Floral Depravity by Beverly Allen Page B

for Bacon U, and he cut an imposing figure, even without the sword in his hand.
    Shelby was shorter and much slighter, but seemed to be brandishing his weapon with more finesse. “Ah, but while you were carrying the pigskin down the field, I was fulfilling my PE credits with fencing class.” Shelby demonstrated a series of complicated moves, ending with removing Darnell’s hat. He waved his sword in front of Darnell’s face. “I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
    â€œOh, I love that movie,” I said.
    Darnell hadn’t given up, however, and did his best to hold off Shelby’s advance while Andrea and I stood watching them. Shelby clearly had the skill advantage, but he was well matched by Darnell’s size and athleticism. When no winner was decided after ten minutes, they called it a truce, wiped the sweat from their brows, and headed off for a tankard of something.
    â€œThere you are, my love.” Melvin Brooks came up behind Andrea and circled his arms around her waist.
    Melvin Brooks. Mel Brooks. The guy with a motive from birth. And as he trailed kisses down his bride’s neck, he didn’t look like he was mourning all that much for dear old Dad. No wonder the happy couple was high on Bixby’s suspect list.
    â€œI’m so sorry about your father,” I said.
    Melvin straightened up, cleared his throat, and tried to look appropriately sober. “Thanks, Audrey. I really appreciate that you tried to help. Everyone else just stood around.”
    â€œI’m not sure anything could have been done at that point. Any idea who might have wanted to poison your father?”
    Andrea looked at Mel.
    Mel looked at Andrea.
    Andrea spoke first. “There is that Hines fellow.”
    â€œChandler Hines?” I asked. There was another of Bixby’s prime suspects.
    â€œYou know him?” Andrea asked.
    â€œHis name’s come up,” I said.
    â€œHe and Dad never got along,” Mel said. “But it was nothing more than a difference of opinion about how things should be handled here. Ego, mainly, I think. They both wanted to be big shots for different reasons.”
    â€œDid they quarrel?” I asked.
    â€œMore than quarrel,” Andrea said. “There was that threat.”
    â€œThreat?” I turned back to Mel. “Hines threatened your father?”
    â€œMore like they threatened each other,” he said. “Publically. I thought it was more of an act, a staged disagreement. Like that sword fight. They were going to settle it with a joust—not murder. To poison someone like that . . . it really doesn’t fit into that whole Guardians of Chivalry ideal.
    â€œPersonally,” he continued, “I think what happened to Dad must have been just a terrible accident. I saw what that monkshood root looks like, and it probably went into the stew as a turnip. I hope our corporate lawyers aren’t too aggressive with that poor Nick Maxwell. Apparently those vultures are already faxing forms to my office for me to sign, seeking punitive damages. But I’m no ambulance chaser. They’re just going to have to wait until after the funeral.”
    â€œAnd the honeymoon,” Andrea said.
    â€œSuing?” I’d never even considered the idea that legal actions could be taken against Nick, probably since I couldn’t fathom Nick being involved—intentionally or unintentionally. I glanced over to his tent, where loaves of bread were piled waiting for customers—who all seemed to be avoiding that space.
    But surely they couldn’t sue Nick if the real killer were caught. For Nick’s sake, I forced my attention back to Mel and Andrea and the one man on our suspect list who had seemed eager to charge at Brooks with a pointy stick. “A joust sounds dangerous. Can’t someone be killed?”
    â€œThey have special rules to prevent that kind of thing,” Mel