Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

“I do,” I said, thankful I had picked up the disk, even if I’d gotten banged up in the process. “How about a hot cream of chicken soup made with rosemary and thyme, both herbs mentioned by Shakespeare?”

“Wonderful,” Eliot replied with a sigh. “Now, for Friday’s plum tart.” He opened a drawer, drew out a small brass box, then dumped the sparkling contents onto a leather-edged blue blotter. “Zirconia,” he said proudly, “to be tucked into the plums.”

I nodded, not having a clue how I would conceal the stones so that guests wouldn’t accidentally ingest them. “Okey-doke.”

“Now,” Eliot continued, as he fingered a miniature brass cannon, “for the banquet. We can’t just have food; the fencing team must have entertainment and games. You don’t suppose the boys and girls would be interested in English country dances, do you?”

“Uh…no.”

“It’s too bad we don’t have a small troupe of players to act for us.” He tapped a long finger on the leather blotter. “Or better, musicians.”

“Sukie said you were researching games?” I ventured. “I seem to remember the Elizabethans loved to make wagers. Right?”

He looked as if I’d said excrement. “Wagers? Ah, yes, I suppose I do know they were gamblers. But I can’t allow the castle to be the scene of - “

“I’m not talking Las Vegas. You should steer clear of financial wagers, because the parents won’t be happy if the kids beg for dough. But how about some small ball games, in addition to the fencing demonstration?”

“Brilliant!” he exclaimed, slapping the desk. “Penny-prick! Shuttlecock! We’ll use half of the Great Hall for the games! Can you give the food some game-playing names?”

“We can have the veal roast with …” I frowned, then inspiration struck. “Penny-Prick Potato Casserole. Raisin Rice with … Shuttlecock Shrimp Curry. I don’t know if you can give molded strawberry salads, steamed broccoli, or chutney and curry side dishes Tudor names. But after the meal, we’ll play games and have the plum tart.”

“Perfect!” he cried. “I am so delighted I employed you!” He beamed, I beamed, the sun beamed in on us.

Then he announced he had to go figure out how to arrange the Great Hall. He managed another regal wave, this time in the direction of the telephone, and told me to feel free to make my calls. Mi palacio es su palacio, he announced grandly, then departed.

The Furman County Sheriff’s Department was first on my list. Once through, I pressed the numbers for Sergeant Boyd’s extension.

“Listen,” I said after he’d asked about Tom and I’d assured him Tom was on the mend, “you know those intelligence files you keep on people?”

“For crying out loud, Goldy, you know I can’t give you a file.”

“I just want to know what you’ve got in one. Viv Martini.”

“Your ex’s new girlfriend? How do you think that’s going to look, somebody hears I’m giving you that information?”

“Sergeant Boyd, Captain Lambert already told me she slept with Ray Wolff and possibly Andy Balachek. But now she’s doing a complicated real estate deal with John Richard Korman. To be specific, she plunked down a hundred fifty thousand dollars to go in on a condo sale with him in Beaver Creek. He never agrees to joint ownership, so something’s going on.”

“Where’d she get a hundred fifty thousand bucks?” Boyd’s voice was distant. He was riffling papers.

“You tell me.”

“We watched her bank account after those stamps were stolen. Nothing happened.”

“Well,” I said, “did you all check any stores besides pawnshops after the stamp heist?”

“I don’t know. Our guys are supposed to, but sometimes they don’t have time to get to specialty places.” He sighed. “Okay, here’s the file. You breathe a word of this, I’m fired. Viv’s been hooked up with Wolff since she got out of high school. But, let’s see… it says here a snitch in Golden put Viv Martini back… okay, seven years ago, she was shacked up with your good buddy there at the castle, Eliot Hyde.”

“What.?” I glanced around the room. Any listening devices? Where had Eliot gone?

“That’s what it says.”

I gulped. “So Andy Balachek and Tom were shot right near Eliot’s property, and Viv Martini, who’s been involved with Andy, possibly, and definitely Andy’s accomplice, Ray, who was arrested by Tom, this same Viv has an old relationship with Eliot Hyde? Did you guys question Eliot after Tom was shot?”

“Of course we did! He claims not to have seen Viv in years.”

I shook my head, puzzled. “What possible attraction could there have been between Eliot Hyde and Viv Martini?”

“For crying out loud, Goldy! She’s good-looking, he’s not bad, he wanted a cute girlfriend and she figured he was loaded. Our snitch says she wanted him to start an illegal casino there. This was just when gambling was legalized, but only for Central City and Blackhawk. The snitch says Viv wanted to accommodate the home-town gamblers at the castle. They could use all those halls and rooms to hide people, in case of a cop raid.”

Remembering how Eliot had blanched at my mention of wagers, I still felt skeptical. “Was this casino-castle her idea? Or Ray Wolff’s?”

“Who knows? All I know is Eliot nixed it, said it would make him look bad if he was caught, and he couldn’t afford that.” Boyd paused, and I thought of Eliot’s sensitivity regarding reputation. Boyd asked, “How’d you find out about the condo?”

“I have my snitches, too, Sergeant.” When he sighed again, I asked, “What about those specialty stores, then? Any stamps show up there?”

“Why, you got something I need to know?” When I said I didn’t, he went on: “The insurer for The Stamp Fox is hiring a private investigator, and has promised to share anything he gets. We’re concentrating on the investigations into the deaths of the driver and Balachek.”

“You must have investigated Viv Martini.”

“Of course. She was sleeping with your ex-husband all night Sunday night. And they weren’t getting much sleep, according to your ex. Please don’t interrogate either one of them.”

“Whatever you say,” I replied, then pretended to ponder a bit. “Listen,” I said, trying to sound thoughtful, “do Buddy and Chardé Lauderdale have alibis for the time Tom was shot? A little while ago, they were both here at Hyde Castle, giving me a hard time.”

“What kind of hard time?”

I told him about the incident in the Hydes’ kitchen, to which Boyd replied, “Their alibi is each other. Oh, and we checked on Sukie Hyde’s first husband. One of his guys was on the roof with him when he stepped on a stray wire from a bathroom fan. Nobody seemed to think it was suspicious.” He paused. “But here’s something related to the stamp heist. Our friend Buddy Lauderdale was in The Stamp Fox a month before the theft, asking about values. He said he wanted to invest in stamps, but never did.” When I made a hmm-ing noise, Boyd warned me to be careful, that Buddy Lauderdale was reputedly one of the best shots in the county. I promised him I would be, and signed off.

One thing was certain. There was no way I was waiting for some faraway insurance company to get around to hiring an investigator. Eliot’s lowest desk drawer yielded a Yellow Pages, and under “Stamps-Collectors,” I found four shops in the Denver area. I blithely let my fingers do the walking while presenting myself as Francesca Chastain, collector of any stamp with a picture of royalty. Price, I said, was no object. Even over the phone, you could hear those store owners’ hearts speed up.

The first three, general dealers in stamps and coins, said they hadn’t seen a cover with Queen Victoria on it anywhere but at stamp shows. But the fourth philatelic dealer, an estate auction agent named Troy McIntire operating out of his home in Golden, gave me an evasive reply.