by CF Frizzell
“Our garden is happy, but it better not do this all goddamn day.”
Shay imagined the carnival arriving in the mud, reducing the fairgrounds roads to troughs of slop. “I envy you,” she said, and brought her cup to the sink. “Wish I could spend my workday in the loft.” Her phone chirped and she snatched it off her belt and listened. “Shit.”
“Now what?” Coby said. “It’s too early and too friggin’ miserable out to have a crisis.”
Shay was equally thrilled to hear Della’s voice at that hour. She clipped the phone back into place. “Seven o’clock and she’s in the office. I gotta go.”
“Here.” Coby tossed her the Jeep keys. “If we need to go out, we’ll call you. And if this mess ever lets up, bring it back.”
“Thanks.” She shrugged into a rain slicker and headed for the garage. “Wish me luck.”
Coby yelled after her. “Don’t forget your hat. That’s what you bought it for, city girl.”
When Shay pulled up to the office, she had no place to park. Trucks and trailers of every size were scattered like toys on a front lawn. Shay drove around back and ran into the building through the torrential rain. She could hear commotion in the front office as she peeked into Della’s.
“Chicago. Get in here and shut the door.”
“Carnies here already? Ain’t that swell.”
Della pointed at the coffee carafe on the bar. “Get yourself one for the road. You have to get out there and direct traffic, organize that circus.”
“They drive all damn night to get here?”
“Looks like it,” Della said. “I want them settled in place and kept there. I don’t want carnies poking around. The vendors will throttle me and that’s the last thing I need.”
“But the building inspector isn’t here yet. He’s due around ten o’clock.”
“Then you tell them there are no hook-ups until he’s done.”
“Great.”
Shay stirred her coffee and could feel Della’s clandestine inspection creep from head to toe. She snickered under her breath. I’m her personal Texas Ranger, for God’s sake, cowboy hat, slicker, jeans, boots. It’s a wonder she hasn’t given me a damn gun. Probably wise.
“It’s awfully quiet out there,” she said, and snapped a plastic lid onto her cup.
“If you need help, call me. I’ll be here all day.”
Dealing with lawyers, the Sorvini-Chandler show, and a much greater mess than this.
Shay nodded and shut the door behind her. Glad to be on her own, she was relieved Della hadn’t mentioned the Heights. And she dreaded the craziness ahead. God help me if the carnies create trouble. Della will vent all that pent-up rage on me.
The front office was abandoned when she entered; even Lisa was missing. Probably hiding or being held hostage.
She took a breath and stepped out into the rain on the porch. A sea of colorful rain gear surged forward and several dozen people yelled at once. Shay hurriedly assessed the situation as water poured off the front brim of her straw hat. Her hand went up quickly.
“Hang on! Everybody quiet!” The group hushed. “I’m Shay Maguire, project coordinator. I’m going to get you all settled, okay? This rain’s no fun for any of us, so let’s get it together. Who do I work with?”
A small, older man waved at her. Water rushed off his cowboy hat, too, front and rear, down the back of his orange nylon poncho. “Eric Bass,” he yelled. “What’s your setup here?”
“I’ll get my car and lead you over to the site.”
The damp paperwork in her hand said it was going to be a long day, especially if this damn deluge didn’t let up like the weatherman promised. With the festivities scheduled to kick off tonight when the carnival opened, all the elements of Della’s PR extravaganza would fall into place, as long as Shay hit every item on the list.
The parade of vehicles followed her through the mud to the field that had been flagged off for their amusement rides, refreshment stands, and game booths. Luckily, the field was grassy, slightly higher ground, conditions better than the road itself.
Walking back to the first truck, Shay wondered what the hell she was doing out here in the first place. She was a motorcycle mechanic. Jesus, she thought, as Bass rolled down his truck window one measly inch, I hate rain.
“However you circle your wagons is fine with me,” she shouted over the downpour. “There’s no power out here yet. The inspector should show in about an hour or so. Once he signs off, I’ll let you know and you’ll be all set.”
She drove off to the side to observe the convoy and the madly scurrying workers who obviously knew their craft. She sipped her coffee and ran through the upcoming days’ schedule. This afternoon’s agenda had Shay visiting the police and fire departments for a final review of the physical layout, traffic plan, the events schedule, and overall safety issues. In light of the conditions the day had offered thus far, she looked forward to sitting anyplace dry for a while. Grimly, she hoped everything was still in accordance with all the preliminary work that had been approved prior to her arrival in Tomson. She dreaded being responsible for things she didn’t even know existed.
She jumped when her cell phone rang.
“Hi, it’s Lisa. I’m sending the kids out to see you. The bus is on its way.”
“Wait. What kids?” She flashed a look to the rearview mirror just as a school bus appeared in the distance.
“The high school’s student government council. They’re here to help.”
“You’re kidding.” What else did they forget to tell me? She tucked her paperwork back inside her slicker and pulled the hood up over her head.
The bus stopped behind the Jeep, and an athletic-looking man Shay estimated to be considerably younger than herself jumped out. He met her at the front of the bus, hand extended, eyes narrowed against the pelting rain.
“Shay Maguire? Jack Lawrence, student government advisor.”
She shook his hand. “Hi. Sorry, but I wasn’t told you were coming.”
“Don’t know which is worse, academia or corporate America. Such efficiency.” He hunched his shoulders as rain slid down the back of his neck, the windbreaker he wore hardly sufficient. “The kids brought a supply of donuts and muffins and big urns of coffee to help get everyone off to a great start. Good thing we packed a tarp for sunscreen, huh?”
“I’ll get some heavier rope and stakes,” Shay offered. “You situate the bus so it opens to the field and the road.”
Shay spent the next half hour fending off a wide-eyed student in a Taylor Swift sweatshirt while erecting a green vinyl roof off the end of the bus, and then another hour dealing with the building inspector. Thankfully, he issued the festival go-ahead Shay anticipated, but had precious little else to say. Shay imagined him strolling onto the Heights site and presenting the conservation commission’s stop-work order—for work he should have stopped long ago. Another Tomson “name” on the hot seat, and she was glad. Tough luck, Della.
By the time Shay parked downtown next to the sheriff’s cruiser for her meeting with officials, the day’s torrent had relaxed into a light rain, and she eagerly took the letup as a promising sign. She’d managed to get past the Chronicle office without stopping and losing time she couldn’t afford, even though she did slow to a crawl to peek in the windows. The meeting went well, as the sheriff and fire chief and their seconds perused her plans carefully. Shay found she liked all four of them, despite the curious stares they’d lent when she walked into the conference room.
The morning’s monsoon frenzy evolved into an endless day of damp, continuous errands, questions, adjustments, and quick fixes that left her worn but quite satisfied and more excited than she’d expected. But Shay was glad to steal away later in the afternoon and recharge before the gates officially opened at six o’clock.
“Jesus, it’s like a sauna out here.” She joined Coby and Misty on their porch, opening her faded denim vest. Both it and the white tank she wore beneath it fell just short of
her jeans, and she welcomed the air cooling her midsection.
“All that rain and eighty-six-degree sunshine make for genuine Boston muggies,” Coby quipped. “Make you homesick?”
“Hell, no. Humidity sucks.”
Coby raised her sweating glass of iced tea. “Got time for some?”
“Yeah, sure.” Shay dropped into a chair and sighed. “To think the day’s just begun.”
“Well, it’s good you’re taking a moment for yourself,” Misty said. “At least after this weekend, you can go back to normal ranch hours. And get a chance to talk to Sonny.”
“Yeah, I really want to do that.” She’d been giving the purchase idea serious thought for some time, but the decision to buy and operate her own business in Tomson was big.
“So, you said Mel brought you supper last night?” Misty asked.
“She did.”
“A peace offering?” Coby asked.
Misty winked at Shay. “I gather by the smile on your face that you two are back on the same page?”
“Definitely. In fact, we were a bit indisposed when Mike popped in.”
“Whoa!” Coby lurched forward. “It was supper you were eating, I hope.”
Misty slapped her arm. “Coby!”
Shay shook her head. “My best friend. Such a pig.”
“She coped well with Mike showing up?”
“She did. Maybe embarrassed at first, but not for long. Mike’s kind of a confidant anyway, and he’s been nagging at her about us for a while. He’s ‘safe,’ in her mind. Like you guys.”
“Time will tell,” Coby muttered. “I hope she’s buckled up, because it’s just started. People are talking.”
Shay scrubbed at her face, annoyed. “You can figure Sorvini into that group. I’m sure he’ll spread every rumor, every sick thought he’s ever had about Mel, about us, to the assholes in town, to get attention taken off him. At the very least, he’ll make Mel’s job ten times harder.” She snorted. “Hell, he’s stupid enough to think he can force Mel to avoid the spotlight and shut up about what he’s done.”
“Then it sounds like his game has started, Shay,” Coby said. “Your name came up at the diner this morning. That Franny Whatshername, all pissy about someone like you preying on Mel, how before you, she was their innocent all-American girl. I wanted to knock the woman out of the damn booth.”
“She’s a horribly misguided woman,” Misty stated. “And Dickie Turner’s wife, her partner in crime, is no better. She’s filed complaints about the Exchange attracting the wrong element and jeopardizing the town’s reputation and property values.”
“Jesus. Some people are so damn blind,” Shay grumbled. “Turner better not screw the paper. His is a regular income the Chronicle depends on. Mel will be hurt in more ways than one if he cuts back, or worse.” Who do I sound like now?
“But wait. Get this, Shay. Marie stuck up for you.” Coby raised her glass in salute. “She came out from behind the counter, all fired up, and went over to the booth and told those bats right off. Told them that spreading hate was un-Christian-like, and that she liked you very much and they would, too, if they’d quit acting like immature schoolgirls. I was floored.”
“Maybe they talked loudly for your benefit,” Misty said.
Coby shrugged. “Maybe. Serves them right, getting chastised by Marie.”
“Mel needs to hear all this,” Shay said.
“And Eli, Mr. Winston, the elderly butcher?” Misty added. “He asked how you were getting along. I’d told him we had an old friend staying with us, right after you arrived, and he’d read how Sorvini was arrested for beating you up. He was quite upset about that. Then he shocked the crap out of me and asked if our houseguest and Mel Baker were dating.”
Shay slammed back in her chair. “No.”
Misty looked ready to burst. “Then guess what he said. I wanted to kiss him. He gave me one of his big, toothless smiles,” she glanced knowingly at Coby, “and he said, ‘Just like you and your Miss Palmer, finding someone who makes you happy is the most important thing in this world.’”
Chapter Twenty
Shay stood alongside the bonfire stack of oak barrels, watching a worker in a bucket truck wire the last one into position. Her neck hurt, she’d been gawking too long, but she left the scene smiling, pleased that the event would be ready for tomorrow, that the day’s downpour hadn’t thrown the build that far off schedule.
The carnival venue, meanwhile, had come to life an hour ago, and cars were filtering into the parking fields as the supper hour progressed. Most folks went straight for dinner, as vendors sold hot dogs, pizza, chicken, and a myriad of other delights in ever-increasing numbers. Smoke from the mammoth barbecue hung in the air like edible fog. It wafted over everything and competed with an ever-changing mixture of delicious aromas, all of which made her stomach growl.
She left the Softail behind the popcorn stand and prowled the two-sided row of vendors, weighing the options of strawberry-rhubarb pie versus fried pickles, corn dogs, or bread bowls of buffalo chili. She’d never tasted buffalo or the fried pickles. She wished Mel was at her side.
“Shay! Come over here this minute. You need pie!”
The jovial woman at the Fire Department Ladies’ Auxiliary booth waved vigorously, and Shay spotted Mel at the counter. That sly smirk gripped her where she stood. The white shorts, coupled with a telling blue-and-white striped jersey, delivered an electrical surge from Shay’s brain, through her chest and into her groin with such force she broke out in a sweat. Jesus. Keep your tongue in your mouth. With considerable effort, she greeted everyone equally.
“Hi. Good to see you all.” She noted Mel’s pointed look at her hat, and addressed the familiar trio manning the booth. “I need pie?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot you were coming back for some,” the jolly woman said, and pushed several pies together in front of Shay. “Now—and back me up on this, Mel—these are the best you will ever taste. Hands down. Isn’t that right, Mel?”
“Without a doubt.” Mel replied. “The apple has taken the county blue ribbon four years running. I’m partial to the blueberry, though.”
Shay studied the pies. Anything you suggest. “Blueberry’s always been my favorite.”
“Well, we also have pecan, buttercream-and-chocolate, apple, lemon meringue, and strawberry rhubarb. Fresh from the oven just an hour or so ago. And there are more coming. Part of Tomson’s claim to fame and a newcomer to town simply has to know firsthand.”
Shay sent the woman a narrow, evil look. “You’re just too smooth at your job for my own good, you know. I hate these decisions.” She earned a smile for her remark.
“I bet you haven’t eaten much all day, have you?” Mel asked.
“That rain this morning did a number on my schedule. It’s been crazy.”
The bleached-blonde stepped around her jolly friend. “I bet you two want matching blueberries.” Shay and Mel looked up as the third woman spun away and busied herself folding pastry boxes. “I’m right, aren’t I?” The bleached-blonde offered an arched brow and gestured with a pie knife.
Shay knew Mel picked up on the innuendo. “Two blueberries sound great. Thank you.”
“Want the works?” The jolly woman pointed to the vat of vanilla ice cream.
Mel held up a palm. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’ll have to walk for hours just because of pie.”
Shay placed money on the counter and the blonde set two paper plates of pie before them, then poked Shay’s hand. “I don’t imagine you think she has to worry about that figure, do you?”
Shay’s blood now boiling, the image of blueberry pie all over this woman made her grin despite herself. She lifted her plate and looked from it to Mel and then to the blonde.
“As a matter of fact, no, I don’t think she has anything to worry about. It doesn’t matter what kind of figure Mel has.”
Mel stepped away slightly and sent them an admonishing head shake. “Contrary to public opinion, if yo
u asked her, Mel would say she does.” She held her plate aloft. “Thanks, ladies. We’re back to work. Sell out tonight.”
She walked away and Shay glanced back to the blonde before following. The wink she received nearly pushed her patience over its limit. She caught up with Mel instead.
“Hi.”
Mel paused before putting a forkful into her mouth. “So glad you didn’t heave that. I know you wanted to.”
“She deserved it.”
Mel looked at her thoughtfully, watched her devour her slice. “Maybe we should’ve fed each other a taste. They would have flipped.”
Shay chortled at the idea. “Well, Ms. Baker, it’s so nice to meet the devil in you. She’s very attractive.” Mel “stepping out,” no matter how boldly, meant progress, and Shay couldn’t wait.
Mel took a long look at Shay’s hat. “That brings out the desperado in you. Very…sexy.”
Shay shook her head. “You just tell me how I’m supposed to keep your admirers away tonight with you looking so hot?”
“You’re determined to make me blush, aren’t you?”
“You’re already turning heads, Mel.”
“Stop. It’s you in those low, tight jeans. That white tank and vest. I like them a lot.” She executed an odd maneuver and stepped ahead enough to move to Shay’s opposite side—and discreetly dragged a fingertip along the sliver of Shay’s bared stomach. “A real lot.”
Shay’s entire midsection twitched at the sensation. Her fork trembled, her last bite of pie fell back to the plate. “Shit, don’t do that. It’s not fair.”
“And I like you sleeveless,” she continued. “You have such long, strong arms.”
Shay’s head spun. She really liked the sassy Melissa Baker. Self-confidence always looked so good on her. She sidestepped behind her and headed for a trash barrel. “All the better to snatch you up, little girl.” She covertly pinched Mel’s ass.
Mel yelped and passersby glanced her way. Shay laughed and casually strolled away through the foot traffic. Three strides later, she checked over her shoulder and then turned fully as Mel’s quickened pace brought her closer.
