“Does Chase mind?” Carl asked. “If not, why do you?”
I agreed with him, and excused myself. I’d had this internal debate for the last two weeks. I didn’t want to be churlish. I didn’t want to be selfish. I only wanted a simple wedding to the man I loved—and to get Wanda out of my life.
She followed me out of the bakery, floating above the cobblestone walkway that circled the Village.
“Why don’t you find someone else to torment,” I suggested. “I know I’m not the only one in the Village who can see you. You’ve managed to run off several knights, knaves, and ladies—not to mention scaring the crap out of your ex-husband every time you see him.”
She smiled. It was a horrific thing. “Yes, dearie. It’s the little things in death that give me so much pleasure. Did you know that animals can almost always see me? I’ve experimented with Bo Peep’s sheep. I have great plans for the elephants and camels.”
“I don’t suppose it would do any good to remind you that people could be hurt if you scare large animals.”
“None whatsoever. But thanks for telling me. I have an appointment on top of the rock climbing wall with whoever would like to take tea with me. Bye-bye, Jessie.”
Wanda hadn’t been a nice person in life. In death, she was far worse than I could have ever imagined.
These were the only moments of respite that I’d had since Wanda died. The Village’s resident fortune teller had told me that Wanda would disappear as soon as I figured out who killed her.
I’d checked that off my to-do list, but Wanda was still there every time I looked up. Chase couldn’t see her, though he was nice and didn’t say he thought I was imagining her.
It was time to take action—about my fouled wedding plans, and Wanda. I straightened my backbone and lifted my chin. Life was good.
Lady Godiva rode her white horse past me at a fair clip. “Have you heard the news?”
“No. What’s up?” I called back.
“There’s been another murder—this time at the Arts and Crafts Museum.”
Sometimes life has a way of slapping you back down.
Chapter Two
My assistant director was already at the museum. Manawydan ‘Manny’ Argall was a short, African-American man with close-cropped black hair and large glasses. He was always punctual. He was always knowledgeable. I wasn’t sure how I would’ve managed to open the arts and crafts museum without him.
He dressed impeccably, even though that usually meant a Victorian costume. I’d tried explaining the different time periods to him. He either didn’t get it or he didn’t care. I wasn’t sure which. I couldn’t complain. He always looked good, and he smelled like fruit, spices, and flowers.
Chase Manhattan, my fiancée, was beside him.
Chase was six-foot-eight, two-hundred and fifty pounds of tan skin and taut muscle. He was the law and order in the Village. He was magistrate at Vegetable Justice, a squishy vegetable throwing form of vengeance, and kept the peace between residents and visitors alike. He’d been trained by the Myrtle Beach Police Department to be the Bailiff—a constable-type position.
He was wearing his usual costume which included leather britches and a free-flowing, white cotton shirt under a tied, leather vest. His long brown hair was braided, and there was still a gold earring in his ear from his days as a pirate.
Chase had performed in almost every position in the Village. He’d been a jouster, a knight, and a stable hand. He’d also been a member of the Queen’s Guard. That was part of what made him so good at his job. He always knew what to do.
“Is it true?” I was breathless after completing the rest of the way to the museum at a brisk jog. “Someone was killed?”
Manny solemnly nodded. “I’m afraid so, Lady Jessie. He’s at the top of the stairs. I think the poor creature was seeking help when he was struck down.”
“Manny called me and we waited for the police.” Chase glanced at the police cars on the cobblestones. “I think he was killed by a crossbow.”
“Why didn’t someone call me?” I admit it was a small matter, but I was the director of the museum.
“I tried,” Manny said. “Your phone device didn’t work.”
“I was already out here.” Chase put his arm around me. “You’ve been sleeping so badly, I thought I’d give you a few extra minutes. There was nothing you could do anyway. Detective Almond is up there looking things over.”
“Who was it?” I whispered.
Manny shrugged. “It was the panhandler from the street. You called him Dave, I believe.”