Jane Goes Batty

“Really?” said Byron. “I can’t imagine why. I’m dreadfully boring.” He looked at Jane. “Are you coming?”

“In a moment,” Jane said. “I want to change out of these shorts. I have some jeans in the car.”

“Well, give us the trophy,” said Byron, taking it from her. “We can celebrate by drinking champagne out of it. It will make the Brontëites furious.”

Jane left the two men talking and walked back to where she’d parked her car. It was some distance from the playing field, and she had to walk through the corridor of now-shuttered game booths. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the row that she realized she was being followed.

She turned just in time to see the moorhen running at her. It held a croquet peg in one hand and a mallet in the other. Jane only had time to raise her hands in defense before the bird was upon her.

“Die!” the moorhen screamed as the two of them fell to the ground. Jane ended up on the bottom, the weight of the mascot knocking the breath from her. She stared in horror as the bird raised the peg and prepared to bring it down on her.

Jane twisted to the side, throwing the moorhen off balance. The bulky costume slipped sideways, and the bird dropped the mallet. It righted itself however, and once more the pointed end of the stake hovered over Jane’s chest.

Her fingers found the handle of the mallet and closed on it. With great effort she swung her arm up. The mallet connected with the moorhen’s head. It slid sideways, the long beak grazing Jane’s cheek. Then it fell off.

A sweaty, dirt-streaked face stared down at Jane with murder in its eyes.

“Charlotte?” Jane said.

“Yes,” Charlotte hissed. “And this time you won’t get away.” Her hands went around Jane’s throat, the wings attached to her arms flapping wildly as she began to shake Jane up and down, her head hitting the hard-packed dirt beneath her.

Jane again brought the mallet up, but this time it only glanced off Charlotte’s shoulder.

“You killed Jessica,” Charlotte said as Jane struggled to breathe.

Jane tried to deny this, but she couldn’t speak. Why was Charlotte accusing her of killing Jessica? It didn’t make any sense. At the moment, however, she was more concerned with getting Charlotte off her.

Wrapping her legs around Charlotte was difficult due to the shape of her costume, but Jane managed to get a purchase on the tail. Twisting to the side, she threw Charlotte off and scrambled away from her. Charlotte lay on her back, her bird feet kicking in the air as she shrieked.

“You killed her!” she wailed. “You killed her!”

“I did no such thing,” Jane said. “And you know it.”

Charlotte’s arms flailed as she managed to right herself. As she pushed herself up Jane grabbed the dropped croquet peg. She held it out in front of her, the pointed end toward Charlotte. “I didn’t kill Jessica,” she said. “You did.”

“Lies!” Charlotte said.

“No,” said Jane. “They found the note.”

“What note?” said Charlotte. “I don’t know anything about a note.”

Jane didn’t know what to say. Charlotte seemed to believe that Jane had killed Jessica, and if she knew anything about a note, she was certainly hiding it well. She thinks she’s telling the truth, she realized.

“Jane?”

Jane looked over Charlotte’s shoulder and saw Byron running toward them. Charlotte too turned and saw him. Her head snapped back to Jane. “This isn’t over,” she said as she turned and ran. Before Byron could reach them she was gone. Only the head of her costume remained on the ground.

“What was that about?” Byron asked.

“Our Gloomy Friend is back,” said Jane. “And I don’t think she killed Jessica.”

Byron looked confused. “Then who did?” he asked.

“That,” said Jane, giving the moorhen head a good kick, “is the million-dollar question.”

Chapter 28

Byron was late. This was not an unusual occurrence, and so Jane wasn’t yet worried, but she’d also had a peculiar feeling all afternoon that something was wrong. She’d attributed this to the fact that Charlotte was indeed in Brakeston, but now she wasn’t sure. The dread surrounding her seemed larger somehow, more all- encompassing.

As if there’s going to be a storm of some kind, she thought. A very large storm.

They didn’t really have a plan, which was part of the problem. Byron was going to come over and they were going to see if they could track Charlotte down and find out what exactly was going on. Byron had even gently hinted at the idea of a truce while they figured out who had killed Jessica Abernathy and why that person apparently was trying to lay the blame on Violet Grey. Jane thought this to be a terrible idea and had said so in no uncertain terms. That’s when Byron had told her to go home and calm down. And that was when Jane had said some regrettable things.

It was all very confusing, and that made her cross. She preferred it when there were defined issues to be dealt with. At the moment things were all jumbled together, and knowing where to start was near to impossible. She hoped Byron had thought of something.

A scratching at the front door caught her attention. At first she thought she had imagined it but a moment later she heard it again, a frantic skritch-skritch-skritch. Wondering what it could be, Jane went and opened the door.

Lilith ran inside. She was panting, and immediately sat down on the carpet and leaned against the sofa, her one front leg propping her up.

Jane looked at the clearly exhausted and frightened dog. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Is someone chasing you?”

Lilith shook her head. Then she barked. Jane stared at her and she barked again.

“Oh,” said Jane. “Right. You want me to read your thoughts. I can’t. You’ll have to wait for Byron. He’s the one who can do that.”

Lilith barked again, several yips in quick succession. Jane, leery of the dog’s teeth, backed away. Lilith continued to bark.

“I don’t know how,” Jane told her. “Really, I don’t.”

Lilith yipped frantically.

“All right,” said Jane. “I’ll try.” She closed her eyes and tried to focus her mind on the sounds Lilith was making. At first she could make no sense of the barking. Then, in the midst of it, she thought she heard a single word: captured. She opened her eyes. “Byron has captured Charlotte?” she asked.

Lilith barked some more, which Jane took to mean she had guessed incorrectly. Again she closed her eyes. This time the Chihuahua’s barks changed tone and Jane distinctly heard her say Walter.

“Byron has captured Walter?” Jane said. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that?”

“No, you moron. Byron has been captured and is being held in Carlyle House.” The voice was crystal clear, and Jane knew she was hearing Lilith speak.

“I did it!” she said. Then the words sunk in. “Byron has been captured!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Lilith said. “Miriam and Beverly have taken him to Carlyle House.”

“All right,” said Jane. “We need to rescue him. Let’s go.”

Lilith yipped. “And how are you going to do that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Jane answered, scooping the little dog up and carrying her. “We’ll figure that out when we get