when I first knew I loved him. I probably should’ve made something up—but it was such a surprise.

I couldn’t just let it go like this. I didn’t want to go to sleep knowing he was out there battling a menacing fountain, thinking I didn’t love him the way he loved me.

Part of this was guilt over my lustful feelings toward the knight who’d brought me home. I had to show Chase—and myself—that our relationship was important and special to me.

I got rid of what was left from dinner as fast as I could. Dessert got stowed away for later. I pulled on jeans, a tank top, and sneakers and left the Dungeon headed for the Village Square.

I could hear the noise from the center of the Village. A few residents had lined up to watch maintenance deal with the geyser that the Good Luck Fountain had become. Some offduty security men watched them work, too. People without TVs will watch anything for amusement.

“Have you seen Chase out here?” I asked one of the Lovely Laundry Ladies.

“No. If I had, I wouldn’t be watching the fountain, would I?”

Ignoring her, I went to ask Shakespeare if he’d seen Chase. It had only been, at the most, thirty minutes since Chase had left the Dungeon. Someone had to have seen him.

“He was here,” Shakespeare (Pat Snyder) said. “He left maintenance in control. Sit down, Jessie. Have some wine with me. The night is young and the fountain is flowing. There must be an ode there somewhere. I’ll think of it tomorrow.”

I was completely baffled. I knew I hadn’t passed him on the way from the Dungeon. The rest of the Village was quiet. Where was Chase? Why wasn’t he here? If he’d gone back and found me missing, surely he’d think about me following him. I walked back toward the Main Gate.

“Maybe I can help you find your lover,” a man I didn’t know said. “I can at least point you in the right direction.”

He was dressed like another madman. His pants were baggy and threadbare. He had the customary pan and utensils on his side. His face was hidden by his large flowered hat, but I knew it wasn’t the reporter from this afternoon. This madman was taller and thinner even with the baggy clothes.

“Thanks. But I can find him on my own.” What was with the extra madmen this summer? Did Beth make too many madman costumes and decide to hand them out to anyone passing by the costume shop?

“That wasn’t necessarily a request.”

I felt something hard and angular pushed into my side. “Are you serious? That better be a gun or I’m going to hurt you.”

“
O
h, it’s a gun all right, honey,” he whispered. “Let’s walk away from the event here and find someplace quiet to talk.”

The madmen truly were quite mad this year. I wasn’t sure if I should put my hands up or not. The gun in my side nudged me toward the back of the manor houses at Squire’s Lane. It was dark, unusually dark even for the Village, in the shadow of the large, brick houses.

I’d never really thought much about it before, but it struck me as odd that no one lived in these houses. They were empty shells made to impress the visitors. I wondered why they never put shops or Village housing inside. Too bad, since if someone actually lived here, I could call for help.

“This is good,” he grunted at me. “You’re Jessie Morton, right? You work with Andre Hariot at the Hat House.”

“Is this some kind of weird survey thing?”

“You people all have a strange sense of humor down here. Is it normal, or something that comes from living here with all these freaks?”

“Excuse me. You’re dressed like a madman and you’re holding a gun on me. I think you might be one of those freaks.”

“Is that what this is supposed to be?” He chuckled. “I was wondering. What’s the idea of the pan and spoon?”

“You’re supposed to sit along the street and bang the pan with the spoon, all the while making either witty or disgusting remarks to visitors as they pass you. Don’t they give out character guides anymore? When I started here, everyone knew what their job was. But they also knew not to bring guns into the Village. Knives, daggers, swords, bow and arrow, lances—”

I was stalling. I thought if I could keep him talking, someone else might walk this way. People with guns made me nervous. How did he know my name? Why single me out to harass?

“Never mind all that.” He made a snorting noise and shifted position a little like his feet hurt. “I want to know what’s going on with Hariot. I think you’re the one who’s going to tell me. I need to hear whatever that little murdering weasel has to say. I want to know his schedule and how you fit into all of it. I’ve been watching you come and go, skipping around in your little costume. It’s time to get real.”

Boy, had he come to the wrong place.
“This is something else about Andre and the murder in Hollywood, isn’t it?”

“You got it.”

“And you’re a reporter?”

“No! I’m a private detective. I was hired by Kathleen Hariot’s children from her first marriage. They’re tired of waiting for justice. They want to see that snake who killed their mother go to prison.”

“That sounds like justice to me!”

“Don’t get smart, missy. Just tell me what I need to know and nobody will get hurt.”

I wasn’t in the best of places, standing in the dark where no one could see me with a madman who had a gun in my side and didn’t know what to do with his pan and spoon.

I didn’t know what to do either. There were no weapons within reach—not that a sword, shield, or catapult would help me out. A gun was top of the food chain when it came to weapons. It was faster, easier, and deadlier in most cases. I know a little self-defense but not enough to take on someone who was ready to kill me for information.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I said honestly. “I’m Andre’s apprentice. We make hats for the Village. I don’t know anything about his role in either murder. You said you were watching me today. You know what I do. I run a lot of errands for him. That’s about it.”

“You spend time with him. He confides in you. Tell me what he says.”

“He hasn’t confided anything in me unless you count that thing about the script girl getting pregnant on the
Ghost-busters
set. We talk about movies. That’s it.”

There were actually spotlights in the Village—giant, eye-rending lights that were only turned on during emergencies. They kind of destroyed the whole Renaissance atmosphere. The fountain must have suddenly been designated as an emergency, thank goodness, and the stadium lights, disguised as trees, came on.

The man who held the gun on me was facing the lights. He made an
argh
sound and covered his eyes, but not before I kicked him in the leg and brought my knee up into his groin.

As he fell to the ground, I ran. I didn’t wait to see if he was getting up again or not. I was immediately glad that I’d worn my tennis shoes instead of my sandals.

I stopped the first security man I saw and told him what happened. He followed me back to the manor houses, but the private investigator was gone.

“I could call Chase,” he offered, betraying his knowledge of our relationship.

“Do that,” I said a little harshly. “I’d like to know where the hell he is. He was supposed to be out here helping with the fountain.”

But there was no answer from Chase’s radio. The security man shrugged. “Sorry. Maybe he’s busy.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “Thanks anyway.”

Was that pity I saw in his eyes? Did he feel sorry for me? Worse, did he know something I didn’t know about Chase’s weird disappearances?

I hoped not, for Chase’s sake. Between being held against my will at gunpoint and Chase not being there to save me or even prevent it from happening in the first place, I wasn’t feeling very charitable toward him at that moment.

“Would you like me to walk you back to the Dungeon?” the security man asked.

“No. I’m fine.” As I walked away from him, the fountain with the dolphins where I’d gotten water for the knight that day, sprang a gusher. “Looks like you’re going to have your hands full.”

I was too angry to sleep. I wandered around the Village, daring that stupid man to come at me again. I was armed with a heavy wooden stake that had been used to anchor part of a sheep enclosure. Maybe it would’ve been better against vampires, but it wasn’t Halloween and I was convinced I could do some damage with it.

There were always some lights left on in the Village at night. Most of them were small and had something to do with security—not like the big lights at the Village Square. I was used to them and ignored most of them as I went by. But when I reached Da Vinci’s Drawings, I noticed a larger, more commercial light at the Three Chocolatiers Shoppe.

As far as I knew (like Chase said to the Rizzo brothers), no one was allowed in the shop. Someone was messing around in there where they weren’t supposed to be. It made me angrier thinking about it. Poor philandering Cesar couldn’t even be buried, but someone could go through his shop. Maybe nobody else was around to take care of it, but I decided to put my foot down. Enough was enough.

I
sneaked around the back of the shop, clutching my solid piece of wood in my hand. Maybe I’d get lucky and find the killer trying to cover his tracks. I knew it was unlikely—not to mention a little too late. Detective Almond and his men had been over the shop several times since Cesar had died.

I was wondering what else someone could want here. A chocolate craving came to mind, but I couldn’t think of anyone that desperate.

The back door was open—yellow, non-Renaissance light spilling out into the back courtyard where the brothers used to come out and practice their sword play. I looked at my wood and wished it were a sword. But my fairy godmother was apparently out on another call. I was stuck doing the best I could with what I had.
Where is Chase?

Without backup or reinforcements, I knew I was crazy to approach the shop at all. But after the stupid man who’d held me at gunpoint disappeared, running for help would probably mean not catching this person in the act.

I’d seen the movie
Lady Hawk
and admired Matthew Broderick trying to convince his would-be attacker that there were several people with him. It seemed like a good plan for this occasion.

As I approached the open door, I lowered the timbre of my voice, trying to sound more masculine, and said, “The door’s open over here, Jack! Someone might be breaking in!”

“I’m almost there, Chase.” I tried to sound a little different again. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll get it,” I volunteered in my own voice at the same time that I pushed the door. It swung open and smacked against the back of the shop, making me jump.

“Who’s there?” Bernardo called out into the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” I looked over my shoulder and called back to my make-believe friends that it was only Bernardo. “I’m patrolling with Chase and Jack tonight. You’re lucky we’re not the police. They don’t like their crime scenes messed around with.”