Silent Fool: A Chief Mattson Mystery (Brandon Mattson Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  SILENT FOOL

  A Chief Mattson Mystery

  Copyright © 2021 by R.L. Ryker

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons living or deceased, establishments of any kind, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Join my mailing list at richardryker.com for new releases, offers for free books, and more.

  Books by R.L. Ryker

  Brandon Mattson Mysteries

  Eventide

  Dark Forest

  Silent Fool

  Standalone Thrillers

  Chasing Black Widow

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  Chapter 1

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Brandon said. He peeked around the corner of the makeshift theater constructed for the first annual Forks Renaissance Fair. The benches were already packed for the sold-out performance. Apparently everyone in Forks, WA wanted to watch the chief of police stumble through a few lines of Hamlet in breeches and a feather-adorned floppy hat.

  Emma, his sixteen-year-old daughter, appraised his outfit. “I think you look cute.”

  He turned his attention to his ex-wife, Tori. “What are you grinning at?”

  “Nothing,” Tori said, a wry smile crossing her lips as she considered Brandon’s costume. “It does highlight those muscular thighs.”

  “Gross, Mom,” Emma said.

  Brandon scowled at his ridiculous costume—silver and blue striped shirt, puffy pants, and black hose. He’d been asked…no…begged by the local theater company to appear in a montage of scenes from Shakespeare. He had only agreed because the proceeds would be donated to the local arts. Somehow the theater owner had learned Brandon had been a star thespian in high school and, to a lesser degree, college.

  Delilah Lewis, owner and operator of the Forks Playhouse, waved wildly from behind the stage. “Chief Mattson! It’s time!”

  Brandon and Delilah waited behind the curtain stage left as a group of local high school students finished up a scene from Taming of the Shrew.

  Delilah passed Brandon a prop rapier. The sword had a dull tip and more give than the real thing.

  “You got this?” Delilah asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Come on, Chief. I’ve got to know your heart is in this. If we do good today, think of the attention it could bring the Forks Playhouse.”

  Delilah was an African American woman in her early forties with extensive theater experience in Chicago. Seeking escape from big-city life, she and her husband had relocated to Forks a few years back.

  “I got it,” Brandon replied.

  “Nervous?”

  “It’s been decades since I’ve been on stage,” he said.

  She squeezed his arm. “I believe in you, Chief.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  The crowd cheered enthusiastically as the Forks High School Drama Department gave a bow before exiting stage right.

  “That’s your cue,” she said.

  Brandon strolled onto the set.

  Cheers and a few catcalls greeted him. Several spectators had donned Renaissance or medieval era costumes—everything from lords and ladies to knights in chainmail. Others had come to observe the festivities in typical modern-day attire—shorts, t-shirts, and sunglasses.

  Brandon forced his attention away from the standing room-only audience.

  He was joined on stage by two ladies—actors from the Forks Playhouse. He pressed through the scene, gaining confidence with each remembered line.

  Brandon’s antagonist appeared on stage. The two women gave convincing shrieks before exiting stage right. The robust young man challenged Brandon to a duel, dramatically freeing his sword from its sheath.

  His adversary was Zach, a kid from Forks High who happened to be Emma’s boyfriend. Brandon had nothing against Zach, except for the fact he was dating Brandon’s daughter.

  They advanced, swords raised. Zach’s costume was a better fit for the duel—a leather breastplate over a cotton shirt and leggings. In character, Zach hurled an insult at Brandon, earning a cheer from the crowd.

  Brandon swiped the rapier at Zach. He parried the attempt and countered.

  Zach went on the offensive, offering several attacks, all of which Brandon blocked. Zach was a big kid, and fast. He continued the assault. His eyes hardened.

  His back to the audience, Brandon continued to retreat. He was running out of stage.

  Zach’s approach to the scene had become a little too aggressive for Brandon’s liking.

  The fight was supposed to include a sprinkling of back-and-forth dialogue, but both were too focused on the melee. Brandon tried to remember his lines…

  His heel crept over the edge of the stage.

  This had gone on long enough.

  Brandon surged ahead with a few quick swipes, then lowered his shoulder into the young man. Zach stumbled back, catching himself at the last second. Midstage now, Brandon jabbed his rapier at Zach, forcing him into the thin curtain that veiled the back of the set.

  Fear flickered in Zach’s eyes. He blinked as Brandon raised his sword for another blow.

  “Brandon!” Delilah whispered loudly from her perch stage left. “I think that’s enough.”

  He turned his head. Her wide eyes were a warning. He was taking it too far.

  She was right. This wasn’t a suspect he was battling.

  Just then Zach thrust his rapier into Brandon’s gut.

  Brandon stumbled back.

  The crowd gasped.

  Zach lowered his sword. “Sorry.”

  An obnoxious cackle rose above the general murmur. Brandon tried to ignore it.

  “Not your fault. Let’s finish this scene.”

  “That’s what you get for picking on a kid,” a voice called out.

  Brandon scanned the benches for the source.

  “I’ve seen better fighting from a barmaid.”

  Brandon’s eyes settled on a man standing just outside the picket fence that enclosed the outdoor theater’s seating area. His balding head was somewhere between sunburned and tan with a hedge of wiry blonde hair. His shirt and pants looked to be made of sackcloth. A rope belt was tied around his waist, holding
his beer gut aloft.

  It was every performer’s worst nightmare and one that seldom came true. Not only screwing up during a performance, but being called out for it. Brandon’s gaze landed on Tori in the front row. She rolled her eyes dismissively at the man. Emma smiled at Brandon pitifully.

  “Poor fellow is speechless,” the mocker continued. “Dumb as a cobbler’s hammer.”

  The audience crowed with laughter.

  Brandon’s hand twitched, his fingers squeezing the rapier’s hilt.

  It was all he could do not to hop off the stage and make a beeline for the man.

  The mocker swept his arm dramatically. “Can’t talk. Can’t even beat a boy in simple swordplay. Maybe the pantyhose squeezed the testosterone out of his—”

  Brandon stepped to the edge of the stage.

  The mocker stood a little straighter, surprised by Brandon’s reaction. Still, he was at least fifty feet away.

  “Enough!” another man shouted. He was a few rows from the back. “We’re trying to enjoy the show.”

  “You mind your own business, MacDuff.”

  “Mr. Mattson?”

  Brandon turned to Zach.

  “Are we going to finish the scene?”

  “Sorry,” Brandon said. “Let’s get to it.”

  He glanced toward the back of the theater where the mocker had stood a moment earlier. He was gone.

  A few minutes later, they’d finished. Unfortunately for Brandon, there were two more scenes involving himself and a handful of regulars from the Forks Playhouse. Brandon checked the back row at the start of each scene, but the mocker had disappeared for good, it seemed.

  After a hearty round of applause, followed by the compulsory curtain call, the cast regrouped backstage.

  Delilah hugged Brandon. “Thank you so much for doing this. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “I’m a little rusty, to say the least.”

  “You’re welcome back anytime,” Delilah said. “We’re doing Cats in the fall.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Brandon said.

  Tori and Emma appeared at his side. “My dad hates anything that isn’t Rogers and Hammerstein,” Emma said. “He doesn’t like cats, either.”

  Delilah smiled. “Well, maybe another time, then.”

  When Delilah had left, Tori asked, “Who was that guy?”

  “The mocker? I have no idea.”

  Emma held up a copy of the Forks Renaissance Fair’s official program. She flipped through the pages, pointing to a younger-looking photo of the man.

  “His name is Drool,” she said. “He’s a comic.”

  “He’s a real hoot,” Brandon said, taking the program. According to the guide, Drool was the stage name for the West Coast’s premier Renaissance and medieval fair comedian.

  “It says he’s from San Francisco,” Brandon said.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Tori said. “He’s just doing his job.”

  “Yeah, well, you weren’t the one on stage.”

  Tori nestled her arm in his. “Let’s get something to eat. I think your blood sugar is low.”

  She was right, he was getting worked up for no good reason. He hated to admit it, but more than a year after their divorce, Tori still knew him better than anyone else. It was too bad they got along better now than when they’d lived together.

  Her gray eyes smiled back at him.

  Things hadn’t always been that bad, had they?

  He shook the thought off. Things were just fine the way they were. Shared custody of a smart, beautiful, kind daughter, despite living more than three hours apart. Everything was the way it was supposed to be.

  “Dad?”

  “What?”

  “Can Zach come with us, too?”

  Brandon sighed. “Okay. But I’m not buying his lunch.”

  Tori saved a table for the four of them while Brandon stood in line with Emma and Zach. On a nearby stage, a troubadour recounted the tale of Robin Hood and Maid Marion, accompanying himself on the lute.

  Brandon ended up paying for Zach’s hamburger and fries. Like most dads, he was a pushover for his daughter. He was already spending 30 bucks for second-rate fair food. What was ten more dollars?

  It was the first day of the “Ren fair”, a month-long event that was the brainchild of Mayor Sara Kim. Like most schemes the mayor concocted, the event was an attempt to increase the town’s tourism revenue. As the impact of the Forks-based Moonbeam Darklove series faded, she explained, they would need to branch out into other pursuits.

  For Brandon and his limited police force, events that attracted outsiders meant increased crime, more overtime, and the risk of a packed jail.

  The fair was on a ten-acre pasture that had, in years past, featured a now-defunct dairy farm. The Robinson family farm had been part of the west county area for over a hundred years. As the dairy industry consolidated to larger, more centralized farms, the Robinson’s were forced to abandon the family business. The remaining heirs to the legacy had tried their hand at pumpkin patches and corn mazes in recent years—with mixed results.

  Now the family had won a five-year lease with an out-of-state entertainment group. The Renaissance fair was the first event—with concerts and other festivals planned for the future. As for their part, the fair’s owners had taken an impressive first step in making the event a success. They’d constructed a permanent cluster of buildings resembling a medieval town square. Near the square, a fenced-in field hosted jousting and other tournaments. The acres surrounding the makeshift town were filled with canvas tents hosting a variety of shops hawking jewelry, costumes, handcrafted woodwork, and that ancient medieval staple—cotton candy.

  Brandon had commented to Emma that there was a difference between the medieval and Renaissance periods. Her response had been, “I know that, and you know that, but I don’t think anyone cares.”

  The trio of twenty-somethings that passed by just then made her point. Their costumes included knee-length black leather boots, black lace skirts, a leather corset with buckles across the front, and a top hat. Emma called the style “steampunk”, a genre based on the Victorian period. Most of the fair’s attendees, at least those in costume, stuck to the period the fair pretended to represent.

  After waiting in line for 15 minutes, they had their food and headed to the table Tori had reserved.

  She wasn’t there.

  “Where’s mom?” Emma asked.

  He scanned the area.

  “Save our spot. I’ll find her.”

  A moment later, Brandon felt a tap on his shoulder.

  He turned, blinked, then did a double-take. Tori had changed into a velvety azure dress, almost form-fitting. Its flowing sleeves were rose and gold. She’d grown her sable hair out over the winter, and it trailed over her shoulders.

  Brandon had to guide his eyes from the larger-than-life cleavage on display thanks to the costume’s push-up feature.

  “You like it?” she asked.

  Was he blushing? For God’s sake. This was Tori, his ex-wife.

  “Ahh...yes.”

  Tori shifted, adjusting the straps. “I worried it might be a little too revealing.”

  When they sat down at the picnic table across from Emma and Zach, Emma stared at her mom wide-eyed.

  “Wow, mom.”

  Tori grimaced. “Is it that bad?”

  “I mean. It’s a nice dress,” Emma said.

  “What?”

  “Well, I was going to say…put those things away.”

  “Emma…” Brandon started.

  “But I get it. When you’re older you want to feel pretty.”

  Brandon shook his head. Sometimes even the best kids could say the meanest things.

  “Leave her alone,” he said.

  “I’m just giving her a compliment.”

  “Right,” Brandon said.

  After lunch, they roamed the fair. Those vendors not busy with customers greeted any passers-by with invitations to try their ware
s. Brandon waited while Emma, Zach, and Tori browsed the various shops—candle makers, bowyers, pewter trinket sellers, even a mock gypsy wagon offering tinctures and cure-alls. But the fair offered more than merchants. They’d stopped for a performance featuring two young women in peasant outfits performing sweet but sorrowful Celtic tunes on the fiddle and harp.

  Eventually, Emma and Zach ditched Tori and Brandon, leaving the two of them alone for the first time in months.

  “What are you going to do with yourself all summer?” Tori asked.

  Emma lived with Brandon during the school year, with Tori taking her for the summer breaks and every other weekend. Tori had made the trip from Seattle to see Emma off to her job as a camp counselor. After camp, Emma would return home with Tori.

  Without Emma around, the house would be quieter than usual. Not that she was home often, between Zach and her job at Carl’s Pizza. And, Brandon realized, his time with her was running out. In the fall, Emma would be entering her final year of high school. She was already making plans for college.

  “Go fishing, maybe.”

  “You always said fishing was boring,” Tori said.

  They turned the corner to another row of shops, moving out of the way as Queen Elizabeth and her entourage passed by.

  He shrugged. “People change.”

  “Do they?”

  He turned to her. The meaning behind her question held him fixed to the spot.

  “I mean…yeah.”

  She pursed her lips together. “If you say so.”

  “Spoken like a prosecutor,” Brandon said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  Tori was a deputy prosecutor with the King County Prosecutor’s Office.

  “Chief Mattson!”

  Brandon twisted toward the sing-song voice of Phoenix Weaver.

  “Who is that?” Tori asked.

  “You don’t want to know.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Chief Mattson! I know you hear me!”

  Tori whispered, “Don’t be rude, Brandon.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Okay. But you’ll see.”

  As he turned, his eyes landed on a modest red and black velvet tent. There, shrouded in the shadow of lace and curtains, Phoenix sat behind a flimsy card table. A deck of tarot cards lay fanned out in front of her. A glass orb rested tenuously on the edge of the table.