Nancy Atherton (32 page)

of sabotage and theft because he knew he could appear in strange

places at odd hours without arousing anyone’s suspicions.”

Sir James spoke up. “The point Bill’s making, Calvin, is that

each of the fair’s hundred-plus employees was a suspect. Background checks take time. It would have taken him months to identify the perpetrator if we hadn’t narrowed the fi eld of suspects.”

“We?” I said, eyeing him curiously.

“Lord Belvedere, Lord Llewellyn, and I have experience in

criminal investigations,” Sir James informed me. “We retired from

the Yard a few years ago.”

“The Yard?” I said, my eyes widening. “
Scotland
Yard?”

“Correct,” said Sir James. “We’ve participated in historical reenactments for many years, but when Calvin approached us, we

decided to give the Ren fest idea a go.”

“Why didn’t you guys run the background checks?” I asked.

“We couldn’t spare the time,” Sir James replied. “We play highprofi le roles at the fair. If we’d failed to show up for per formances

or rehearsals, we might have put the perpetrator on his guard.”

“What’s more, you would have disappointed our audiences,”

Calvin put in. “Rule number one at a Ren fest: Don’t disappoint the

punters.”

“Be that as it may,” Sir James said, with a slightly exasperated

glance at his king, “Lord Belvedere examined the evidence and determined that none of the accidents had, in fact, been accidents. At

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

211

the same time, Lord Llewellyn and I conducted extensive on-site

interviews with employees. Those interviews repeatedly placed

one person in the right places at the right times.” He nodded at Bill.

“Over to you, sir.”

“With that person in mind,” Bill went on, “I made inquiries,

conducted online searches, spoke with friends and colleagues,

twisted a few arms, bent a few rules”—he paused to take a breath—

“and eventually unearthed several highly suggestive facts.” He

leaned against the railing and folded his arms. “Calvin? How did

you come up with the money to pay for King Wilfred’s Faire?”

“I used my inheritance to make a few investments when I was in

America,” Calvin replied proudly. “They paid off handsomely.”

Bill nodded. “Did you also take out a life insurance policy when

you were in America?”

“I did,” said Calvin.

Horace Malvern groaned and put a hand to his forehead, but

Bill pressed on.

“Did you make these decisions on your own, Calvin, or did you

have a financial advisor?” he asked.

“I had an advisor, of course,” said Calvin, with a genial,

self-deprecating grin. “I’ve no head for figures at all.”

“Do you know a man named Rowan Grove?” Bill asked.

I started, and my mind leaped instantly to a scene in my back

garden and a voice saying:
A weedy child with a silly name learns early

on to fight with words rather than with fists.
I stared hard at Bill. I felt as

if he’d thrown a glass of ice water in my face.

“Never heard of the chap,” Calvin declared.

“That’s strange,” said Bill, “because the name appears on many

of the papers you signed. Rowan Grove controls your investment

portfolio. Rowan Grove has access to your bank accounts. Rowan

Grove is the sole beneficiary on your life insurance policy. You’ll be

interested to know that Rowan Grove is listed as your primary financial advisor.”

“That can’t be right,” Calvin objected. “I’ve never met the fellow.

212 Nancy Atherton

My financial advisor is Jinks.” He beamed at the rest of us. “Terribly

clever chap, old Jinks. He was taking a postgraduate degree in finance at the University of Wisconsin. Gave it all up when he discovered Ren fests, of course, but he never lost his magic touch with

money. Couldn’t have done half so well without him.”

“Calvin,” Bill said gently. “Jinks’s legal name is Rowan Grove.”

“Sorry?” Calvin said, as if he hadn’t caught Bill’s words.

“When you die, Jinks will receive a handsome payout from your

insurance company.” Bill spoke slowly and carefully, as if he were

explaining the situation to a child. “He’ll also have complete control of your assets. It won’t come as a shock to me to learn that he’s

been siphoning money from your accounts for years.”

“Jinks told me he had no idea how much Calvin was worth,” I

said.

“He lied,” said Bill.

“Look here,” Calvin rumbled, eyeing Bill truculently, “if you’re

suggesting that Jinks has had anything to do with the confounded

run of bad luck I’ve been having, you’re quite mistaken. I’ve known

him since I sold turkey legs at the Ren fest in Wisconsin. We’ve

traveled all over America together—staying up till all hours, sleeping rough, getting up the next day to perform. That sort of thing

forges a bond of friendship mundanes simply can’t understand.

Jinks is like a brother to me.”

“He didn’t drink to your health,” I said, half to myself.

“Eh?” said Calvin, turning to me.

“It didn’t mean anything to me at the time, but now . . .” I

looked at Calvin’s troubled face and forced myself to go on. “I drank

a toast to you when I had lunch with Jinks on Sunday.” I raised an

invisible glass. “ ‘To King Wilfred. Long may he reign.’ ” I let my hand

fall as the significance of the moment struck home. “Jinks raised his

glass, too, but he didn’t drink from it.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t thirsty,” Calvin offered.

“Toasts aren’t about thirst,” I mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

213

“I’m afraid Jinks used you for his own purposes, Calvin,” Bill

said. “He gained your trust, then took advantage of you.”

“See sense, Cal,” Mr. Malvern scolded, peering sternly at his

nephew. “Jinks will get a packet of cash when you pop your clogs. If

that’s not motivation for murder, I don’t know what is.”

Sir James nodded. “We have eyewitnesses who saw him fiddle

with the parapet, cut the quintain rope, steal your crown, put

rocks in the cannon—”

“Rocks?” I interrupted. “The famous ‘projectiles’ were
rocks
?”

“Mossy ones,” Sir James confirmed. “They could have come

from a local river or stream.”

“Or from the brook next to our picnic spot.” I could hardly believe what I was saying. I looked to Bill for support, but he’d turned

his back on me to peer up Pudding Lane. “Jinks couldn’t have poisoned Calvin, though, or started the stampede. He hasn’t been

here since the fair closed on Sunday.”

“That’s right,” Calvin said, his cherubic face brightening. “He’s

been in Cheltenham.”

“He came back,” said Bill, still looking toward Pudding Lane. “If

you don’t believe us, Calvin, you can ask Jinks. Here he is now.”

I swiveled in my chair to follow Bill’s gaze. Lord Belvedere and

Jinks had just emerged from Pudding Lane and

were walking

toward the royal gallery. Lord Belvedere was dressed in twill trousers and a plain, button-down white shirt. Jinks was wearing the

same tie-dyed T-shirt and torn jeans he’d worn the first time we’d

met, when he’d sailed over the stile and into the twins’ sandbox,

hoping I’d remember him.

“Evening, all,” he called, smiling his crooked smile. “His Lordship rousted me out of the pub in Finch to attend this meeting, so

it had better be worth my while.”

“Finch?” Calvin said weakly. “I thought you were in Cheltenham.”

“I was,” said Jinks. “But I came back early. I get restless if I

dwell among mundanes for too long.” He hopped nimbly onto the

214 Nancy Atherton

platform. “So . . . what’s up? Have you finally come to your senses

and given me a starring role in the joust?”

“We’ve been discussing the fair’s finances,” said Bill.

“Not my best subject,” Jinks admitted amiably, “but if you want

a layman’s opinion—”

“We don’t,” Bill interrupted. “We want your expert opinion . . .

Rowan.”

Jinks’s smile froze and his green eyes darted from one face to

another. Then he took his lower lip between his teeth and bowed

his head, chuckling quietly.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “The joke’s on the jester. I’ve been caught

with my hand in the cookie jar, have I?”

“I wish it were so simple,” said Bill.

“Tell them it’s not true,” pleaded Calvin. “Tell them they’ve

made a mistake.”

“Ah, but they haven’t,” Jinks said softly. “You see, I couldn’t let

you waste your money on this ridiculous venture, old friend. Working a Ren fest is one thing, but running one? Do you have the slightest notion of how much you’ve spent already?” He lifted his head and

met Calvin’s beseeching gaze. “I don’t have a pension, Cal. My knees

are shot, but there’s no golden-age home for broken-down acrobats.

I was investing in my future as well as yours. I love you, Cal, but

I couldn’t let you waste my retirement fund.”

“No,” Calvin whispered.

“If it’s any consolation,” Jinks said, “I wasn’t trying to kill you. I

wanted merely to frighten those closest to you. I hoped they’d convince you to shut down the fair, not only to protect you, but to

protect your fellow players and the paying public. Accidents are bad

for business.”

Sir James harrumphed impatiently. “You’ve explained why you

staged the accidents. Would you be so kind as to explain why

you stole the crown?”

Jinks threw his head back and laughed. “It’s Cal’s lucky charm.

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

215

I was sure he’d give up the throne once he’d lost the precious,

custom-made crown sprinkled with his mummy’s jewels, but he

soldiered on, regardless. Rule number one at a Ren fest: Don’t disappoint the punters.”

Lord Llewellyn lumbered to his feet and spoke for the first

time. “Now, then, sir, if you’ll come with me.”

“Certainly I’ll come with you.” Jinks’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “But you’ll have to catch me first!”

Lord Llewellyn’s brawny arm shot out, but Jinks dodged it, did a

backflip off the platform, and sprinted down Pudding Lane. Bill took

off after him, I took off after Bill, and everyone else followed me,

with Calvin bringing up the rear. Jinks’s laughter rang out ahead of

us as we tore down Pudding Lane, dashed across Broad Street, and

raced toward Gate house Square.

Bill reached the square before I did, but when I caught up with

him, he’d come to a standstill. He signaled for me to stay back,

then turned in a circle, scanning the stalls bordering the square.

“Jinks!” he shouted. “This may sound like a cliché, but we really

do have you surrounded. You’ll be caught the moment you set foot

outside the fairground.”

I looked over my shoulder at the retired Scotland Yard detectives, the middle-aged farmer, and the farmer’s overweight nephew.

All five were bent double and gasping for air, as if they’d recently

crossed the finish line in a marathon. I didn’t think they posed

much of a threat to Jinks’s bid for freedom.

“Police,” Lord Belvedere managed, catching my doubtful glance.

“Out front. All round the perimeter. Brought them with me.”

I nodded to him, and as I turned to face the square again, a lithe

figure darted out from the shadows between two of the stalls.

“Bill!” I screamed. “He’s behind you!”

Bill swung around, but Jinks darted past him, hurled himself at

the gate house, and began to clamber up the fake stone wall of the

west tower. I heard the clinking of keys as Calvin jogged past me,

216 Nancy Atherton

but I didn’t understand what the sound meant until I saw him open

the locked door I’d tried to enter on my first day at the fair.

“Stop him!” I shouted, but I was too late.

Before anyone could react, Calvin had disappeared into the

tower and slammed the door behind him. Bill darted after him and

tugged on the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He threw me a

helpless look, then backed into the center of the square, peering

upward. Lord Belvedere, Sir James, Lord Llewellyn, Horace Malvern,

and I strode forward to join him, our gazes transfixed on the top of

the west tower. Above us, Jinks pulled himself over the battlements, rolled onto the tower’s roof, and sprang to his feet, with his

arms outstretched.

“Outnumbered and undone!” Jinks shouted down to us, grinning. “Never fear, though. I have a new retirement plan!” He jumped

up on the battlements and balanced on one foot, like a tightrope

walker.

“Don’t be a fool!” Bill shouted.

“But I
am
a fool,” Jinks retorted, teetering precariously as he

hopped from one foot to the other. “Just ask your wife. I tried my

best to seduce her, but she couldn’t stop laughing long enough to

take me seriously. Women never do take me seriously. The story of

my love life would fit on the head of a pin.”

I heard a faint, whining creak followed by a thud that reverberated throughout the deserted fairground, and Calvin’s bulky form

suddenly appeared atop the west tower. He bent to close the trapdoor he’d pushed open, then stood straight and looked up at Jinks.

“I say, old man, come down from there,” he said in a kindly voice.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“No,” said Jinks, chuckling. “I’m going to kill myself.”

“Don’t be daft,” Calvin chided. “Your sovereign majesty won’t