Holding Court (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Your Secret’s Safe with Me

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Geoffrey says.

I look around the costume shop and realize there’s no one else around. “Um, where’s your buddy, Geoffrey? Aren’t you supposed to have a buddy?”

“Don’t you want to see the body? Come on, let’s go.”

“To the dungeon? Um, no thanks, I’ll pass. Why don’t you tell the police what you know?”

“No, not the dungeon, the suit of armor.”

“What?” My brain is still scrambling to keep up.

“The suit of armor. It’s so ridiculously obvious.”

“The body’s in the suit of armor? That doesn’t make any sense. How would—”

Geoffrey pulls my arm and leads me into the hallway. “Let’s go, before I change my mind.”

I follow him down the hallway, and he stops in front of the suit of armor and beckons me forward. “Quick, before someone else comes. Flip open the visor.”

“What? Geoffrey, this is crazy. She’s been dead for at least three days. Wouldn’t someone have smelled her by now if she was in the suit of armor?”

“Well then, flip open the visor and see. The front part of the headpiece, pull it up so you can see inside.”

He points at the helmet with his scissors, and even though I know it’s ridiculous and there’s no way Sarah’s body is inside the suit, I’m suddenly deeply afraid of opening the helmet.

I step forward. I reach one hand up, and Geoffrey shoves me from behind, and we’re spinning. The secret entrance slides open and I’m back in the passageway, Geoffrey sandwiching me between him and the suit of armor. I scream but it’s too late; the entrance is already resealed. Geoffrey pulls his scissors out of the armored hand and I realize he must have used them to trigger the mechanism in the absence of the ax. He sticks the pointed tip of the scissors under my chin.

“Don’t bother screaming again. The walls are three feet thick.” He pushes something into my hands. “You can hold this. I’m going to need my hands free,” he says, and I realize he’s handed me my balled-up nun costume.

I’m about to drop it when I remember the stun gun. I never took it out of the hidden pocket.

“You saw the blood on my trunk hose, didn’t you? Who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him, eh? But they’re silk. I couldn’t just wash them in the sink—it would destroy the fabric. And I didn’t think anyone would notice, a red stain on red pants. But you, you already knew, didn’t you?” His body is still pressed up against me, and he sprays my cheek with flecks of spittle as he talks.

“Geoffrey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I wince as the scissors bite into my skin.

“‘Be soft and attend thy soiled slops!’ Isn’t that what you told me, Miss Know-It-All? Well you
don’t
know it all, do you?” He pushes me forward. “Do you still want to find Sarah? Floyd gave you the answer, you just didn’t look hard enough. And the police must not have taken you very seriously, because they didn’t either.” He pushes me down the passageway toward the steps to the dungeon. “I was going to be the next Walter Plunkett, you know.”

“Um, who’s Walter Plunkett?” I ask, hoping it’s a long story.

We reach the stairs, and he pulls me tight against him so we can go down the steps together. “
Gone with the Wind
?
Singin’ in the Rain
?
Little Women
? And more than a hundred and fifty other movies? How can you not know Walter Plunkett? He was a genius. His costumes were meticulously researched and flawlessly accurate. Converse sneakers for Marie Antoinette? Mixing Degas with a ruff? He would never have done anything so ridiculous! He had too much class. And so do I. I’m the foremost authority on period costumes! If someone wanted historical accuracy they came to me! But then that little hussy cuddled up to the director and suddenly I was out of a job. I worked for years to establish my reputation, and all she had to do was shake her ass. And Sarah was the same.”

“Sarah was sleeping with Hank?” I say, totally shocked at the idea.

“She had him under her spell all right. She was stealing things from right under his nose. The fabric I could maybe have forgiven. Replacing my gorgeous silks with polyester linings? I understand the lust for a Scalamandré silk damask, but substituting fake jewels for the real ones I’d so meticulously sewn on? Can you imagine if we had sent King Henry’s Whitehall ensemble to the British Museum that way? They would have laughed it right out of the building. And she was destroying his beautiful necklaces and jeweled weapons. That lovely little dagger I used to kill Floyd. It was unacceptable. And when I confronted her she said it didn’t even matter. That no one cared if the gowns were made of silk or polyester. Polyester! Can you imagine? She actually laughed in my face. ‘What are you going to do about it, Geoffrey? You’re just a washed-up has-been working in a cheesy dinner theater in the middle of Looneytown.’”

We reach the bottom step, and he spins me around. “The things I make are beautiful. No one else can re-create history through fabric like I do. No one. The British Museum wants my garments! The British Museum!” His face is inches from my own, but he’s practically screaming at me, as if he needs to make sure I hear the importance of what he’s saying.

“I’ve never seen costumes as beautiful as the ones here at Tudor Times,” I say, truthfully. “They take my breath away. Sarah obviously didn’t understand.”
So you took her breath away.

“No, she didn’t. And Floyd, he was not a nice man. He was a snoop, like you. He found out what Sarah was doing and blackmailed her. She gave him a share of the jewels, and he not only kept quiet about it, he started helping her get into the castle at night.”

Geoffrey pulls me with him and feels along the stone wall until he triggers the opening leading to the dungeon. We step through the wooden cabinet. In the corner of the dungeon stands the iron maiden surrounded by the detritus of the
CSI
team, but there are no police here now.

“They’re all upstairs conducting interviews,” Geoffrey says, as if reading my mind. “Floyd was right, I used the iron maiden, but I didn’t simply hide Sarah inside. There’s an extra secret not even the police figured out. Why don’t you open her dress and I’ll demonstrate?”

“Um, no thanks. I’m happy to take your word for it, Geoffrey. Can we go back upstairs now? It’s a little chilly down here.” I take a step toward the door, and he yanks me back.

He reaches out and pulls the handle to open the iron maiden. “Get in there. Now.” He gives me a push and I stumble forward. “Floyd told me the secret when I was working on an Elizabethan gown King Henry commissioned for a new banquet performance. The ruff reminded Floyd of the iron maiden. Of course he called it a collar, not a ruff. Imbecile. He should know better. Oh yes, Floyd told me lots of secrets. I was going to hide his body, too, but the mechanism was stuck and I didn’t have a chance to get rid of him before you came snooping around again.”

I yelp as he nicks me with the scissors. I feel a warm trickle of blood run down my neck. “Don’t do this, Geoffrey,” I say. “Let’s go back upstairs. I’ll help you explain to King Henry what was going on.”

“Floyd came down here looking for Sarah. And I wanted to help him find her. Just like I’m going to help you. I know you won’t stop snooping until you find her. Would you like to know where she is?”

I’m not sure how to answer this question safely, and I’m too busy trying to get the cap off the stun gun inside my balled-up costume, so I don’t say anything.

“Floyd knew I was the only one he told the iron maiden’s secret to. I had to kill him or he was going to tell.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Geoffrey. All I wanted to do was prove that I’m not crazy. That’s it. I wasn’t trying to catch Sarah’s killer, I just wanted to show everyone that I didn’t hallucinate a dead body. But listen. Everyone still thinks I’m crazy! They think I’m Sarah’s accomplice. They’re not going to believe anything I say. Your secret’s safe with me. Now can we just—”

“No,” Geoffrey says and he shoves me into the iron maiden. “You want to find the body? I’ll show you where she is,” he shrieks. As he reaches up with one hand toward the disintegrating face of the iron maiden, he raises the hand holding the scissors as if preparing to plunge them into my chest. I take advantage of the fact that the scissors are no longer at my throat and pull the cap off the stun gun and thrust it forward into Geoffrey’s chest. His eyes open wide as I push the button, then his arm jerks and he drops the scissors, but it’s too late.

Chapter Thirty

Mystery Solved

The metal floor of the iron maiden gives way beneath me, and I drop through a gaping hole. I brace for impact, but instead I land with a splash and find myself completely under water. My feet hit something solid and I push off, breaking the surface with a sputter and a cough. The water is cold and deep enough that I can no longer touch bottom. I look up. Geoffrey’s head appears silhouetted in the circular trapdoor hidden beneath the iron maiden.

“Well, mystery solved!” Geoffrey yells down at me. “Now you know where the body went. Too bad no one else will ever know.”

“Help! Geoffrey, I can’t swim!” I yell and the water closes over my head again. I push with my arms and bob back up. “Geoffrey, help!” I yell again and then let myself sink, holding my breath for as long as I can. Desperate for air, I return to the surface to find the trapdoor closed and Geoffrey gone.

I take in great gulps of air, trying not to notice the smell assaulting my nostrils, knowing what it must mean.

Dim light filters in from somewhere above me. I’m still holding my stun gun/flashlight and I press the flashlight button, hoping against hope that it will still work despite the repeated dunking it’s just received. Nothing happens. I try the stun gun button, but the water seems to have killed it as well. Or maybe zapping Geoffrey used up all its power.

I turn in a slow circle. I’m in the center of a rectangular pool surrounded by a collection of white marble statues separated by tall columns. As my eyes adjust to the gloom I see that the walls and ceiling are covered in beautiful blue and gold mosaics. I appear to be in some kind of underground bathhouse featuring a secret entrance hidden in a medieval instrument of torture. The more of wacky Mr. Lune’s secrets I discover, the less I’m inclined to like him.

I catch sight of something floating a few feet away from me in a corner of the pool. I know what it is even before I get close enough to see for sure. I’ve found Sarah, just as Geoffrey promised. She’s floating facedown in the water, and there can be no doubt she’s dead. I swim to the steps at the other end of the pool and climb out. I put both hands over my mouth as I gag on the realization that I’ve been floating in water containing a decomposing corpse.

I can’t assume that Geoffrey bought my drowning act, and I don’t want to be here if he comes back. I can see the outline of the trapdoor in the ceiling, but there’s no way to reach it. I quickly case the room and find a switch that brings to life several of the alabaster lamps lining the bathhouse. The light bounces off the tiles and the effect is beautiful: it turns the surface of the water into a shimmering pane of glass, broken only by the body floating silently on the surface. I try to avoid looking at Sarah’s corpse, but the smell is inescapable. I need to get out of this place.

I’m jumping up and down, trying to warm myself up and shake off some of the contaminated water saturating my clothing, when I spot a backpack lying next to one of the statues. I rush over to it, remembering Jared’s story about Sarah’s text message to Geoffrey. According to Jared, her cell phone signal was coming from somewhere inside the castle. I pat the outside pockets and let out a whoop of triumph when I feel a rectangular bulge. I reach my hand inside and pull out something that feels cool and metallic. Breath mints. Oh goodie, at least I’ll have something to eat if I’m trapped down here for long. Or maybe I can stuff them up my nose to escape the smell of Sarah’s putrefaction. In the other pocket I find a flashlight and a set of keys, but no phone.

I unzip the main compartment and find a carefully folded stack of fabric, as well as a small velvet bag containing a jumble of jewelry pieces, and a wallet with Sarah Buckley’s driver’s license tucked inside. So not helpful. I throw the backpack down in frustration. And then I see the cell phone lying on the ground to the side of the statue.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Sarah!” I grab the phone and push a button. An image of a depleted battery appears. “Come on battery, I just need one call.” The screen goes blank. I try pressing and holding the button, then pressing it repeatedly, then shaking the phone with frustration, but the screen remains impassively blank. It might as well be floating in the pool with Sarah—it’s clearly just as dead. I shove it in my pocket and grab the flashlight. I’m relieved to discover that it, at least, still works.

I head for the dark hallway halfway down the room where the light from the alabaster lamps doesn’t quite reach. There are three doors on each side of the hallway and I try them one by one. Three of them lead to small dressing rooms, and the other three are private bathrooms complete with showers. I consider rinsing myself off but decide I have more pressing priorities. I head back to the pool room and shine my flashlight on the tile ceiling. In between two mosaics featuring naked mermaids are several rows of what look like glass bricks set into the tile. They’re letting in a small amount of light, which could either be sunlight from outside or light from a room above. I try to orient myself in the castle. I know there are no glass bricks in the floor of the dungeon, but I’m not sure what else is on this side of the castle. Angelique was too busy playing
CSI
to give me a proper tour.

High up on the wall opposite the trapdoor, a beautifully tiled diving platform juts over the rectangular pool. I make my way up one of the curving staircases leading to the top of the platform, where I find a set of doors carved with more naked mermaids and assorted sea creatures. I grasp both handles and pull. They’re locked. I kick them, slam them with my shoulder, curse them, but they don’t budge. My exit options are limited to jumping off the platform into the pool or going back down the stairs. I choose the stairs.

Down at pool level again, I head for the decorative alcove tucked beneath the diving platform. It features a carved marble statue of a naked woman standing on a huge shell.

“It would be really helpful if you had an ax in your hand,” I tell her. I’m examining the wall behind her in case she’s conveniently hiding another secret entrance when I hear a noise on the platform above me. Someone is unlocking the doors.

The sound of one of the doors scraping open is followed by the
thud
of footsteps. I flatten myself against the wall. If it’s Geoffrey coming back for me, I at least want the element of surprise.

There’s silence above me. Then I hear the owner of the footsteps making a
tutt
ing sound and I know it’s definitely Geoffrey.

“Now, now, Mistress Verity. Let’s not play games. You’re not in the pool with Sarah, so I know you’re here somewhere. There’s no other way out.”

Shit. I would kill for that ax right about now.

“I came down to collect a few things from Sarah’s backpack to plant in your van.” He starts down the stairs to my right, the sound of his footsteps reverberating off the tile walls. “And instead I find you inconveniently alive.” He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs now.

I’m tucked behind the statue, praying he can’t hear the sound of my heart slamming against my ribs.

He turns slowly and smiles at me. “There you are.” His wickedly sharp-looking scissors are in his right hand, and he’s wearing one of the dining room smocks over his costume.

I touch the place on my neck where he cut me earlier and wince at the pain.

“I should have known your drowning scene was overly theatrical. You’ve obviously never watched someone drown. Contrary to popular belief, there’s no dramatic splashing or screaming for help. They simply sink below the surface and fail to return. At least that’s how it happened with my former assistant on
Little Minks
. She was at a party at the director’s house and for some reason she decided to jump into the pool even though she couldn’t swim. Unfortunately, no one was there to save her.”

I shiver involuntarily. Sarah wasn’t the first person Geoffrey murdered. But I’m really hoping Floyd will be the last.

He cocks his head to the side. “You’re the one who tipped me off to what Sarah was doing, you know.”

“Me? I didn’t even know her.”

“It was your comment about cabbage that inspired me to follow her on the night she died.”

“Cabbage?” While Geoffrey is doing his looney-tunes routine I’m desperately looking for a way to escape. If I lunge for the other set of stairs I might be able to make it.

“Yes, you said, ‘The cabbage is only the beginning,’ and you were right.” Geoffrey is waving the scissors around as he talks. “Tudor tailors called scraps of cloth ‘cabbage.’ Sarah started out by stealing pieces of fabric and trim to use in her online shop and worked her way up to King Henry’s jewels. I caught her in the act and strangled her with one of the necklaces she defaced. You, however, are proving particularly difficult to dispose of, Mistress Verity. If you’d had the decency to die, or at least end up in the hospital when I ran you off the road, I wouldn’t have had to kill Floyd, you know.”

If there was any doubt before, I am now certain that Geoffrey is completely gaga. “So it’s my fault Floyd’s dead?”

“To be fair, I would say it’s Floyd’s fault, but you certainly contributed. Now why don’t you come over here and we’ll deal with this once and for all?”

“It’s too late,” I say.

“Pardon?” He takes a step toward me.

I pull out Sarah’s phone and hold it up. “I called the police. You left Sarah’s phone down here, Geoffrey. I called 911 and told them where I am and what you did. They’ll be here any second.”

He laughs. “I hardly think so, Mistress Verity. When I brought Sarah’s things down I discovered there’s no service in this room. I had to take her phone upstairs to send myself a text from her.”

Shit. I throw the phone at him and make a break for the stairs. I slip on the wet tile and fall to my knees.

Geoffrey hauls me up and puts me in a chokehold with the point of the scissors pressed against my back. “I don’t want to have to get bloodstains out of another jacket, so I’d prefer to strangle you. But if you try to get away again, I
will
use these.”

I feel the scissors pierce through the fabric of my shirt and into my skin, and I cry out in pain.

“That’s enough, Geoffrey,” a voice bellows from above.

Geoffrey drags me backward and I look up to see Hank standing on the platform at the top of the stairs. I’m filled with equal parts awe and immense relief, seeing him looming above us looking like a fiery-haired avenging angel.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing here?” Geoffrey sounds like a little kid who’s been caught misbehaving.

“Let her go, Geoffrey.”

“I can’t do that, Your Majesty.” Geoffrey tightens the arm around my neck and points the scissors at Hank.

“Put down the scissors. You don’t want to fight me.”

“Your Majesty, you don’t understand.” He’s gesticulating with the scissors as he speaks, and I try to shake some of the water off my hands so I can make a grab for them, but his agitated movements are making it difficult to keep my balance.

“I believe I do, Geoffrey. You killed Sarah and Floyd, and you intended to kill Mistress Verity as well.”

“I didn’t mean to kill Sarah. But she made a mockery of us both and I lost my temper. Surely you can understand that, Your Majesty?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I need you to come with me now or I will be forced to do something unpleasant.” King Henry draws his sword.

Geoffrey moans and points the scissors at my neck.

In the silence that follows I hear the soft patter of water droplets falling from my sodden clothes onto the tile floor, then the rustling of silk as Hank takes a step toward the stairs. Inside my panicked brain, a memory flutters its wings.

I look up at Hank. “King Henry?”

“Yes, Mistress Verity? Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better. But listen, are you wearing your Whitehall outfit? The one that’s supposed to go to the British Museum?”

Hank looks down at the jewel-studded doublet he’s wearing. “Indeed, I am.”

“I bet it’s made from some of that really expensive silk fabric, right, Geoffrey?”

“Of course it is. Only the best for His Majesty.”

“Water stains are mightier than the sword!” I call up to Hank, hoping he gets it.

Hank drops his sword with a deafening
clang
and starts unbuttoning his doublet.

“What are you doing? Why are you taking that off?” Geoffrey demands.

“Let her go.” Hank releases the final button. “Or the doublet goes in the water.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Geoffrey’s arm tightens around my neck. “That doublet represents the finest work I’ve ever done.”

“I know it does, Geoffrey.” Hanks slips the doublet off and steps forward.

“It’s been promised to the British Museum. No, Your Majesty! The water will ruin the silk. Stop, please!”

Geoffrey is squeezing my neck so tightly I can’t breathe. Black spots appear at edges of my vision.

Hank throws the doublet.

Geoffrey screams, drops his scissors, and dives after the falling doublet.

I grab the scissors and sprint for the stairs. When I get to the top, I join Hank at the edge of the platform. We look down at the pool where Geoffrey is clutching the sodden doublet and sobbing as he flounders in the water.

“Do you think he can swim?” Hank asks.

“I think so,” I say. “Sorry about the doublet.”

“That is the least of my concerns, Mistress Verity.”

I turn away from the pool and its ruined inhabitants. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“Mr. Chandler came to me and told me you were missing. We were scouring the castle for you when I remembered your banquet performance. ‘Mermaids blush when clothes unmake the man.’” He points at the ceiling. “As far as I know, this room contains the only mermaids in Lunewood Castle.”

“Seriously? Wow.”

“I believe your butterflies are in effect, Mistress Verity.” He looks down at Geoffrey, still sobbing in the pool. “I fear your second prophecy will also prove to be true: ‘No amount of bathing will ever make him clean.’”