by Dana Mentink
Grumbling, she knelt down in front of the black box and pressed again.
A burst of white smoke fired out of the machine, and Maude fell over backward, her skirt flying over her head and baring her Vanity Fairs for all the Coastal Comets to see.
The most airborne of the Comets laughed so vigorously that he slipped, causing a domino effect until all eight of them landed in the soft dirt.
Alva roared with glee as he trotted away.
Ruth saw the wisdom in a hasty getaway, as well, once she saw that Maude was not hurt, and she continued on her way to Royland’s farm.
As she walked onto his property, it saddened her to see the sign indicating that a portion of Royland’s beloved farm was for sale. She knew it killed him to part with even an inch of his land, but it had become too much for one man and an unenthusiastic son to manage. Royland was one of her best customers. She supplied him five buckets of worm castings a month to enrich the soils on his farm.
Ruth easily could have had one of the local teens run the bucket of worms and castings up to Royland’s place. They would do anything for pocket money. But the trip was a way to escape the chaos of the festival and a means to delay her inevitably uncomfortable conversation with Candace. She walked past cottages and small fenced pastures, a small white bucket in each hand, trying to think of ways to break her news to the woman.
She arrived at her first stop to find a gaggle of young adults seated on a rickety picnic bench in front of Lemmon’s Organic Greens. At harvesttime Royland hired extra help to handpick his precious crop of arugula, spinach, and endive. She recognized Bert Penny and a few of his compatriots from the junior college, and Lizzie Putney, a twenty-year-old local girl whom Ruth had known for years. They were enthusiastically discussing the recent murder.
“Oh man,” Bert said. “I heard it was gruesome. The guy fell out of the basket and hung from the edge, all screaming and everything, until he fell. Splat!”
“Gross, Bert,” said Lizzie. “Did you actually see it?” “Nah, I was helping with the parking,” he said. “But I heard all about it from Dan.”
“Hi, Mrs. Budge,” Lizzie called, jumping up to give her a hug. “What brings you here?”
“I’ll be busy at the festival tomorrow, so I have to get my errands done today. I see you all have been putting in a hard day’s work.” She motioned to their hands, stained green from nails to knuckles.
“Yeah,” said Bert. “But Mr. Lemmon pays us okay, and we get dinner, too.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me.”
Royland and Hugh approached carrying shallow wooden crates. Royland greeted her warmly, putting down his load to take the two buckets from her hands. His voice was lightly peppered with an Argentinean accent.
“My supplies. Wonderful. I’m working on some- thing new. Come and see.”
He led the way to a greenhouse filled with tiny seedlings in peat pots and complex networks of irrigation tubing. On a workbench nearby was an empty basket and piles of loamy soil. She breathed in the wonderful scent of well-tended earth.
“I’m going to try hanging herb baskets. Thought the city folks might be interested in something they could keep in a small patio area. I was thinking thyme, maybe some arugula, and chervil. I want to make sure the whole thing is organic. You think your worms are up to the challenge?”
“I think they’ll help your pots out tremendously as long as you don’t overwater them.”
“No problem. Easy on the water.”
They left the humid space and walked back outside. Nestled next to the greenhouse was a split-rail pen containing a gargantuan spotted pig.
“Hello, Noodles,” she called out.
The pig dashed excitedly to the fence to sniff her hand. About six inches away from the fence line, she stopped, cocked her head, and wheeled around in retreat.
“I know. You thought Phillip was with me, didn’t you? When are you going to stop looking for him?”
Ruth had the sudden realization that she had stopped thinking about Phillip every day. When had that happened? It had come so gradually she hadn’t noticed. She felt a strange pang of guilt, but it vanished quickly. Thoughts of Phillip did not crowd her mind, because she was busy with her life with Monk. One did not replace the other, she thought with wonder. Both men occupied different places in her psyche. Our God is an awesome God, she thought.
Ruth and Royland chatted for a bit about the recent events as they walked.
“My helpers are having a tough time keeping their mind on their work. All this talk about the murder.”
They watched the group on the picnic bench. Hugh stood apart from the rest, fiddling with some tubing. “I wish he’d try a little harder to fit in,” Royland said. “I think that Lizzie would treat him okay if he would just talk to her. He’s just not much for social things.”
Ruth nodded, thinking that Hugh looked mighty comfortable clanking around Pistol Bang’s. “Maybe he hasn’t found the right girl yet.” Apparently Hugh’s father had no idea his son had developed quite a relationship with Dimple.
“At twenty-two I don’t know what he’s waiting for,” he said, retrieving his crate. “I was married by then and working toward buying my place here.”
“I think it was an accident, someone shooting as a joke or something,” Lizzie was saying. “What do you think, Hugh?”
“Oh, I dunno.” Ruth saw him duck his head.
“Did you see it happen, Hugh?” Bert asked, eagerness painted all over his face.
“I saw the balloon crash, but I didn’t see the guy fall out,” Hugh said.
Bert sighed with disappointment. “Bummer.”
“Okay, you slackers,” Royland announced, “back to work.”
Yes, Ruth thought, there’s no more avoiding it. Time to visit the grieving widow.
A short while later, Ruth was just about to tap on the door of room number 7 when she heard voices from inside.
“Look, I know it’s been rough on you, but you’re free now.”
“How can you do this to me?” Candace’s voice cracked. “He’s dead, for pity’s sake.”
“You didn’t love him, Candace. It’s not like you lost the great love of your life. Just cut the sentimental routine. You can do what you want now. We can be together.”
“It’s not that easy, Bing.”
“It’s exactly that easy. Your husband is dead. Time to move on.”
“Get out!”
“Okay, hon,” Bing said, “but think about it. It’s a win-win. We were made for each other. You know we could have the time of our lives.”
At that moment, the door swung open and Ruth was wishing she had thought to retreat when she first realized whom she was overhearing. Bing did not seem at all nonplussed to find Ruth on the other side. “Hello, Mrs. Budge.” He showed a dazzling white smile. “See you later.”
Candace came to the door in a pink satin robe and slippers. Her face was gaunt.
“Hello, Candace. I’m terribly sorry to intrude right now, but I need to talk to you about something.” She hesitated. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation with Bing.”
“Don’t worry about it. He was just leaving anyway.”
“Is everything okay? I couldn’t help but overhear—,” she prodded. She wondered what Candace must be feeling, knowing that she betrayed her adoring husband before he was murdered.
“There’s nothing between us two.” She walked to the window. “I can’t believe I ever saw anything in him. I must have been insane.” She pressed her fingers to the glass.
“How did you meet?”
“I met him in Oregon, at some festival that Ed dragged me to. Bing is a spoiled, egocentric child. If anyone tells him no, all he hears is ‘Keep asking until it’s yes.’ His parents sent him off to boarding school after he drove his motorcycle through a flower shop window. I guess it was easier than actually attempting to discipline him. Anyway, we were attracted to each other at the beginning, but then I saw him for what he wa
s. I kept away for a long time.” Her voice trailed off. “Not long enough, though.”
Ruth sat still on the sofa, afraid to startle Candace away from her narrative.
“It happened after I lost the baby,” Candace continued. “I got pregnant, and Ed was so excited. Then I miscarried early on. Ed was devastated, but he was more worried about me. He smothered me, hovering over me every moment. I couldn’t stand it. He was driving me nuts with all his mothering. I just wanted to get away from him, and everything.” She stopped talking and closed her eyes. “Bing is gorgeous, spontaneous, exciting. Everything my husband wasn’t.”
Ruth looked around the small room, buying time. She noticed a neat row of nail polish bottles on the coffee table. Electric blue, turquoise. Shell pink. It made her shudder.
“I am so sorry about your husband. I know how hard it is to lose a spouse.”
“You do?” she said, turning. “Thank you. This feels like a nightmare. I’m really tired. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I need to talk to Detective Denny about the—accident. He wants to ask me a few more questions.”
Candace stared at her. “Uh-huh.”
“I, er, I need to tell him the truth about everything. He’s a good officer and a personal friend, like a son, actually.”
“Okay. Why did you need to tell me that?”
Ruth felt the words burning in her mouth. “I know you were with Bing Mitchell just before the accident. Did you tell the police about that?”
Candace stared long enough that Ruth feared she didn’t hear the question.
“You know? How do you know?” she whispered.
“Let’s just say I was in the vicinity and I, er, overheard some things. I wanted you to know that I have to tell the detective. I certainly don’t want to cause you any embarrassment, but he needs to know. I’m sure he will be discreet.”
“Why?” Candace’s pitch rose nearly an octave. “Why does he have to be told?”
“Because he needs to figure out who may have had a motive to kill your husband.”
The young woman’s lips moved, but no words came out.
“Candace, it’s possible that after your argument with Bing, he shot the flare at the balloon himself.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“He was jealous of your husband? He’s in love with you, maybe?”
“Bing never loved me, not like Ed did.”
But he seems intent on possessing you, Ruth thought. “I heard some talk. That Bing was supposed to go up with Ed in the balloon but he was late, so one of his people went up instead.” She looked at Candace’s stark face. “I’m really so sorry. Please forgive me for causing you any more pain.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better go now.” She rose to leave.
Candace wrinkled her brows and pressed a ragged fingernail against her lips. “I can’t believe this. Nothing like this should have happened to him.”
“Did Ed ever get into any trouble?”
“Trouble? I don’t think so. He had some financial strain when we first got married. Then things seemed to even out. Do you think someone had a grudge against him?” she asked, blinking through tears.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what to think.”
“I will talk to the police, tell them what happened.”
“I think that would be best. Good-bye, Candace.”
As Ruth walked down the quiet hallway, she was struck by an awful thought. Candace had insinuated that she was bored with her life with Ed. She felt the union was forced on her by her father.
If Bing wanted to, he had plenty of time after his assignation to fire a shot at Ed Honeysill’s balloon.
But so, too, did Candace.
Chapter Six
The morning church service was subdued. The pastor spoke about death as a new beginning. Ruth knew it was true, that this life was only a stopover on a journey to a much better place with God. But all the same, she wondered what He thought about it all. How did He feel when His precious gift of life was taken away before it was meant to be?
In her mind it was a terrible thing to disrespect a divine gift in such a brutal, callous way. For some reason, Pickles Peckenpaugh surfaced in her mind. She thought about the journal, the fantastic characters who were once flesh and blood and now faded to memories. Hopefully she would have time later to read more about their escapades.
After church she kissed Monk good-bye and shouldered her camera bag on her way to a fenced area in the middle of the festival grounds. Ruth thought it looked much like a canine United Nations convention as she wandered around the fence line taking pictures to appease her ferocious publicity chairwoman. She was not sure if she had the patience to put up with Maude for one day plus another whole weekend of Festival activities, but she was determined to try.
The large penned area housed five smaller pens with yelping, napping, panting, and sniffing doggy delegates. A litter of wiry terrier puppies were jumbled together in a collective nap, gushed over by a pair of heart-warmed humans.
“Oh, Jeff. Aren’t they adorable?” the young woman said, holding her long hair out of her face as she bent over the enclosure. Jeff agreed aloud that they were definitely precious.
Ruth saw Evelyn Bippo, the lady who had saved Alva from her enthusiastic dogs, hurry over to talk to them about the rigors of puppy adoption. The huge, earless white dog—Peanut, Ruth recalled—followed immediately behind her. Evelyn told them of the fees involved, mandatory obedience training, and the various annoying stages of dog maturation ranging from indoor accidents to the occasional dog neurosis that can result in the animal chewing the siding off the house.
Ruth listened intently. Birds and worms she knew about, but dogs were not in her menagerie.
She glanced to the left and saw Rocky Bippo, Evelyn’s chai tea–loving brother, watching from outside the enclosure, his elbows resting on the fence just above a banner reading The Dog House. He nodded at her. Gesturing to the young couple, he said, “They’re going home with a puppy. I’ve seen that look many times before, and no amount of warnings will make a dent.”
“Your sister works hard for those dogs, doesn’t she?”
He nodded, and a tiny silver moon sparkled in his earlobe. “Yeah, she feels more in tune with animals than people sometimes. We both do, but she’s a softy for anything with whiskers.”
Evelyn walked with the couple to the exit, smiling as they left. Then she came over to Rocky, nodding to Ruth.
“They’re going to buy a leash and dog bed.” Evelyn beamed. “That’s the second adoption today.”
“Great, Ev. Anyone for the older guys?”
Her smile faded as she contemplated the cages on the far side of the gated oval. “No. You know how it goes with the older ones.” She reached down to stroke the neck of the earless giant with his head between her legs. “What will happen to our friends, Peanut?” The lines on her forehead deepened.
“Maybe things will look up. We’ve got two more days of festival to go next weekend.”
Ruth moved away to take pictures of the Dog House banner, but she remained close enough to hear Evelyn and her brother.
Evelyn stroked the dog in her arms absently. “There was a guy here earlier,” she said to Rocky in a whisper loud enough for Ruth’s eavesdropping. “A rough-looking sort. He was asking me about Cliffy.” She pointed to a muscular spotted dog that looked as though it had started out to be a shepherd until its genes reconsidered. “I didn’t like the looks of him. I told him he was taken already.” She bit her lip nervously. “I know it’s getting really expensive to keep them all, but I just couldn’t risk it.”
“I know. Don’t worry about it. We’ve been through a bad patch, but it’s going to be better now. When the festival wraps, we’ll take care of our business and be gone before anyone is the wiser.”
“You know, I didn’t think he would be here,” Evelyn breathed.
“You’re bound to run into him every so often. It’s okay—he’
ll stay away. And if he doesn’t, I’ll get rid of him.” There was an undertone of menace in his voice.
“Pretty tough talk.”
He touched her shoulder gently. “You know I mean it, sis.”
Ruth looked at the tight line of his lips and the glitter behind his dark eyes. She shivered.
“Yes, I do,” the woman said.
An hour later, after stopping at Puzan’s for a life- sustaining chocolate bar, Ruth headed for home thinking about Rocky and Evelyn. They were very close. Whom was he talking about getting rid of? And what was the “business” he referred to? There was certainly a lot of tension circling the pair.
The gravel crunched under Ruth’s feet. She had turned down the wooded pathway that was a shortcut from the open field upslope to the residential area clustered along the nostrils of Finny’s Nose. The air was musky, spiced with azalea and cedar. Afternoon sun penetrated the canopy of branches here and there, dappling the wooded path with streaks of light.
She looked up, admiring the play of sun and shadow farther upslope. There was a sudden glint, a harsh reflected light from the top of Finny’s Nose, as if someone was watching the festival below through binoculars. Now who would be doing that?
Ruth felt a prickle of fear on the back of her neck. She quickened her pace and made a beeline for home.
Unfortunately, Maude was standing on her doorstep when she arrived. “You’ve got to fix this,” she commanded, thrusting a stack of papers out in front of her. “Just look at these flyers. That Len Brewster at the print shop is an idiot.”
Ruth scanned the paper advertising the Fig Festival. “Well, Bubby Dean has a pretty robust fig tree on his property.”
“This is no time for levity. You’ve got to go and have them reprinted. They need to be ready for the distribution team.”
The team consisted of Flo who was already heavily burdened with managing the bake sale and manning the information booth. “Okay,” Ruth said with a sigh. “I’ll go talk to Len.”
She didn’t add, “As soon as I eat lunch.”
Len proved to be fairly agreeable about changing the focus of the festival from figs to fog, once he had ascertained that Maude had not accompanied her. Even with his cheerful cooperation, it took an hour plus to make the changes and reprint the flyers.
