Holding Court (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

I’m the Crazy One

I
’m picking at my roast beef, waiting for my court-appointed squire, when I get the neck-tingling feeling that someone is watching me. I look up to see Floyd leaning in the doorway to the dining room.

He tips his hat at me and ambles over. “Sister Elizabeth, I believe you’ve been holding out on the Keeper.” He wags a finger in my face.

“Oh?” I say, leaning as far away from him as possible. After Gran’s description of his aura I can’t help picturing a stinky black cloud following him around.

“When you asked the Keeper about the secret passageway you somehow failed to mention the dead body.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I decide to go for naive innocence. “I know. And I’m really sorry. But I couldn’t say anything because Mr. Bacon swore me to secrecy and I was freaking out because no one believed me about the body and I was just trying to figure out a way to prove that I saw what I saw and that it wasn’t a hallucination.”

“What did you see, Mistress Verity?”

“If I tell you, will you answer a question for me?”

“Tit for tat again, eh?”

“Uh, yeah. Can’t we just call it an exchange of information? Or maybe quid pro quo?”

“Very well, but this time no leaving out the good stuff.”

I have to stifle a shiver of revulsion upon hearing a dead body described as “the good stuff.”

“And you go first,” he says, “I want to hear about the body.”

“Okay. There’s not much to tell. She was lying on the floor in the passageway and it looked like someone had strangled her with one of King Henry’s necklaces. I’m pretty sure it was Sarah Buckley, but since the body disappeared I have no proof and the police seem reluctant to take me seriously. Possibly because of the ketchup.”

“Ketchup?”

“Never mind. So, yeah, that’s it. She was in the passageway, she was definitely dead, and by the time King Henry showed up the body had disappeared.”

“So you’re the only one who saw her?”

“Yup. Okay, my turn,” I say, and decide to go for broke. I look around the room. No one seems to be paying any attention to us, but there are enough people around that I feel comfortable asking Floyd what I’m about to ask him. “If you’d just killed Sarah in the secret passageway behind the alcove, where would you hide the body?”

I expect him to look shocked or something, but he just cocks his head to one side and taps a finger against his lips. “You ask such interesting questions, Mistress Verity. Let me see. How much time do I have?”

“Ten minutes tops. Probably more like six or seven. And I already know there are only two sets of stairs in the passageway, one leading down to the dungeon and one that leads up to Hank’s private quarters.”

“I see. Yes, upstairs or down. There’s the cabinet…” His one beady eye suddenly lights up. “The priest hole, of course! But the King’s bedchamber would be a risk. Too many chances for discovery. But the dungeon…there’s the iron maiden, I suppose.”

“The what?”

He smiles at me. It’s a quick, triumphant grin and then just as suddenly it’s replaced by a worried frown. “The priest hole or the iron maiden. But no one knows. Except…”

“Except what?”

“That’s all I’m prepared to say, Sister Elizabeth. A secret is a very lucrative thing to have. Ask King Henry.” He taps his nose and walks away.

Oh, sure. And I’m the crazy one.

“
Your knight in shining armor, reporting for duty.”

I look up to see Grayson in his billowy white shirt. He has got to stop looking like he just stepped off the cover of a romance novel. My heart can’t take the exquisite torture. “What?” I say, forgetting whatever it was he just said.

“‘I told you I would always come for you,’” he quotes, and I find myself desperately wishing we really were in a book and that this was a kissing scene. “Hey, are you okay? You look a little flustered.”

Well, yeah. Stop being so heart-stoppingly dreamy. And stop making me wonder if you’re saying these things because you love the same movie I do, or because you love
me
. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about something. What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be galloping around on a horse or practicing left-handed sword fighting or whatever?”

“King Henry asked me to serve as your squire today. I’m supposed to escort you to the Oratory.”

“He did?” I ask, feeling flustered. The plan was to ogle Grayson from
afar
, not up close and personal. Unrequited love is much easier to take from afar. “I thought you were training to be a knight?”

“His Majesty assures me this is a temporary assignment, just until he gets the Sarah Buckley Situation squared away.”

“The Sarah Buckley Situation? Did he really call it that?”

“Yeah, he did. He called me into his study to ask me if I thought you were nuts.”

“Seriously? I thought he was on
my
side. Why is everyone so eager to assume I’m nuts? Just because I blurt out random bizarre statements and find dead bodies that disappear before anyone else sees them?”

“I think it was more that he wanted to make sure
I
was on your side. And when I assured him that you’re mostly perfectly sane, he asked me if I’d keep an eye on you.”

“So you’re supposed to spy on me?” Something about this setup feels off.

“I’m not spying on you. I’d just like to make sure whoever killed Sarah doesn’t come after you. Come on, Jules. I’m on your side.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” I stand up.

He puts a hand on my arm, and the surge of warmth it sends through me conflicts with the icky feeling of having him assigned to be my spy. “Jules, I’ll admit the psychic thing still kind of makes me nervous, but I really am on your side here. I want to help. Plus, I owe you one for accusing you of cheating on that math test. Let me help.”

I look up at him, and my heart gives a funny little flutter. “The virgin hides the truth!” I yell in his face.

“You don’t say?”

“I pretty much wish I hadn’t.”

On the way to the Oratory, I fill Grayson in on the latest developments in the Sarah Buckley Situation, including my interview with the police, Sarah’s alleged larceny scheme, and my conversations with Jared and Floyd.

“Wow,” Grayson says. “Sarah was stealing stuff?” He pauses at the Oratory door.

“Yeah, and the police think she had an accomplice. Hang on, let me check my schedule.” I duck into the room and grab the sheet of paper on the wooden table. I have two private readings scheduled, both right before dinner. “I don’t have anyone coming for a private reading for a while. Are you supposed to stand at the door or can you sit down and pretend to be a supplicant for the tourists?”

“My orders are to stand at the door and look deeply menacing to anyone who might wish you bodily harm.”

“Gotcha.”

“But I’m all ears if you want to talk.”

My head and my heart are at war over the prospect of spending more time with Grayson, especially when it involves having to do my Maid of Kent act in front of him. I decide to focus on the Sarah Buckley Situation and ignore the Alone With a Hot Guy Situation.

“Okay, let me know if there’s a group coming so I can hurry up and act pious.” I move a chair closer to the door and grab the Maid of Kent’s huge Bible. “From what the police said, it sounds like Sarah was probably working her way through Hank’s collection of Tudor replicas. I wonder if she was on her way to replace the necklace when someone attacked her in the passageway? One of those sets of stairs leads to Hank’s private quarters where he probably keeps the really expensive stuff. I bet that’s how she got her hands on the replicas.”

“You don’t still think there’s any chance Hank killed her, do you?”

“No. But we have to consider it as a possibility, right? It’s his house, his employee, his jewelry.”

“And if she was stealing his stuff that gives him a motive.”

“Yeah. But if he killed Sarah, why would he call the police? The last thing he’d want is to have them sniffing around Tudor Times. And if he killed her because she was stealing his stuff, then he wouldn’t need to call the police, because he would already know what she was up to, right?”

“Makes sense. So what are the police going to do?”

“Hank said he showed them the passageway and there was no evidence of foul play or anything. I guess they’ll contact Sarah’s friends and relatives and see if anyone’s heard from her. Which, obviously they haven’t since she’s dead. What about Mike the Knight? You said they did Renaissance Faire stuff together. Is there any chance he could have been her accomplice?”

“It’s possible. Listen to this, I asked him about Sarah when I saw him at the stables earlier today and he was really weird about it. He asked me why I thought he’d know what Sarah was up to and I said I thought they were friends, that they did the whole Ren Faire thing together, and he said, ‘I don’t keep tabs on Sarah. I have no idea what she’s been up to.’ He obviously didn’t want to talk about her. And then I found out he took off right after we finished talking. He’s gone. Didn’t even bother to sign out.”

“Weird. When I talked to him he asked me if Sarah had a weapon with her, specifically a jeweled dagger. Do you think the dagger was one of the replicas Sarah stole?”

“Could be. It definitely sounds suspicious.”

“Right? Crap, I should have told the police about him.”

“Okay, so King Henry is probably in the clear, but Mike is looking shady. What do you think about Floyd?”

“I don’t know. He actually admitted to knowing about the secret passageway and purposely keeping secrets. And he told me where he’d hide the body, which he probably wouldn’t do if he was the murderer, right? Which reminds me, do you have any idea what an iron maiden or a priest hole are?”

“You mean, besides the band?”

“The what?”

“Iron Maiden, eighties heavy metal band?”

“Yeah, I kind of doubt he was talking about a heavy metal band.” I look sideways at Grayson. “Hank said we can’t go in the passageway but he didn’t say anything about the dungeon.”

“I like the way you think, Buttercup.” Grayson grins at me.

Happy sigh. Okay, refocus, Jules. “Except don’t you think the police would have checked everywhere? And I got the feeling Floyd was going to make a beeline for every possible place to stash a dead body as soon as we finished our conversation.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to look?”

“No, I do. I’m just guessing that if there was anything to be found Floyd will have already beaten us to it.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to check. As long as we stay out of Hank’s private rooms. Which leaves the dungeon. Do you know how to get there without using the secret passageway?”

“Yeah, there’s a staircase in the southeast corner of the castle.”

“You’re finished after you do your dinner performance, right? I say we do a little dungeon recon, what do you say?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Away Inctersphay Ayssay Atwhay?

The day is going fairly well; no one has attempted to kill me and I’ve managed to make some decent premonitions and a few nonsensical butterfly blurts for the castle guests, and I’ve almost gotten over feeling like a total habit-wearing-spontaneous-blurter dork in front of Grayson, when I hear a voice in the hallway that makes me want to jump out of one of the Oratory’s stained glass windows.

“Grayson, is that you? Oh. My. God. You look so hot! Doesn’t he look hot, Whitney?”

“Totally droolsome. Bree is
so
lucky.”

“Right? Is this where we go for our psychic reading? I know what I want in my future. Am I right, Whit?”

“Go right in, fair maidens. Sister Elizabeth awaits,” Grayson says, and in walk Sidney Barlow and her bestie, Whitney Petty.

“Jules?” Sidney squeals. “Oh my God! You’re a nun! That is so tragic. Whitney, look at her!”

Whitney gives a shiver of horror. “That’s so totally gruesome.”

“Hello, fair maidens,” I say in my quiet, unperturbed Maid of Kent voice. “Are you here for a reading?” What I really want to say is,
Are you serious? Is this some kind of punishment from God for complaining about having to wear a nun outfit?
Because I can’t think of two people I’d less like to see while playing the Maid of Kent. Sidney Barlow has had it out for me ever since the crimson wave incident, and it certainly doesn’t help that my best friend is her drama club nemesis. Whitney Petty is just, well, petty.

“Bree said we had to come see you because you’re like totally amazeballs or something,” Sidney says.

“Yeah, like totally awesomesauce,” Whitney adds.

“I see.”

“So, what do you do, like read my palm or something?” Sidney asks.

“Have a seat, fair maidens, and I will see what the spirits have to say.”

Sidney and Whitney sit down, and I close my eyes and try to decide how much I’m going to mess with them.

I open my eyes. “Which one of you is Sidney?” I ask.

“Duh, Jules. You know
I
am,” Sidney says.

“Who is this ‘Jules’ you speak of? I am the Maid of Kent. You may call me Sister Elizabeth, if you wish. The spirits have a message for Sidney, would you like to hear it?”

“Well, yeah.”

I give her a stern nunly look, and she shifts uncomfortably in her chair, then looks at Whitney, who shrugs.

“Yes, please, Sister Elizabeth.”

“The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

“It does? Oh my God! Does that mean I’m going to play Eliza Doolittle?”

“Do a little or do a lot, it will come to naught.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My task is to pass on the messages from the spirits. It is up to you to decipher what they mean to you.”

“Fine. What other visions do you have for me then?”

“The spirits are finding it difficult to come through today.” I put my fingers to my veil. “Oh, wait. They have another message: you seek to be a lady fair, but Camille will be the fairest of them all.”

“Camille? You mean Cami?”

“Perhaps. Does this mean something to you?”

“It should mean something to
you
, she’s
your
best friend.”

“I have no friends. I am but a poor nun who has been blessed with the gift of visions.”

“Fine. In your
vision
am I going to get the lead in
My Fair Lady
or what? And what about senior prom? I’m going to be queen, right?”

I roll my eyes back in my head and mumble, “A sphincter says what?” in Pig Latin.

“What? What did you say?” Sidney demands.

“I told you she was a total freak,” Whitney whispers.

“Hold on. I’m getting another vision.” I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fingers to my temples. “You are dressed in a silken gown that glows like firelight. And there is something on your head. Something shiny and round. A crown? No, it’s on your nose. It’s…it’s…it looks like…a giant pus-filled, plague-spreading bubo!” I open my eyes and smile serenely at Sidney.

“What the hell is a bubo?” she asks.

“I hope it’s not like mono,” Whitney says. “You’d think something called the kissing disease would be awesome but it’s so not.”

“You’ve never heard of the bubonic plague?” I ask, then add, “Don’t worry, it’s probably just a giant zit. I’m sure they can Photoshop it out of your prom pictures.”

“You know what?” Sidney says, standing up. “I think you’re full of crap, Jules Verity. I don’t know why Bree likes you so much. You’ve always been a freak, and you always will be. Come on, Whit. We’re out of here.”

Sidney and Whitney storm out of the room, and I sit there trying not to giggle.

Grayson pokes his head in and gives me a funny look. Then he starts laughing.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” I say.

“Are you kidding? That was ‘totally amazeballs.’”

“I thought you were friends with Sidney.”

“I tolerate her for Bree’s sake. But just because Bree’s capable of being friends with everyone she meets doesn’t mean I want to be. I don’t have her gift for seeing the good in everyone. And I definitely can’t see what she sees in Sidney Barlow.”

“Oh, come on. Sidney’s totally up on the latest fashion trends, has perfectly manicured fingernails, and not a split end in sight. What more could you want?”

“A lot. How about someone who’s unrelentingly honest, appealingly quirky, and a fan of the best movie ever?” Grayson takes a step toward me.

“Those sound good,” I say, and my breath catches in my throat as he steps even closer.

“Or how about someone who’s totally unaware of her own beauty?” Grayson says and his eyes drift to my lips. “Someone who likes to wear cherry-red lip gloss?”

I reach a hand up to touch my lips. If I didn’t know that Grayson already had the most perfect girlfriend ever… But no. There’s no way Grayson could ever want
me
. Could he? He takes another step closer and we’re inches apart and I’m having very un-nunly thoughts when a tour group appears in the doorway behind Grayson. “Greetings lords and ladies!” I exclaim, sounding like an overzealous salesclerk.

Grayson stiffens, then turns without a word to take up his post at the door.