“And…?” Dusty prompted.
“I bribed the varied thrush sent to carry Milkweed to The Ten Acre Wood. He flew the wrong way and led Milkweed and her whole family astray. They were two days late to the wedding.” Thistle giggled over that.
“Oh, you are nasty.” Dusty smiled, a laugh twitching at the corners of her mouth.
“Alder sure was mad. And I’m told that Milkweed hasn’t consented to a mating flight yet.”
“Trouble in paradise. If I were Milkweed, I wouldn’t trust Alder either. I presume, like most men, you aren’t the only one he betrayed.”
“Yes. But not all men are as selfish and greedy as he is. Dick…”
“Dick is incapable of making a commitment. He hasn’t had a relationship last more than a month, ever. Chase isn’t much better.”
“So what if Haywood is the rogue Pixie trying to cut down The Ten Acre Wood?” Thistle asked gently. She covered Dusty’s hand with her own. “I know he bribed a bunch of teens to blow up the cell tower, maybe some of the carnival rides tonight. He’s tying them to him with mushrooms.”
“I refuse to believe that he could be that devious. He kissed me. And it was glorious. The world sparkled.”
Uh-oh. Thistle didn’t know if she should suggest an alternative to those colored lights.
“He said he loved me,” Dusty insisted.
“Alder said he loved me.”
Another long silence.
“I don’t know whom to trust. A man I’m very attracted to who says he loves me, or the man I grew up with who has always been a friend. He fixed my music box.”
“Don’t trust either of them,” a new voice said. A high chiming voice that came from the air somewhere close to Dusty’s ear.
Thistle searched wildly for the source.
Dusty batted at her ear as if at an annoying insect.
“Hey, watch it, lady! I’m not going to sit around all day and get squashed just because you two are deep into crying over spilled milk. Though, if you spill it on a rhododendron, I’d enjoy lapping it up,” a little blue Pixie said.
“Chicory,” Thistle said on a long exhale, not sure if she should be annoyed or relieved. “What are you doing here? This is still part of Alder’s territory.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, so I’m not sticking around long.”
“Chicory.” Dusty choked on her tea. She looked pale and a little green around the edges. Her eyes lost focus and threatened to roll upward. As if her mind couldn’t quite wrap itself around the reality of the obnoxious blue boy with a cap that looked like an upside-down chicory blossom on his head, knickers and tunic the same shade, and darker blue skin and hair. His blue green wings stilled their constant flutter as he landed on the table, regarding Dusty with concern.
“So what brings you into dangerous lands?” Thistle prodded the tiny man.
“Mabel sent me.”
“Mabel? As in police dispatch Mabel who has an army of Pixie spies?” A little color returned to Dusty’s face and her eyes focused firmly on the Pixie.
“Yeah, that Mabel. She says I have to apologize to you, Miss Dusty, for some tricks we played on you, and for spying on you and your boyfriend last night down on the river walk.”
“Was that you who made the air sparkle when he kissed me?”
“No. Don’t know who threw the Pixie dust. Look, I’m not going to say any more than to warn you to be careful. There could’ve been some magic enthrallment in that dust. There is more, and less, to Mr. Haywood Wheatland than he says. And he’s been known to lie. True Pixies can’t lie. That’s what Faeries do. So just be careful. Chase is one of the good guys. You can trust him. And, again, I apologize on behalf of Mabel’s tribe.” He executed a formal bow from the waist and set his wings to sweeping rapidly. He rose straight up from the table and aimed for the closed door to the rest of the museum.
Thistle figured he could crawl under the door or slip through the big old-fashioned lock.
“Hey, don’t I get an apology?” she asked.
“Mabel didn’t say anything about you, exiled one. I think growing big makes it possible for you to lie, too. Mabel just told us to consider Miss Dusty one of ours now. Oh, and I have it on good authority that Mrs. Shiregrove will be home for tea this afternoon and will talk to you.” He flitted out before Thistle could call him back again.
Twenty-nine
“THANK YOU FOR SEEING ME on such short notice, Mrs. Shiregrove,” Dusty said as she settled in a wicker lawn chair. A grape arbor behind her hostess’ imposing mansion shaded them from the grinding heat and humidity. The little bit of relief from stray river breezes didn’t reach up here on the third plateau above the Skene River.
“No problem. I prefer to take my afternoon tea with company. What was so important that you left the basement of your precious museum to call on me?”
Dusty blushed. It seemed everyone in town knew how she hid from people among her artifacts and catalogs. Then she mustered her courage to speak, wishing Joe had come to do it for her. “It’s about the Masque Ball, ma’am.”
“I hope you make a lot of money this year. You’re going to need it.” Mrs. Shiregrove looked sharply at Dusty.
“Yes, well, I was hoping you could influence the grant committee to match funds for us, since they’ve denied a flat-out grant.”
“That’s a possibility.” The older woman took a sip of her iced tea, looking out over her extensive grounds rather than at Dusty. “Tell me why the Ball is so important to you. This is the first one you’ve organized by yourself.”
“Only because Mom and Dad are in Stratford-upon-Avon for three months absorbing as much Shakespeare as they can.”
“Your mother can be obsessive.”
Dusty just smiled.
“So why is the Ball so important to you?”
“Because it gives us the funds to keep the museum open. We are an anchor to the community, an important part of our heritage, part of our identity as a city, and part of the state and region as a whole.”
“Commendable. I see you are passionate about the museum.”
“That and our local history. How can we possibly move forward if we don’t know where we’ve been?”
“I agree. But I understand even the Ball is in jeopardy, what with the logging off of The Ten Acre Wood. Hate to see that go, but I don’t see how to stop a steamroller once it gets started.” She paused, her eyes slightly glazed as if she thought long and hard on something important.
“Yes, ma’am. Actually that’s why I’m here. We’re having trouble finding an alternative venue for the Ball on such short notice.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she snorted.
Dusty wondered if Mrs. Shiregrove knew more than she was saying about that.
“Your estate would make a lovely background to the costumes and music and Pixie lights,” Dusty whispered, amazed at her audacity.
Mrs. Shiregrove jerked her gaze back to Dusty, forcing her to look directly into her eyes and not the enticing depths of her amber tea. “That it would. Who put that idea into your head, Miss Carrick?”
“I thought of it this morning about six, after the community college turned us down. They wanted seventyfive percent of our gross. We can’t afford that. I know it’s short notice and an imposition, but I was wondering if we could hold the Ball here? Please, it may be our only hope of saving the museum.” The last came out in a rush.
“So you can speak at length about something near and dear to you,” Mrs. Shiregrove chuckled.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t go all silent and polite on me. I’ve been waiting a long time for you to get angry enough to stand up for what you believe in.”
“The Ball is our major source of funding. Tour admissions only make up a part of it, and those are down this year with the economic crunch. We only had about half as many school field trips this spring as usual, and our high school interns are working for class credit rather than money. The furnace truly needs replacing, or we’ll start losing fragile artifacts and artwork to the damp this winter.”