"Makes sense to me," I said. "The question is—if Ivonne knew about the affair, was she mad enough to commit murder?"
Chapter 20
I turned off the hair dryer and heard the distinctive sound of my microwave beeping. Someone was in my kitchen, and unless Edward had suddenly decided that two hundred years of perpetuity had made him hungry, I surmised that Ursula and Henry had arrived early.
I took one last look in the mirror for no real reason. It wasn't as if I was going to adjust or add anything to my appearance. Ursula was in full lecture mode by the time I reached the kitchen. Henry had sat himself down with the leftover chunk of frittata I'd brought home. He was drowning it in ketchup.
"That is one of those fry tots," Ursula said. "You don't cover it with ketchup. What barn were you raised in?"
"The one with the loud, bleating sheep," Henry answered calmly. "Oh wait, that was you." He plunged his fork into the ketchup and eventually struck egg. "Morning, Sunni. Hope you don't mind." He lifted the fork of food. "Our stove broke last week, and I was tired of cold cereal."
Ursula shook her head. "Well, if you'd fix the darn thing, we could cook something up." She headed to the microwave. The bottoms of her overalls were rolled up high enough to expose a pair of pink and black checked stockings. Ursula turned around with a corn muffin on a plate. "I thought this muffin would be better warm," she said.
Edward sat on the kitchen hearth watching the whole scene with his usual disgust. I shot him an admonishing look, reminding him about our agreement.
"This egg is delicious," Henry said as he dug back in for more.
"It sure is. Emily made it. Have you talked to your friend about restoring the bookshelves?" I asked.
Henry tapped the table. "I knew there was something I needed to do."
"Do you mean to tell me you that you forgot to call him?" Ursula's screech was enough to make Edward vanish.
"That's all right, Henry," I said, now regretting that I'd brought it up. "It's no hurry." I poured myself a cup of coffee and headed out onto the front steps to drink it. I needed peace and quiet to plot my next move and to think about what I'd learned so far. I sat down and settled in with my hot cup of coffee.
My peace was, of course, instantly interrupted. "I don't understand why we must tolerate them at meal time, especially breakfast."
I glanced back at Edward. He was perched on the front window ledge, his long legs and the permanent black boots dangled in the air.
"Since when are you concerned about meal time being interrupted?" I returned to my coffee and the sunbathed view of my front yard, which was mostly overgrown grass and tall weeds. Still, they looked spectacular with bits of dew left behind by the rain.
"They arrive early and partake of your food, without asking. I caught the longing look you cast that egg tart before that imbecile drowned it with the tomato sauce."
I nodded. "It's true. I was planning on heating that up for my dinner, but they work hard when they're here. And they do good work, so I have no complaints."
Edward coasted to the edge of the top step, his invisible fence on the property. The poor soul wasn't even allowed to step out and remember what it felt like to have the sun shower him with warmth and light.
"You came out here to get away from them," he said. It was a statement and not a question.
"You got me there," I confessed. "I've got some things on my mind, and it's a little hard to concentrate in the same room with Ursula."
"You don't say," he said wryly. "What things do you have on your mind? Not that man with the—"
"If you say unkempt man with the wild hair one more time, Edward, I'm going to throw this coffee at you."
"You could try, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be terribly effective. I won't call him unkempt anymore. You have my word. How about rumpled or bedraggled or maybe disheveled?"
"Don't you have some place to be, Edward?"
"Where on earth would I have to be?" he asked.
"I don't know, some place other than out here thinking up words to describe my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend," he scoffed. "That's ridiculous. You need to endure a much longer courtship to even consider him more than an acquaintance."
"I think we passed the acquaintance requirements already. Anyhow, I wasn't thinking about Jackson." I stood and walked up to the top step where he lingered, his feet just an inch from the ground. I'd already calculated that Edward must have been six foot two or three when he was alive. "A woman died at the carnival yesterday. I'm trying to figure out who might have killed her."
I was always amazed how someone who was mostly vapor, and sometimes very frail wavering vapor at that, could make such direct eye contact. It was another thing I'd deduced about the man. Edward Beckett must have been one of those people who had no problem looking others directly in the eye. I pictured him as a highly confident man who lived life to the fullest and didn't care what people thought of him. It was probably the reason for him always getting into trouble and eventually finding himself dead from a gunshot wound.
"You do spend your day in the most bizarre fashion," Edward said. "Why are you always trying to chase down cutthroats and assassins?"
I was relieved that yesterday's topic of Edward's eventual move into eternity was not front and center today. It was an awkward and emotional topic that was sometimes better to ignore.
"I'm not chasing them down. I'm merely looking for information to make my writing more memorable." I laughed at my own reasoning. "But the chase is sort of fun too."
"Well, let's hear all about it. I could use some fun before I have to spend the day with the two nitwits again." He seemed genuinely interested, and it was my opportunity to relay some of the details aloud to see if anything stood out."
"There's a traveling carnival in town for spring break." I stopped. "Guess you wouldn't know much about them. They started about a hundred years after—well, you know."
"After my death?" he asked. "You needn't tiptoe around the subject. I'm well aware that I'm dead."
I laughed. "I suppose that secret is out, yes. Anyhow, the carnival has games where you can win big stuffed toys, and greasy foods that will stay and torment your stomach for days after you ingest them and wild, twisting rides that can occasionally make you lose the food so that you don't have to suffer with it for days." I couldn't help but smile about my description of a carnival.
"You modern day folk entertain yourselves in the strangest ways. It doesn't sound too outlandish to think that someone died at this traveling carnival. I rather wonder if anyone would survive after such an ordeal."
"I might have over exaggerated a little. Generally, people, especially kids, enjoy their time at a carnival. Anyhow, the woman who died worked for the carnival. She was a fortune teller . . . a soothsayer," I added to avoid another lengthy definition.
"Perhaps she told a bad fortune," he suggested.
I laughed but then paused to think about it. "I hadn't really thought of that. Good point. But I think this whole murder might have more to do with betrayal and jealousy, a crime of passion, so to speak. It seems the victim was involved in an extramarital affair, and, as you well know"—I looked pointedly at him—"Those never turn out well. Of course, there was also a jilted lover in the mix, and Tad did say he saw Calvin hanging around Cherise's tent." I was talking out loud to myself now, ignoring my captive audience of one. "Then there was the murder weapon, which happened to be a tool Calvin might have used in his everyday maintenance schedule." I popped out of my musings and smiled up at Edward. "Thanks, this has been helpful. I've got to finish getting ready for work. And, Edward, try not to get so worked up about Ursula and Henry. Think of them more as entertainment than irritation."
"Small chance of that," he mumbled before vanishing.
Chapter 21
Myrna had music playing quietly on her computer as I walked in. She was humming and doing a dance on her chair as her fingers ran speedily over her keyboard. "Morning, Sunni," she said in a sin
g-song voice to match the music coming out of the computer.
"Morning, Myrna." Parker's office door was shut. There was no sign of Chase, which probably meant they were in a meeting. I wondered if Parker had gotten over his bad mood and momentary panic about eventually losing his job to the owner's future son-in-law. Parker's mood changed as much as the weather in spring, so I was counting on a much more congenial version this morning. I was anxious to talk to him to let him know that my carnival story had morphed into a murder story and that I was hot on the trail of all the good, juicy tidbits. I figured good, juicy tidbits sounded like something that would get people to pick up the paper. That was all Parker cared about anyhow, that people read the paper, which, in turn, kept the advertisers happy.
I sat at my desk and was just logging onto the computer when Parker's door opened. Chase walked out with a satisfied grin. It seemed his wealthy fiancée had bought him yet another sharp, expensive dress shirt, this one a pale blue with thin orange pinstripes. It had dawned on me that Rebecca Newsom liked to dress her betrothed. Admittedly, Chase was a handsome man with hazel eyes and striking features, although not nearly as striking as a certain detective. Rebecca enjoyed dressing Chase up to look like a model in a clothing catalogue, and Chase, who seemed somewhat obsessed about his appearance, didn't seem to mind playing the part.
"Morning, Sunni," Chase said as he headed to his desk.
"Morning," I said in return. We both worked in a small newsroom, doing the same job for the same paper and under the same editor, but we had never formed a bond. We were both two entirely different people, entirely different journalists.
"Taylor," Parker called from his office.
I hopped up ready to have our office chat and to fill him in on what I knew about the murder at the carnival.
"No need to meet this morning," Parker said. "I'm meeting with the printer. How is the carnival story going? Remember to make it sound glowing."
My mouth dropped open for a second before I realized and snapped it shut. "Uh, actually I wanted to talk to you about the carnival story. Obviously, after what happened yesterday, there's been a slight change in my storyline."
"Yeah, heard about the murder." He waved his thick hand Chase's direction. "Evans is going to cover the murder, so that leaves you free to skirt around the bad publicity and write a shining review."
"I was there when they discovered the body," I blurted. "I already have notes and interviews and details. It's only fair that I cover the murder." I hated to beg, especially with Chase sitting just a few feet away, but I was not beyond groveling this time. I'd already put too much time into it.
"That kind of story always goes to the lead reporter," Chase said smugly behind me. I didn't even bother to look at him because I already knew he was wearing a smug smile to go with it.
I got up from the desk to move closer to Parker. As far as I was concerned, this was a conversation I was having with the editor and not the lead reporter. "Parker, I spent the entire afternoon on this. I did interviews. I searched for evidence."
"She doesn't have to do any legwork," Chase interjected. "She just has to ask her boyfriend for the details. That's not journalism."
My face felt hot as I spun around. Chase and I normally just ignored each other, but I wasn't going to stand for this, even if he was marrying the owner's daughter. "For your information, Chase, all the evidence I gathered yesterday, I did on my own. My own 'legwork', unlike you. You'll head straight to the police department and wait around until someone is willing to fill you in on the details of the crime. That's hardly what I'd call legwork. Yes, I admit, I occasionally get access to things that most journalists don't because of my relat—" I cleared my throat. It was nobody's darn business. "Because of my friendship with Detective Jackson."
Chase's smooth dark brows danced a little, and his upper lip twitched. He hadn't expected me to fight back on this. "Well, I'm sorry that you spent so much time on this already, Sunni, but you had to know the assignment would fall on my desk. I cover the big stories. I'm sure your time isn't completely wasted. After all, you'll be writing about the carnival. Maybe I could see those notes," he suggested, without even an ounce of shame.
A million words built up in my throat, but before they could explode like a volcano, an eruption that would probably cost me my job, my unusually silent editor finally spoke up.
"Actually, Evans, I'm taking you off the assignment and giving it to Taylor. She was there when it happened. She's got all the insight and firsthand knowledge of the event. It would be wrong to let another reporter cover it."
It was Chase's turn for a red face. "Parker, are you sure about this?" he said with a clenched jaw. "I think you might be making a mistake."
Parker stood a little taller than usual. "Evans, I'm going to assume that you aren't threatening me because that would truly be a mistake." It seemed Parker had reflected on his worries yesterday and decided to stand up for his position by letting Chase know he was still in charge. If Newsom was planning on replacing Parker with Chase, he'd regret it. Something deep down told me Newsom was well aware of that. Chase was barely qualified to be a reporter, let alone the managing editor.
An awkward silence fell over the office. Myrna was sitting at her desk, watching and listening with such interest, I could almost imagine the bucket of popcorn sitting in front of her.
"Fine, let Sunni write the story about the murder. The mayor isn't going to be happy that the paper sensationalized bad press about his buddy Stockton's carnival." Chase said it with the same tone a kid might say 'go ahead and tell the teacher and see if I care'. He was trying to convince himself that he hadn't just lost a round with the boss.
"I'll deal with the mayor," Parker said directly to me. "Just get a good story."
"Thanks, Parker. I won't let you down."
Chapter 22
After my unexpected triumph in the newspaper office, I'd sat down to go through some of my notes, but I could feel Chase shooting flaming daggers at my back with his eyes. I grabbed my stuff and let Myrna know I was heading back to the carnival to further my investigation. I'd left with such speed, I really hadn't taken the time to plan my next move. I was still absorbing my victory, my first since I'd started working at Junction Times.
With the exception of the empty space, like a missing tooth, between the baseball throw and the ring toss, it was business as usual at the carnival. Day three had brought more teens without accompanying parents and less of the family units with little kids. That might have been because of the murder, or it might just have been the natural order of the spring fair business. Parents had probably already had their share of snow cones, sticky ride seats and long lines. Apparently, an unsolved murder wasn't enough of an impediment to put up a fight with an insistent teenager. As my mom used to say, there were few things less pleasant than a grumpy teen lazing about the house with nothing to do.
I stood in the spot where just yesterday the police and coroner were engaged in a flurry of activity. Today, the only sign that a tent had once sat in the spot was the dust free square in the middle of the pavement. That, too, would soon disappear as debris covered the clean asphalt.
"They came and took the tent away about an hour before we opened," the girl running the ring toss said. She handed two finger puppets, a cow and a pig, to the excited girl who had just won them. The winner shoved her new farm animal puppets on her fingers and hurried away with her friends.
The girl running the ring toss was customer free. I walked over to talk to her. She seemed surprised that her comment had earned her personal attention. She picked up the box with the finger puppets and quickly turned away from me to put the box on the shelf. I'd caught the name on her tag just before she spun away.
"Sarah, I'm a reporter with the Junction Times."
She turned back around and checked the pin on her nametag. "I know who you are. I saw you talking to Bri yesterday when we were all hanging out together trying to get over the shock of Cherise being—well,
you know. Bri told us who you were after she rejoined the group. She said you were asking questions about Calvin. I hate to speak badly of Cherise, you know, now that she's gone, but Cal was too good for her. Cherise never treated him right. She was always putting him down in front of others and making fun of him."
"Sounds like it wasn't a great relationship," I said.
"Not that Cal would have, you know, well—" It seemed Sarah had an aversion to terms like murder, kill and dead. I couldn't really blame her. "He's got a temper, but basically, he's a good guy. This place couldn't run without him. At least the rides couldn't run, and without them, this carnival would be a joke." Unexpectedly, she reached out and grabbed my arm lightly. "But don't print that or Ivonne will fire me."
"Ivonne? Is Mrs. Stockton in charge of firing?" I asked lightly. "And don't worry. I won't print anything about our conversation."
"Phew, that's good to know. It's not that Carson doesn't fire someone occasionally. We had this guy Pete working for the carnival once. It turned out he was stealing a bunch of the food and selling it to another carnival at a nice, discount price. Carson gladly gave him the boot, but Ivonne is just a little meaner. It never seems to bother her to tell someone 'you're fired'. Whereas, I think Carson likes to avoid that kind of stuff."
"I see." I was slowly getting a much clearer picture of the various people on my suspect list. "Sarah, were you working yesterday when Cherise was discovered?"
"Yep, standing right here at the ring toss when Carson started yelling for help. Some guy was on his fifth try." She rolled her eyes. "Not a very good aim but I felt kind of bad because he was trying to impress his girlfriend."
"Did you notice anything suspicious before Carson called for help? Anyone hanging out around Cherise's tent or maybe someone arguing with her?"
Three teens came up to the booth and slapped down some money. Sarah paused our conversation to place the rings down in front of them. "To tell you the truth," she said to me, while she watched the rings get tossed. "We were pretty busy here yesterday, so I didn't really pay any attention."
Calamity at the Carnival Page 10
