Claret and Present Danger

Book 4: Literary Pub Mystery

by Sarah Fox

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

When a Renaissance Faire visits the small town of Shady Creek, Vermont, amateur sleuth and proprietor of bookish theme pub The Inkwell Sadie Coleman finds deadly happenings stick around like red wine stains on white tunics in the
fourth Literary Pub Mystery by USA Today bestselling author Sarah Fox.
The Trueheart Renaissance Faire and Circus has rolled into town, attracting locals who can’t wait to spend a few summer days lost in a whimsical world of allknowing fortune tellers and daring acrobats. Well-read pub owner Sadie Coleman
is swept up in the magic herself when she serves drinks to the faire’s resident wizard, the shamelessly brazen illusionist Ozzie Stone, and scores two tickets to his opening performance.
Sadie has no complaints about indulging in a free show with her new beau, craft brewery owner Grayson Blake. But while Ozzie is an instant crowd pleaser, the real surprise comes when he collapses in the middle of his set. It’s not part of the
act—Ozzie is dead, seemingly poisoned by someone who wasn’t clowning around about writing the roguish showman’s final chapter.
The terrifying situation intensifies when the police eye one of Sadie’s employees, last seen caught in a suspicious fist fight at the fairground. With so much at stake, Sadie must strain through a suspect list longer than her cocktail menu to find the
real knave of a killer. But when another performer is murdered, it becomes clear that bringing the mixed-up murderer to justice will be about as dangerous as walking the high wire after happy hour …

Release date: November 30, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

The sword blades glinted in the sunlight. The crowd watched with anticipation as the weapons clanged together again and again. The duelers managed to make it look like their fight wasn’t choreographed, and now and then they hurled Renaissance insults at each other. Both men wore a combination of leather and plate armor but still managed to lunge and dodge with relative agility. I wasn’t sure how they could stand the heat in their costumes. Summer was in full swing in Shady Creek, Vermont, and the sun was beating down from a gorgeous blue sky.

The taller of the two fighters parried a blow and then moved in for the kill. His opponent gasped as the sword blade slid between his arm and side, appearing from my vantage point as though it had pierced his abdomen. The wounded man staggered before dramatically falling to the ground.

The other man raised his sword in victory.

“Huzzah!” the crowd cheered, and I joined in.

“He killed him!” nine-year-old Kiandra Williams exclaimed as the crowd slowly dispersed, everyone moving on to check out other parts of the Trueheart Renaissance Faire and Circus.

“It was just pretend,” my best friend, Shontelle, reminded her daughter.

“I know,” Kiandra said. “I like the sound the swords make when they hit each other.” She bounced up onto the balls of her feet. “Can we go watch the acrobats now?”

I checked the time on my phone. “It would probably be a good idea to go find seats.”

The three of us made our way toward the red-and-white-striped tent that stood near the far end of the park, which had been transformed into a Renaissance village for the duration of the two-week event. This was my first time attending a Renaissance faire, and although I’d been at the park for less than an hour, I was already thoroughly impressed.

There were various stalls and huts where people in period costume demonstrated skills such as glassblowing, metalworking, basket weaving, leatherworking, and candle making. Many of the goods the craftsmen and craftswomen had made were available for sale, and I was considering doing some early Christmas shopping before the faire was over.

Musicians had gathered on a small stage and were playing a variety of instruments, including lutes, violins, and others that I couldn’t name. Food vendors sold snacks from huts, and a tavern had been set up in one of the larger structures, where adult fairgoers could sit down for a meal and enjoy a tankard of ale. Here and there, costumed actors interacted with each other and with the spectators. Kiandra, like many other children at the faire, had already had her face painted. She now sported a unicorn on one cheek and a butterfly on the other.

At the entrance to the tent, we handed over our tickets to a woman in a tight-fitting bodice and full skirt, with a crown of flowers in her dark hair. Bleachers provided the unassigned seating in the tent. We’d arrived early, so we had our choice of spots. We decided on the third row back in the middle section.

“Sit next to me, Sadie,” Kiandra requested as she plopped herself down on the bench.

I did as asked, and Shontelle sat on Kiandra’s other side.

“We’ve got a good view from here,” I said.

Kiandra’s gaze traveled up and up. Her eyes widened. “Look how high that is!”

I followed the finger she was pointing up toward the ceiling of the tent. Way up high was a tightrope, as well as two trapezes. I wouldn’t have the nerve to climb the ladder to get up that high, let alone swing out on a trapeze or balance along a wire.

I also noticed some silks hanging from the metal framework up near the tent’s ceiling. I’d never watched a live performance with aerial silks, but I had seen one on TV and thought we could be in for a spectacular show.

When I’d first heard that the Renaissance faire was coming to my adopted home of Shady Creek, Vermont, the fact that it included circus elements had surprised me. Apparently, the faire had previously been more traditional but had recently added new attractions. Most people I knew were excited to take in both aspects of the faire, and so was I, starting with the acrobats’ show that was about to start.

The bleachers quickly filled with spectators, and soon the lights dimmed. As the tent grew darker, I caught sight of a thin girl with wavy blond hair slipping into the tent while the ticket lady had her back turned. The girl appeared to be about eight or nine years old and didn’t look familiar, but I didn’t have a chance to notice anything more about her. She disappeared behind the bleachers, and music began to play, signaling the start of the show.

For the next hour, we were wowed by the high-flying feats of half a dozen acrobats. They walked the high wire, swung on the trapezes, flew through the air, and performed with the aerial silks. Kiandra was riveted the entire time.

“I want to do that,” she whispered as a young woman let go of one trapeze and soared through the air before another acrobat on the second trapeze caught her.

“I don’t think so,” Shontelle said with alarm.

“Please!” Kiandra turned her beseeching eyes on her mother.

Shontelle put a finger to her lips. “We’ll talk about it later.”

She shot me a look of dismay over Kiandra’s head. I didn’t blame her for her concern. The thought of Kiandra flying through the air way up high terrified me, and she wasn’t even my daughter.

At one point, I caught another glimpse of the blond-haired girl who’d sneaked into the tent. She watched the show from between two sets of bleachers, her eyes as wide as Kiandra’s. When the show finished, I looked for her again, but she was nowhere to be seen.

As we headed out of the tent, Kiandra bounced up and down between me and Shontelle, chattering nonstop about the amazing feats of the acrobats. She eventually wound down and asked for a snack. Shontelle and I were hungry too, so we wandered away from the tent, in search of something to eat. Along the way, we paused to study a poster affixed to the wall of one of the thatched huts. The poster advertised the most talked-about and anticipated attraction of the entire faire. Illusionist Ozzie Stone would be performing in the main tent each night.

I’d heard of Ozzie Stone before the faire had arrived in Shady Creek. He’d appeared on a televised nationwide talent show a year or so ago, and his star had been on the rise ever since. I’d hoped to catch one of his shows, but when I’d inquired at the gate that morning, I’d been informed that the tickets for all his performances were already sold out. That had disappointed me, but I was still determined to enjoy the faire as much as possible.

We moved on from the poster and spotted a hut with a sign that read ROSIE’S FARE. Another sign indicated that the vendor sold burgers, fries, cheese melts, and milkshakes. Before we reached Rosie’s Fare, we paused to watch a juggler performing for passersby. He looked to be in his midtwenties and had curly brown hair. At the moment he had four beanbags in the air. He wrapped up the juggling act by catching all the beanbags. The crowd applauded, and he bowed.

“Now for some magic,” he told everyone who was watching.

He had three upside-down cups on a roughly hewn wooden table. He picked up one of the cups and placed a ball beneath it.

As he opened his mouth to speak to the crowd again, another man strutted over to his side, a self-assured smile on his face. I knew who he was right away—illusionist Ozzie Stone. He wore a white shirt beneath a blue velvet cape with a black silk lining, just like in the photo on his poster. He had piercing blue eyes, and his jet-black hair was a little on the long side. Despite the beautiful summer weather we’d been having in Vermont, I suspected his deep tan had been sprayed on.

There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd. I clearly wasn’t the only one to recognize the illusionist.

“Lords and ladies,” Ozzie said to the crowd, “if it’s magic you desire, it’s magic you shall get.” He whipped a blue mug out from beneath his cape and snapped his fingers. “Water, please, Tobias.”

The juggler frowned but handed over a small pitcher of water that had been sitting on the table.

“Observe,” Ozzie commanded, “as I instantly turn this water into a block of ice.”

A hush fell over the crowd as he poured the water into the blue mug. As soon as the pitcher was empty, he turned the mug upside down. No water flowed out, but a small block of ice fell into Ozzie’s waiting hand.

The crowd cheered, me included.

“That’s so cool!” Kiandra exclaimed with delight.

It seemed Ozzie had captivated her almost as much as the acrobats had.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the curly-haired juggler slink away, looking disgruntled. I couldn’t blame him. Ozzie really had stolen his thunder, and he wasn’t finished yet. For his next trick, Ozzie produced a small piece of paper and had a woman from the audience sign her name on it. He rolled up the paper and held it up for all of us to see. Then, with a flick of his hand, he made it disappear.

He fished a lemon out of his pocket, showed it to us, and then cut around the middle of it with a knife. When he pulled the two pieces of the lemon apart, a rolled-up paper protruded from one half. Ozzie removed the paper, unrolled it, and had the woman from the audience confirm that it was the same paper she’d signed. We all burst into applause as Ozzie bowed.

While the illusionist posed for selfies with fairgoers, we headed over to Rosie’s Fare and purchased our snack, which turned out to be more of an early lunch. Shontelle bought some fries and a cheese melt to share with Kiandra, and I bought a cheese melt for myself. All three of us ordered chocolate milkshakes. We needed something cold to drink to keep us from getting too hot in the summer sunshine.

I gave myself a brain freeze with the first sip, but after that I drank more slowly and was able to enjoy the delicious creaminess of the chocolate shake. The cheese melt was heavenly too, and it calmed the growling of my hungry stomach. We ate at a rustic picnic table, watching the goings-on around us.

At one point a stout, costumed man came stumbling out of the tavern, another actor following on his heels.

“Away, you varlot! You rampallian!” shouted the taller man from the tavern’s doorway. “I’ll tickle your catastrophe!”

The stout man staggered about as if drunk. “You sodden, contumelious louse!” he yelled before weaving and lurching his way down the grassy walkway that stretched between the two rows of vendors.

I was pretty sure Kiandra had no idea what the insults meant, but she laughed along with me and Shontelle.

As I was finishing up my cheese melt, I caught sight of an attractive dark-haired man dressed in a costume that included black boots, dark trousers, a leather doublet and arm bracers, and a gray cape. He carried a sword at his side, and his hair reached nearly to his shoulders.

“He looks like Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings,” I said to Shontelle, with a nod in the man’s direction.

“He really does,” Shontelle agreed. “He’s almost Viggo Mortensen’s doppelgänger.” She watched him walk by. “Very easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” a man’s voice cautioned. “It’ll go to his head.”

I turned to find local man Matt Yanders standing next to our picnic table. Matt owned the Harvest Grill, one of Shady Creek’s restaurants. He was also a member of the science fiction and fantasy book club I hosted at my literary pub, the Inkwell.

“You know him?” Shontelle asked Matt, her gaze returning to Aragorn’s look-alike.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, he’s my brother.” Matt’s grin softened his words. “Flint, you scobberlotcher, get over here!” he bellowed.

Flint’s face broke into a grin when he spotted Matt. “It’s my knave of a brother!”

Matt pounded Flint on the back when he reached his side. “Flint, allow me to introduce these three fine ladies, Shontelle and Kiandra Williams, and Sadie Coleman.”

Flint bowed. “Ladies, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

“Is that a real sword?” Kiandra asked him.

“But of course.” Flint pulled the blade from its scabbard. “It’s a weapon of the finest craftsmanship.”

“Cool!” Kiandra said before taking a long sip of her milkshake.

“How are you enjoying your day, ladies?” Flint asked me and Shontelle.

“It’s great,” I said.

“We’re having a blast so far,” Shontelle added.

“Excellent! I’m glad to hear it.”

A woman wearing several gauzy scarves and many bracelets breezed past him.

“Minerva!” Flint called out.

The woman stopped in her tracks and turned to Flint. She smiled when she saw him.

Flint gestured at her with a flourish. “Have you ladies met our most esteemed soothsayer, Minerva the Mysterious?”

Minerva came closer and addressed us. “If you wish to have your fortune told, I am most happy to oblige.”

“For a price.” Flint chuckled.

Minerva gave him a sidelong glance. “Worth every penny.”

“Undoubtably,” Flint said.

“I wouldn’t mind having my fortune told,” Shontelle said. “It sounds fun,” she added to me and Kiandra.

“Then please,” Minerva said, “come this way.”

“I’ll stay with Kiandra,” I told Shontelle.

Her daughter waved at her, but most of her focus was on her milkshake.

Shontelle followed Minerva the Mysterious into a small tent across the grassy walkway from our picnic table.

Flint bowed again. “My ladies, I’m afraid I must depart,” he said to me and Kiandra. Then he addressed his brother. “You useless knave, we shall meet again.”

Flint headed off, with several female fairgoers flitting along behind him, snapping photos with their phones.

Matt laughed before turning his attention to me. “I’ll see you at the Inkwell sometime soon, Sadie.”

I said goodbye, and he took his leave.

Kiandra finished off her milkshake with a loud slurp.

“All done?” I asked her.

She nodded and jumped up from the table. “Can we go look at the costumes?”

Next door to Minerva the Mysterious’s tent was a costume rental shop. While we were eating, I’d seen two women, dressed in regular clothing, go into the store. Now they emerged, fully decked out in Renaissance wear.

“Sure,” I said in response to Kiandra’s question. “Let’s go take a look.”

I gathered up all our garbage and tossed it in a nearby bin. Kiandra skipped off ahead of me and disappeared into the shop. I followed after her, then paused one step inside the door so my eyes could adjust to the dim interior.

We browsed the store for a few minutes, until Kiandra lost interest.

“Let’s go look at the hats,” she said when we emerged from the costume rental shop.

She dashed over to a shop called the Mad Hatter and tried on a pirate’s tricorn hat.

“How about this one?” I suggested, holding out a blue velvet hat with a fake peacock sitting on top, the tail feathers cascading down over the back rim.

Kiandra removed the hat she was wearing, and I plunked the peacock one on her head. She checked her reflection in a small mirror set out for that purpose.

She giggled, and I snapped a picture of her with my phone so we could show Shontelle later.

“You try this one,” Kiandra said, handing me a gray cavalier hat with a single feather.

As we tried on several other hats, I noticed the curly-haired juggler we’d seen earlier standing nearby, speaking with a raven-haired woman who was texting on her smartphone. The device looked out of place, considering that she was wearing a Renaissance costume.

“I deserve my own show, Rachael,” the juggler was saying. “I could draw in as much of a crowd as Ozzie.”

Rachael continued to tap away at her phone, not even glancing up. “It’s not happening, Toby. How many times do I have to tell you? Ozzie is our biggest draw. And your strength is street busking.”

“But—”

Rachael cut him off. “But nothing. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter.”

Toby looked as though he was about to protest again when Rachael squirmed in her costume.

“This bodice is too tight,” she complained. “You’d think Patty was trying to suffocate me when she laced me up.”

For the second time in the past hour, Ozzie Stone appeared on the scene.

He dipped down in a theatrical bow. “Allow me to assist you, milady.”

While she’d talked with Toby, Rachael’s expression had been stern, a crease traversing her forehead. Now the crease smoothed out, and she smiled.

“Thank you, Ozzie.” She turned her back to him.

Ozzie loosened the laces on the back of her corset and began retying them. As he worked, he spoke quietly into Rachael’s ear. She giggled, her dark eyelashes fluttering.

Toby the juggler scowled at them, but they took no notice. He muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite hear. Ozzie rested his hands on Rachael’s shoulders, and she giggled again. Toby’s nostrils flared. He stormed away and disappeared into the crowd of fairgoers.

Ozzie was still whispering in Rachael’s ear when Shontelle and Minerva the Mysterious emerged from the fortune-teller’s tent. Seeing Minerva up close, I realized she was younger than I’d first thought. She was probably in her mid-thirties, a few years older than me. Somehow her heavy makeup and numerous scarves had given me the impression that she was closer to middle age.

Minerva was smiling as she said goodbye to Shontelle, but then she stopped in her tracks, her gaze riveted on Ozzie and Rachael. A dark shadow passed over her face, and her mouth turned down at the corners. As soon as Ozzie noticed her, he dropped his hands from Rachael’s shoulders and strode over to Minerva.

“There you are, my beautiful,” he said before kissing her on the lips. “I was hoping you’d join me for lunch.”

Minerva’s dour expression melted away. She tucked her arm through his. “Of course I will.”

The two wandered off together.

“So, how was your fortune?” I asked Shontelle. “Is your future full of riches and romance?”

She laughed. “I don’t know about the riches, but she did say that my budding romance has a promising future.”

“I could have told you that for free.”

“It probably was a waste of money. She claims she can communicate with the dead, but I can’t say I’m a believer.” Shontelle held up a business card. “I think she’s hoping I’ll be in touch again, but if she really is psychic, she’ll know that’s not going to happen.”

She tucked the card in her purse. When she looked up again, she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “Rachael?” she said, sounding surprised.

Rachael glanced over our way, and her face broke out into a smile. “Shontelle!” She hurried over and hugged my friend.

“I can’t believe you’re here in Shady Creek,” Shontelle said. “Are you one of the faire’s actors?”

“I’m the manager.” Rachael smoothed out the skirt of her costume. “This allows me to blend in as I keep an eye on everything that’s going on.”

“Mommy, can I have this hat?” Kiandra asked, the peacock once again perched on top of her cloud of curly hair.

Shontelle smiled in Kiandra’s direction but didn’t reply. Instead, she spoke to Rachael again. “That’s my daughter, Kiandra.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “And this is my friend Sadie Coleman. She owns the local pub.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said to Rachael, and she said the same in return.

“Rachael and I went to college together,” Shontelle explained. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a decade.”

“It’s been a long time,” Rachael agreed.

“I thought you were working for a theater company in Boston,” Shontelle said.

“I was, up until last fall. This is my first year as manager of the faire.” Rachael’s cell phone buzzed in her hand. She checked her text messages. “I’m so sorry. Duty calls. Maybe we can meet up sometime and catch up?”

“I’d love that,” Shontelle said. “How about at Sadie’s pub this evening?”

“Can we make it later in the week? I’m tied up for the next few evenings.”

“Sure. Let’s exchange numbers so we can text each other.”

Shontelle handed over her phone, and Rachael used it to send a quick text message to herself.

After sharing a few more words with Shontelle, Rachael hurried off to wherever it was she was needed.

“That’s cool that you know the faire’s manager,” I said as we joined Kiandra by the display of hats outside the Mad Hatter.

“It definitely sounds like an interesting job,” Shontelle said. “She must get to travel quite a bit.”

The Trueheart Renaissance Faire and Circus spent a couple of weeks in various towns between May and September of each year. This was the first time the faire had come to Shady Creek, but it often made stops in Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut.

“Mommy, can I pl. . .