Midsummer Night's Mischief (22 page)

“I'd wait a little while, chica. If they start investigating now, this Derello guy is going to put two and two together. They have cameras at those check-cashing places, you know.”

“Ugh. You're right.” I slumped on the bench and blew a wisp of hair out of my eyes. “The last thing I want is that hulk coming after me. Which reminds me. Someone dropped a little love note in my bag while I was over at LitCon.” I took out the Edgar Allan Poe postcard and showed it to Farrah.

“Not very romantic,” remarked Farrah, setting down the Old West photo and taking the postcard. Then she turned it over. “What the . . . ?”

“Rock thrower was right beside me, and I didn't even know it.”

Farrah met my eyes. “Are you okay? Are you freaking out?”

“No. I'm fine. Surprisingly, I'm not really freaked at all. I'm pissed that this person is so close yet is apparently getting away scot-free.”

“Not yet they're not,” said Farrah. She tapped the postcard on the table and squinted in the sun. “So what do we do next?”

I stared across the lawn, vaguely aware that Robin Hood and Friar Tuck were moving toward our table. “I'm not sure, Farrah, but I've been thinking about the fact that we do have a limited number of suspects. What if—”

“Oh, shit! It's almost one o'clock.” Farrah glanced up from her phone and hopped out of her seat. “I'm sorry, Kel, but I'm supposed to meet Jake by the entrance.”

“Ooh, I've got to go, too.” I grabbed the creepy postcard from the table and tossed it in my tote. Then I carefully slipped our souvenir photo back in its envelope and slipped it in my bag, as well.

Farrah squeezed my arm before we parted ways. “Let's meet up and discuss this later. If the thief is about to sell the Folio, we're running out of time.”

I knew she was right, except for one thing. It wasn't
we
who were running out of time. It was
I
who was running out of time. My job was the one on the line.

* * *

The lawn in front of the stage was filling up quickly. I spared a glance at my phone as I hurried through the crowd. It was five minutes until 1:00 p.m.
Yikes.
I had to find Wes.

Well, maybe the play will start late
, I thought when I noticed a couple of the entertainers I had seen before trying to steer people toward the stage. Suddenly, I found myself face-to-face with the donkey character. We were each trying to get through a narrow opening in the crowd and now found ourselves blocking one another's progress. As a result, I found myself dancing with an ass.
Terrific.

Of course, Bottom had to make a big show of it. It was almost as if he was blocking my way on purpose, like a goalie before the net. It was actually pretty disconcerting, facing the giant donkey head and not knowing who was really inside. For a minute, we engaged in an embarrassing little two-step as I tried to avoid being stepped on by his brown- and white-leather wing tips.
Fancy shoes for a donkey man.
Finally, with an exaggerated flourish, he allowed me to pass.

“Thanks,” I muttered as I squeezed by. Now, where was Wes?

As I approached the stage, looking left and right, I spotted a pair of women seated on a large blanket and sharing wine, cheese, and fruit. I wondered if they were reliving their childhood picnics with Eleanor and Frank. They looked up as I passed by, so I called a cheery hello. Sharon waved at me, raising her glass in greeting. Darlene looked away.

Finally, I caught sight of Wes right where he had said he would be, front and center. Looking scrumptious in gray jeans and a crisp white Henley shirt, he stood, leaning casually back on the stage, as he scanned the crowd. He smiled when he saw me.

“I'm so sorry,” I said, a little breathless. “I wanted to get here earlier.”

“You're right on time,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to a checkered blanket about ten feet in front of the stage. “But I have to admit, this would have made for a sad little scene if you hadn't shown.”

I sat down next to him and admired the spread. In the center of the blanket was a two-inch-high wooden tray table that contained two glasses of white wine, two cloth napkins, and two dinner plates filled with triangle sandwiches, carrot sticks, bell pepper strips, and cherry tomatoes. In the center of the little table was a tea candle, which Wes now lit.

“Oh, this looks delicious. Wow, Wes. I am really impressed.” I knew I was gushing, but I couldn't help it.

“Well, I had a little help from the vegan bakery. After those sandwiches the other day, I knew I had to go back. That place rocks.”

You rock
, I thought. I smiled at him as I took a sip of my wine.

“And there's more food in the basket. Oh, here's a hummus dip for the veggies. And we have chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert.”

“Mmm,” I murmured, taking a bite of my sandwich and another sip of wine. “Good. I'm starving.”

Wes grinned and lifted his glass. “To second chances—again. Seems to be a pattern with us, huh?”

I clinked my glass to his and nodded. “I'm a big believer in second chances,” I said. “Takes some of the pressure off the first chance.”

“I like that,” said Wes. “You look fantastic, by the way. I should have told you that before.”

“So do you,” I said. “I have to tell you, I was kind of relieved to find you not wearing a puffy shirt and breeches. Or a codpiece.”

Wes tossed his head back and laughed.

Just then the curtains parted and the play began. Wes shifted around closer to me, and we spent the next forty-five minutes munching on our food and enjoying the show. At the intermission, Wes got out the strawberries and poured more wine.

“Your uncle is really good,” I said.

“Yeah, he's a pro,” Wes agreed. “We can go see him for a minute after the show. I think he would appreciate knowing how much we liked his performance.”

“I'd like that.”

For a minute, we were quiet. I wanted to bring up the Folio, but I didn't know how. I wanted to tell Wes what I had learned from T.C. Satterly and Wendell Knotts. I even longed to show him the mysterious postcard and tell him about the rock being thrown at my window. But I couldn't. Not as long as he and his family were implicated in this whole thing.

“Hey,” Wes said, “Jimi told me it was your birthday the other day. I don't know why he told me after the fact. Otherwise I would have tried to stop by the club.”

“Oh, yeah. It was fun. My friend Farrah went all out. It would have been nice to see you there. But, you know, this is pretty special, too.” I indicated the picnic and chose another strawberry.

The intermission ended, and we watched the second half of the play shoulder to shoulder. Although it was a bright sunny afternoon, the scene on the stage was an enchanted woodland in the middle of the night. When Wes reached over and slipped his hand into mine, I felt like we were sitting under the stars. I felt like I was dreaming. Or else maybe I was under the fairy's spell, like the characters in the play.

When the actors took their final bow, we untwined our fingers to applaud. Then the curtain closed, and the audience started dispersing. While Wes folded the blanket, I put our dishes in the basket and wondered what we would do after seeing Kirk backstage. I wasn't ready for the date to end yet.

Idly, I scanned the faces in the crowd, expecting we might see Darlene and Sharon heading backstage, as well. Instead, I saw someone I never would have expected to see at the Renaissance Faire: my boss, Beverly Olsen. I swallowed, preparing myself to be calm and casual, as she drew nearer. Then I saw who she was chatting with. Lord, help me. It was Edgar Harrison.

They hadn't seen me yet, but it was only a matter of seconds. Unfortunately, they seemed to be approaching the stage, as well. I had to get out of there. Edgar was sure to recognize me as the trespasser who had snagged herself on the barbed-wire fence behind his house and then had bolted like a maniac into the forest.

“Um, Wes, I just remembered something I have to do,” I said quickly. “I'm sorry, but I have to leave now. Please tell your uncle how much I enjoyed the show. And the picnic was wonderful. Good-bye.”

Leaving Wes with a bewildered expression and no chance to ask questions, I darted into the thickest part of the crowd, heading away from the stage. Without looking back, I zigzagged my way to the other side of the quad, eager to leave the festival and get myself home. I felt like such a heel for leaving Wes like that, but what could I do? Maybe I'd explain myself someday, and we could have a good laugh. Assuming he would see me again.

With the exit in sight, I slowed my steps. I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Ms. Milanni?”

Slowly, I turned to find Darlene standing before me, her face a mask of sadness and worry. Sharon stood at her side like a guard. Or maybe just close family.

“Do you have minute? Could we talk?”

“Of course,” I said, finally finding my voice. “How about here?” I pointed to a bench under some trees, and Darlene nodded her head. Sharon stood quietly nearby, letting Darlene take the lead.

“I want to apologize,” said Darlene. “I know you advised Mom to secure the book. And I know you've been trying to help. I never should have let my attorney send that letter. I never intended to make you pay for the loss.”

Darlene looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, and pressed her lips together. Her brow was furrowed so tightly, I imagined she must have one hell of a headache. I wanted to tell her to take a breath and let it all out.

Instead, I took a breath and tried to exude enough calmness for both of us. I reached out and touched the back of her hand. “It's okay. I'm sorry too.”

Darlene looked up. “It's just that . . . Well, it's not so much the loss of the Folio itself. It's that . . . I'm afraid . . .” Her voice faded to a whisper, and I noticed that her hands trembled. Finally, it dawned on me what she was really worried about. I decided to make it easier on her.

“Darlene,” I said softly, “I know about Rob.”

Darlene's eyes flashed, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to go all Mama Bear on me. Then her expression crumpled, and she put her hands over her face. Sharon came over and handed her a tissue.

“What do you know?” Darlene whispered, wiping her eyes.

“I know Rob has a gambling problem. And I know he took money from Wes.” I thought back to the day Farrah and I had found Rob at Eleanor's house, and I remembered the open drawers upstairs. Rob had probably been searching for money or valuables when we showed up at the door.

Darlene didn't say anything, so I went on. “Do you think he's the one who stole your jewelry the other day? Do you think he staged a break-in?”

Darlene sighed and nodded. “I think so, yes. But we haven't confronted him about it. And I don't have proof.”

I had to ask the next question. “Darlene, do you think Rob took the Shakespeare Folio?”

She set her jaw. “No. No, I really don't think so. Otherwise, why steal from me and Bill? If he had the Folio, he wouldn't still need money.”

There was a flaw in Darlene's logic, but I didn't point it out. I could tell Darlene already knew. If Rob had the Folio, he probably hadn't sold it yet. So he very well might feel the need to steal again to cover debts that couldn't wait. Especially debts collected by a thug with a nasty scar across his face.

“I just wish Rob would talk to me. His father and I have tried to convince him to get help, but he won't listen to us. I'm so afraid he's going to end up in prison.” Darlene's voice hitched, and her eyes filled with tears again. I had to do something.

With my mind racing, an idea started to take shape. Maybe if Rob were confronted with the evidence against him and presented with an opportunity to confess, he would do the right thing. Maybe if he were in a safe place, surrounded by family, it would be like an intervention. Maybe he would come clean and return the Folio, and all would be well. In fact, it might be just the thing to bring this case to a close.

CHAPTER 23

On Monday morning, I went for an early run to clear my head and calm my nerves. The weather forecasters had predicted a heat wave, and as it happened, they were right. Not ten minutes into my run and already I was drenched in sweat. I cut it short after twenty minutes and headed home, passing under every sprinkler I encountered along the way.

After a cool shower and a cold drink, I sat down in my breakfast nook to review the plan for this evening. I was still amazed at how quickly it was all coming together. As soon as I returned home from the Renaissance Faire on Saturday, I'd called Farrah to tell her my idea: We were going to stage a reading of Eleanor's will. Even though it was usually not necessary to gather all the beneficiaries for a reading, I figured everyone would want to come and find out what they had inherited. Plus, as soon as Darlene had made up her mind to trust me, she was fully on board.

Once we had everyone gathered together in one place, I would bring up the Folio and act like we already knew who had taken it. As I'd explained to Darlene, we did have an eyewitness. So it was entirely plausible that we might know who did it. No one else had to know that Brandi had no clue who she had seen leaving Eleanor's house the night of the visitation.

Saturday night I had called Beverly to get permission to use the office. First, though, I had asked Darlene to call Beverly, and she had readily agreed. Darlene had told the truth when she informed Beverly that she was ditching her other lawyer and retaining our firm to administer her mother's will. Then all I had had to do was tell Beverly that Darlene had requested a reading without delay. Beverly couldn't object to that. At Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty, we always accommodated our clients' wishes.

“Do you need Julie to assist?” Beverly had asked.

“No, that shouldn't be necessary. But I will need Pammy and Jeremy. They witnessed the will.” Since Eleanor had died so soon after executing her will, I knew it was a wise precaution to have the witnesses present at the reading. It wasn't uncommon for wills to be challenged under such circumstances. However, I had other reasons for wanting Jeremy there. He and Rob had gambled side by side on the riverboat. Jeremy might know something. At least, Rob might be led to
think
Jeremy knew something.

“I'll call Pammy and Jeremy,” Beverly had said. “And I'll ask Crenshaw to attend, as well. This estate case has been fraught with abnormalities. I think it could prove helpful to have Crenshaw on hand. He's been looking after your cases while you've been away.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I couldn't argue with Beverly. Crenshaw wasn't my favorite person, but it was highly likely that things would be tense tonight. I could probably use all the support I could get.

Farrah would be my primary support, though. We had spent all afternoon yesterday on my back deck, preparing for this evening. She would be my pro bono assistant, which, I would tell the other attorneys, was the client's wish. Farrah and I would tag team during the “big reveal,” as we were calling it. She would carefully note everyone's reactions while I talked, and vice versa. And if the game called for any good cop–bad cop action, she would play the bad cop, letting me protect my relationship with the family—to the extent that I still had any such relationship.

I glanced at my kitchen clock. Ten a.m. I had to do something to keep busy. Seven o'clock was a long way off. I decided to go see Mila.

Before leaving the house, I wanted to switch to a smaller purse. I went to grab my wallet and keys out of the tote I'd used on Saturday. I hadn't gone anywhere yesterday, so the tote was still where I had left it hanging on a doorknob. When I opened it, I saw immediately that something was wrong. Something was missing.

I looked all around on the floor to see if it had fallen out. Then I took the tote over to my bed and dumped out the contents: wallet, keys on a wishing stone keychain, makeup case, date book, peppermint gum, creepy postcard, and manila envelope. One manila envelope.

What had happened to the other one?

I opened the remaining envelope and slid out the certificate of authenticity for the Mostriak First Folio. Which meant that someone had stolen the Old West photo of Farrah and me.

* * *

Soothing harp music and a subtle cinnamon scent greeted me when I entered Mila's shop. Mila was behind the counter, finishing a phone call. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

“Happy Solstice, my dear! I've been singing ‘Here Comes the Sun' all weekend, and Mother Nature heard my call. Isn't it glorious?”

Pulling a tissue from my purse to dab my forehead, I said, “It's good and hot, all right. Are you sure you want to take credit for this?”

Mila laughed and poured me a glass of water. “Oh, I'm kidding, of course. Sort of.”

“Mila, I stopped in to thank you for the gorgeous present you sent. You didn't have to do that. You already gave me the love charm, remember?”

“Oh, that is a gorgeous picture, isn't it? When I saw it, I knew it was meant for you.”

“Well, thank you,” I said, leaning in to give her a hug.

“You're very welcome. So how is the love charm working, anyway?”

“Hmm. Good question.” I laughed at Mila's eager expression and patted my purse. “I think it's too early to tell, but I do carry it with me everywhere. I'll keep you posted.”

As I turned my head, something shiny glinted on the floor in front of me. Looking closer, I saw that it was a small silver key. I picked it up and handed it to Mila.

“Oh, there it is,” she said. “I was looking for this earlier. It's the key to the jewelry case. I must have dropped it.”

My eyes must have glazed over for a second, because Mila waved her hand in front of my face. “What is it? What were you thinking just now?”

“Oh, sorry. It's nothing. Something about the way you talked about a lost key reminded me of a dream I had the other night. I had forgotten all about it.”

“Ahh,” said Mila. “Pay attention then. I'm sure it's a sign. We can learn a lot from our dreams if we care to.”

“Don't tell me. ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on'?”

Mila cocked her head. “Maybe. Is that Shakespeare?”

“I think so. He's been popping up a lot lately.”

“Interesting. Would you like me to read your cards? Dream interpretation and the tarot are very similar. If the gods are trying to tell you something, we're sure to find a clue.”

“You know, that's not a bad idea. A clue is exactly what I need right now.”

“Excellent,” said Mila, clapping her hands together. She grabbed a small dry-erase board from under the counter and scrawled “Be back at one o'clock.” Then she hung the sign on the front door, turned the lock, and beckoned me to follow her through the purple curtain into the back room.

The private room was bigger than I expected. One side contained file cabinets, boxes, and metal storage shelves, but these were mostly obscured by two Japanese folding screens. The other side was decorated much like the shop, with soft oriental rugs, scented candles, and Buddhist-inspired tapestries. A gold-fringed violet cloth covered a round table, which was encircled by three cushioned armchairs. Mila led me to the chairs and took a seat on the far side of the table.

As I got comfortable, I watched Mila turn to open a drawer in the painted bureau next to the table. She removed a small box, slid out a deck of tarot cards, and fanned them faceup in the center of the table.

“This deck is called the Wizards Tarot. It has a fun theme, but it's based on the classic Rider-Waite Tarot. Would you like to look it over? It's one of my favorites, but I have several other decks, as well.”

“This one is fine,” I said, admiring the lush, colorful images.

Mila gathered the deck, tapped on the top, raised it to her lips, and blew, releasing any residual energy from past readings. Then she began to shuffle the cards.

“Tell me about your dream. You said you had lost something? I take it the finding spell I gave you hasn't worked yet.”

“Not yet, but I feel I'm getting closer. In fact, besides the missing object, I'm also looking for a person. A thief.”

It occurred to me that I should use this opportunity to find out if I was on the right track. I was nervous about making accusations at the reading of the will—especially considering I'd be accusing members of Eleanor's family. It would be nice to have some reassurance that I wasn't completely off target.

“So, you'd like to focus on the thief?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I'm trying to smoke him out, and I think he's onto me. I've received a couple of warnings to back off.” I told her briefly about the rock, the postcard, and the prowler at my house.

Mila furrowed her brow. “This sounds serious, Keli. Maybe we should do a protection spell first.”

I didn't protest as she stood up to gather a few items from the bureau, including a black candle, a smooth obsidian stone, a crow's feather, and an ebony goblet, which she filled with water from a nearby pitcher. She placed the items on the table, one at each compass point, then proceeded to walk around the table, sprinkling salt on the floor and murmuring an incantation as she went.

After casting the circle, Mila opened a small vial of sage oil and wet the tip of her finger with the oil. Then she touched her finger to each of the elemental objects on the table. Next, she dabbed some oil on me: on my shoulders, the back of my neck, and my forehead. Finally, she lit the candle, sat down, and reached for my hands.

“Close your eyes, Keli, and take a deep breath.”

I did as she asked.

“I want you to visualize a soft golden-white light surrounding you like an aura. Now see the white light growing brighter. The light radiates around you and moves with you, repelling all negative energy. Imagine yourself completely shielded by this powerful, magical light. You are in its protection.”

After a moment of silence, Mila told me to repeat these words after her:

Mila clapped her hands to seal the spell, then gave me a minute to absorb and ground the crackling energy around us. I took a few calming breaths, while she began shuffling the tarot cards again.

“Feeling all right?” she asked.

“I do. I feel . . . more confident.”

“Good. You should repeat the words of the spell in your mind at least six times a day. And before you leave, I'll give you an amulet for extra protection. Now then, it's time to think about what you want to ask the tarot.”

As I watched Mila deftly handle the cards, I was reminded of the River Queen Casino. Was Rob's gambling problem really at the root of the mystery? Or was I shaking the wrong apple tree?

“I need guidance,” I said. “As kids say, I need to know if I'm hot or cold.”

“Okay. Got it. This calls for a simple three-card spread representing past, present, and future. The first card will show you where you've come from, what you bring to this moment. It will tell you whether you're on the right path. The second card will illuminate the present situation, highlighting where you are in the journey and whether you really are nearing the end. The third card will predict the outcome based on the path you've chosen.”

Mila set the cards in front of me.

“Place your left hand on top of the deck and silently ask your question. Then cut the deck into three piles, while keeping your question in mind. When it's time, I'll turn over the first card and read it before revealing the next one, and so on. This will ensure that each card gets its due without the distraction of the other cards.”

I did as Mila asked, eager to see what the cards would reveal. I was familiar with tarot, having used it for spells and divination in the craft. But I was no expert. I trusted Mila to interpret any messages the cards would have for me.

She took the three piles I had created and stacked them on top of one another. Then slowly, like opening the first page of a sacred book, she turned over the first card and placed it on the table, facing me.

It was the High Priestess, which in this version of the tarot took on the guise of a Professor of Divination, a beautiful goddess-like woman sitting at a small table next to an open window. She was reading cards by the light of a full moon and a flickering white candle.

“Are you sure this is my past and not my present?”

Mila smiled. “This shows what you've brought with you from the past into this present moment. The High Priestess is you. As you can see, she's associated with the moon and psychic energies. You have the same gift of insight. This is a message to listen to your dreams and trust your intuition—which, apparently, you've been doing.”

“That makes sense,” I said, studying the imagery on the card.

“Oh, and see the pomegranate design on the curtain? The High Priestess is also associated with Persephone, who ate a pomegranate seed in the underworld. Another link to your recent past, no?”

“That's right.” I laughed, remembering the finding spell Mila had given me. “Well, this is reassuring.”

“Okay,” said Mila. “Let's look at your present.” She turned over the next card in the stack and placed it to the right of the first card. It was the Eight of Cups. Mila pointed at the card as she described the illustration. “In the foreground, you can see eight cups stacked somewhat precariously. It would appear there's one missing from the arrangement.”