The Twelfth Night Murder by Anne Rutherford

wasn’t nearly so beautiful this morning as it had been the night before, all the life in it having fled. His rosy cheeks and lips, painted on, were still red, but they were now damaged and indistinct with smudged and smeared color. Eye blacking ran down his face like gray harlequin tears. His pale, nearly translucent skin had a porcelain quality, like a perfectly wrought statue of such fine skill this boy’s face might grace the gallery of even the king. A portrait of grief.
    The face was no longer graced by the joyful animation she’d seen the night before. The dimples were gone forever. At the Goat and Boar, this boy had possessed a lively expression and an easy smile. He’d been enjoying himself, happy to be in conversation with Daniel, and eager to give him a good time. Perhaps even to have had a good time himself. But now the boy’s face was reduced to only its features. Pleasing enough in themselves taken individually, but tragically lacking any spark of life or happiness. The painted red lips no longer pursed, but were slack and slightly agape. The dull and sunken eyes saw nothing, filled with river water that resembled tears about to fall. He looked as if he might draw a breath and emit a sob.
    Then she saw there was something in his mouth. Something white showed between his front teeth. She stepped closer to look, but there was no telling what was inside there.
    “Constable,” she said, and pointed. “Be so good as to remove whatever is in his mouth.”
    Pepper took a step backward, as if resisting a shove toward a distasteful task. “I beg your pardon?”
    “There’s something in the boy’s mouth. Take it out so we can tell what it is.”
    “Touch him, you mean?” Pepper’s hand retreated into his cloak, lest it somehow be forced to do Suzanne’s bidding.
    Suzanne wasn’t about to touch the body herself. Though she didn’t particularly fear her own death, she was terrified of the ghosts of those who had gone before her. Touching a dead body was sure to bring bad luck at least, if not a true haunting of a disturbed spirit. And she knew this boy’s spirit was a strong one. “Of course, touch him. Take that white object from his mouth. Surely you don’t expect me to do it.”
    A woman standing nearby heaved a great, impatient sigh, reached over, and dug her fingers between the boy’s teeth. She yanked out something soft and white that had some blue bits and black spots of blood. When she saw what it was, even she dropped the thing and stepped back, wiping her hand on her skirt.
    The object now lying on the boy’s chest was a severed willie.

Chapter Four

    “O h!” Suzanne turned away, as did nearly everyone watching. She pressed a palm to her mouth, and gasped for breath as tears of shock and grief stung her eyes. “Oh, that poor boy!”
    When she could look again, she saw how small it was. Shriveled and bluish white, there wasn’t very much to it at all. It hardly even looked like what it was, but nothing more than a pale, purplish knob on a bit of wrinkled skin.
    “Do you suppose it’s his?” asked Pepper. He reached down and with two dainty fingers lifted the hem of the blue dress. Suzanne looked just long enough to glimpse the red-black patch between the boy’s legs where the appendage should have been. She turned away, and Pepper dropped the skirt.
    Those watching were silent for a long moment, shocked. Suzanne drew deep breaths to hold down her gorge. Then she straightened and smoothed her cloak to regain her dignity, and put her mind back on the proper course to learn this boy’s killer. She asked Pepper, “Where, exactly, was he found?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “I don’t know yet whether it matters, and can’t assess the importance of it until I know. Where was he?”
    Pepper pointed upstream to the waterwheel slowly turning in the current by the southern bank. This one turned a stone in a mill directly above. The wheel at the northern bank drove a water pump.
    Suzanne