“Are you going in disguise?” she asked.
“We are. I’m not certain what Darla has in mind, but we’re participating,” Tinkie said. “I should have asked more questions about this.”
“It isn’t rocket science,” Dallas said. “Darla will pick out a well-known story or fairy tale. You’ll dress up as the characters and act it out. Some of the mummers request pay, which is then contributed to a local charity. Do you know what story she’s focusing on?”
I didn’t, but Tinkie did. “She mentioned Robin Hood.”
Dallas nodded. “That’s a great one. Back in the day, almost all of the mumming companies were all male, so many of the stories focus on that kind of story. But Robin has Maid Marian. And my personal favorite, the Sheriff of Nottingham. I always like to play the villain.”
This did bring up some interesting casting decisions, but Darla—or perhaps Tinkie—was in charge of that, not me. Thank goodness. I would be happy to play one of the Merry Men of Sherwood Forest. It was going to be a fun time.
“Dallas, you hear a lot of things. What’s the score on Clarissa?”
“Capable of anything. She can turn a house or property like no one you’ve ever met. Her listings don’t last for more than a week before the SOLD sign goes on them.”
“She said Bart Crenshaw handled her real estate.” The image of him tumbling down the stairs came back to me.
“He does, but Clarissa gets the listings. She scouts property around her and up toward Oxford. She has a reach into Tennessee and even Alabama. And she has her hooks in a lot of wealthy investors from out of state.”
This was interesting to know. “Were there any rumors about her when she moved here from Oxford?”
Dallas pulled to the curb in front of Rook’s Nest. “Look, there are plenty of rumors. Gossip was that she’d seduced an elderly man in Oxford and that she was his sole heir.”
That was Johnny Bresland. I could fit that puzzle piece in.
Dallas continued. “It’s how she got her nest egg to start really high dollar sales. Hence the name Rook’s Nest. She bought the house with some of her money and then bought her first property with the rest. She turned it in less than a week and made a handsome profit. She was on her way to wealth.”
This was pretty much the same story we knew. “There was never talk she may have killed her elderly benefactor?” I asked.
“He died in a hunting accident,” Tinkie added.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d pulled the trigger herself. Clarissa is ruthless, from every story about her I’ve ever heard.” Dallas had a call on her cell phone, but she ignored it.
Someone at the front door of Rook’s Nest looked out. Tinkie and I had to get moving. “Thanks.” I paid the fare and we got out.
“You need me to wait? Or maybe it would be better to call the ambulance before you go in.” She was teasing us, but there was concern in the features of her face, like she really thought Clarissa would harm us.
“We’re good. I don’t know how long we’ll be, so it’s best you make some money. We’ll call when we’re done.”
Clarissa met us at the door with arched eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you be sleuthing or detecting or whatever it is you do to find out who’s playing dastardly tricks on the people of Columbus? I’ve paid you a lot of money and I don’t expect to see it used for making the rounds at teatime.”
“Not exactly ‘the people of Columbus.’” Tinkie used air quotes. “But a few people in town who have earned a lot of hard feelings.”
“I don’t even like tea” was my snarky contribution. Tinkie frowned at me. I was losing my razor wit.
“What do you want?” Clarissa asked.
“We have some questions.” Tinkie brushed past her and entered the house. I started to follow, but Clarissa barred the door. “I’m a little busy here.”
“So are we. We’re working during our holiday for you.” I pushed the door open and stepped past her. The first thing I saw was a pair of shiny black shoes on the floor beside the sofa. Along with two wineglasses, one sporting red lipstick, and a blue shirt. A uniform shirt. Clarissa had bagged a boy in blue.
Tinkie, too, had read the signs, including Clarissa’s frowzled hair, smeared makeup, and hastily tied dressing gown. “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Some coffee would be nice.” I hoped it might draw out her lover. I was curious.
The hostess code of the South is pretty rigid, whether for a true Daddy’s Girl, one of the older DAR, a DAC, or even a garden clubber. Refreshments must be offered and served. No exceptions. I’d played the coffee card and Clarissa had no choice but to prepare and serve the java, with whatever pastry or morning treat she kept on hand. All society ladies always kept an assortment of tidbits in the pantry for just such a social emergency.
“Have a seat in the parlor,” Clarissa said through gritted teeth.
I hadn’t expected to have fun with this visit, but I’d been wrong. “I take my coffee black,” I sang out. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Tinkie covered her laughter with her hand as we heard Clarissa bustling about in the kitchen. If she’d been a kettle, she would have been singing because stream was coming out of her ears.
Instead of sitting, I walked around the parlor. During the Christmas pilgrimage party, I hadn’t really had a chance to look around the house. The decorations, which were fabulous, had captured all my visual interest.
The house had great bones. The parlor was lovely, with a turret with stained-glass windows that cast a rainbow of light across a cozy breakfast nook, complete with a window seat that would be perfect for reading. The peach walls were complemented by fabulous floral
