Read Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos Online
Authors: Donna Andrews
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Detectives, #Women Sleuths, #Humorous Fiction, #Virginia, #Langslow; Meg (Fictitious Character), #Women Detectives - Virginia - Yorktown, #Yorktown (Va.), #Craft Festivals, #Yorktown
Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos (34 page)
"Wine rack?"
"Yeah, don't you remember? You're making him some kind of custom wine rack in return for the recipe."
With that, he ambled back onto the battlefield.
"How on Earth did Mother know I wanted die recipe?" I wondered.
"I told her," Michael said. "Although I thought she'd find some way to get the recipe without trading who knows how many days of your work for it."
"I’ll manage," I said. "And it'll be worth it."
"Definitely," Michael said, as we resumed strolling. "My mouth waters just thinking about that sauce."
"Actually, I meant 'worth it,' knowing I can give your mom the recipe so she'll stop hounding me."
"Well, that, too," he said. "Anyway, everyone's happy."
"Not quite everyone," I said.
"True," he said, as we ducked under the barrier at the edge of the battlefield and began shoving our way through the crowd.
"Monty!" I called, seeing the deputy ahead of us.
"I can't talk now," he said. "I have to go down to the jail to book our suspect."
"And to release Faulk, I assume," I said. "You won't be holding Faulk now that you have the real killer, I hope?"
"And have every lawyer in your family breathing down my neck and yelling about false-arrest suits? Are you kidding?"
"That's good," I said. "And while you're at it, make sure your boss knows why you left Cleveland."
"He knows all right," Monty snapped, turning to face me with his hands on his hips. "And also about all the damned diversity training I had to take to get hired anywhere. You are looking at the most culturally enlightened, diversity-sensitive law-enforcement officer this misbegotten hick town will ever see."
With that, he stomped off toward his waiting squad car.
"I can tell he's a changed man," Michael said.
"If that's the post – diversity training Monty, I can see why Cleveland canned him," I said. "Ah well – he's the sheriff's problem now."
"Or perhaps, in a few weeks, Mrs. Fenniman's," Michael added.
"Ms. Langslow?"
I turned to see three members of the Town Watch, holding several long sheets of authentic-looking old-fashioned paper.
"All the crafters who check out have been saying that you're taking care of their fines," one said.
"Naturally," I said. "How much does the bill come to?"
"Seven thousand, eight hundred and forty-five dollars," he said, with a sharklike smile.
"Here," I said, reaching into my haversack and hauling out a wad of bills. "This should cover it."
"What's this stuff?" he said, frowning down at the bills.
"Colonial currency, of course," I said. "You wouldn't expect me to pay you in anachronisms, would you? Oh – and you can keep the change."
"Colonial currency?" Michael asked, as we walked off, leaving the watchmen staring with astonishment at the bills.
"Tad did some research on the Internet this morning, and ran the stuff off on his color printer," I said. "And Eric spent several hours staining the bills with tea and drying them with Mother's hairdryer. I owe them one."
We'd shoved our way past the crowd, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Any other loose ends you need to tie up?" Michael asked. "Not that I can think of," I said.
"Well, I have just one," he said. "Now that all that's over with, I hate to sound like a broken record, but – "
"We need to talk," I said. "Somehow I predicted that."
"Seriously," Michael said. "Were you or weren't you going to make some rather extravagant promises put there on the battlefield when you thought I was dying?"
"Yeah, I was," I said, rather sheepishly. "I was already feeling terrible that I'd neglected you all weekend, and on top of that, put you in danger. I mean, I was the one who let Wesley think you were the witness who could put him away."
"No harm done," he said. "You rescued me. Of course, if I could make one small suggestion, I think maybe next time I'm being stalked by a cunning, ruthless assassin, could you maybe figure out a way to rescue me without putting yourself in such danger?"
"I suppose, but the problem is, if we could rewind the weekend and start all over again, I'd do the same thing, all along the way. If my family or my friends are in danger, I'm not going to just stand by. I'm going to do something."
"And you're going to charge in and do it yourself."
"Probably," I said. "I can't change who I am."
"I'm not asking you to change who you are," Michael said. "I love
who
you are; it's
where
you are most of the time that drives me crazy. I don't want you to change, just relocate."
"I can't just pack up and move tomorrow – "
"You could come down next weekend, and we could do some househunting."
"I have a craft fair next weekend," I said.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"We'll have to do it during the week," I said. "You've got some time during the day without classes, right?"
"All right!" Michael exclaimed. He threw his hat into the air, grabbed me, and swept me into the kind of passionate, dramatic kiss you see on the cover of romance books – although on the book covers, usually, at least one of the participants is wearing skirts.
"Huzzah!" shouted some passing troops, sensing a celebration of some sort, and Michael retrieved his hat to bow to them.
Okay, the idea of relocating still scared me, but the shock of thinking Michael had been shot affected my attitude. Commitment still made me nervous, but maybe nervous was better than losing Michael. I was just going to have to get used to the idea of uprooting my life and moving to Caerphilly.
I decided to postpone a decision on whether to actually move in with Michael or just relocate nearby until I saw what our house-hunting search turned up. Of course, given the tight housing market in Caerphilly, I probably wouldn't have to make the actual leap into moving right away. In fact, I decided, the difficulties of househunting could take weeks – months, even – which would drive Michael bananas, but would be a boon for me. I'd probably have more than enough time to get used to the idea of moving by the time we actually settled on a place.
A bugle call sounded in the distance.
"I suppose we'd better go back," I said. "The instant replay of the battle is about to begin."
"I don't know," Michael said, glancing down at his red-stained uniform. "I think maybe I've had enough battle for one day. After all, I'm already a casualty."
"Won't the
Gatinois chasseurs
be upset if you're AWOL?"
"I doubt it. They're pretty mellow," he said. "And anyway, although this weekend has been fun, maybe I should rethink this whole reenacting hobby thing."
I uttered a silent prayer of thanks.
"All the guns – too much technology, not enough sword-play," he went on. "I think I'll see if I can find a group that does something a little earlier – Renaissance maybe, or the Middle Ages."
I canceled the prayer, and contemplated the even longer list of anachronisms that would probably be outlawed in a reenactment of the Middle Ages.
"How about the Roman Empire," I suggested. "Do they reenact that? Plenty of swordplay; you'd look nice in one of those bare-legged gladiator costumes, and they were really big on bathing in the Roman Empire."
"I'll give it a thought," Michael said. "Meanwhile, speaking of bathing, why don't we find someplace where we can get out of these filthy clothes and into the proverbial something more comfortable… like Mom's hot tub?"
"Attention!" squawked Mrs. Waterston's amplified voice from the battlefield. "Everyone take your places! We're going to start all over again. Please take your places. Will the audience stop milling around the field and sit down? We're going to start the battle again in a few minutes."
"I don't know," I said. "Are you sure your mother doesn't need us?"
"All you British troops!" Mrs. Waterston continued. "At least look as if you're trying to win! And I don't want to hear anyone yelling 'banzai!' or 'Geronimo!' this time. Please try to stay in period. Now, if you're all ready, let's take it from the top…."
"Are you kidding?" Michael said. "She won't miss us for hours."