by Amie Denman
“Along with the annual Bluegill Water Festival, we have our best fundraiser of the year.”
I nodded again, afraid to ask questions.
“You have been encouraging your students to sell raffle tickets—” she paused, “—haven’t you?”
I nodded with more enthusiasm this time. I had been faithfully handing out Adopt-a-Duck forms and collecting money from the school supporters and high rollers of the Catholic church crowd. The main event at the Bluegill Water Festival featured about a thousand yellow plastic ducks floating from a launch point on the river to a capture point fifty yards away. The lucky winning duck would take home a cash prize for its “adopted” family.
“We need someone in a duck costume to ride the float in the parade. It drums up duck sales at the festival.”
More nodding from me. She must have taken this sign of assent as a yes to being the duck mascot.
“The duck also appears at the contest and releases the ducks to begin the race.”
Clark shuffled some papers on her spotless desk. Perfect ninety-degree angles everywhere on the surface. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. You can ask Mary Alice or Doris if you need more directions.”
Nodding wasn’t working for me at all, but I did it once more and headed for the door.
“One more thing, Miss Shepherd.”
I paused and turned to face her. She held out a folder.
“I’ll need you to drop off this paperwork at the mayor’s office after school. It’s for our field trip tomorrow. Just some permits to use the park for the day.”
I nodded and took the folder. Great. I had just committed to wearing a duck costume and dropping by to see the mayor. And all without saying a word.
After school, I looked both ways and stayed in the crosswalk as I crossed the street to the mayor’s office. You never knew when a kindergartener might be watching. Considering the dangerous lifestyle I seemed to be leading these days, I didn’t want a little kid’s last memory of me to involve jaywalking.
I had the folder with the park permits clutched in my nervous fingers. Tomorrow’s all-school picnic would be held across the river from downtown Bluegill proper. From my job at the marina, I could look across the river and see the whole park area—including an abandoned industrial eyesore that was once a boat factory. The old factory didn’t belong to the city, and according to Marlena, it was tied up with somebody’s will. The park was prime real estate, though, and the weather forecast promised us all a happy retreat from school for a day.
It was closing time at city hall, and a secretary muscled through the swinging glass door with her large purse over her shoulder just as I walked up. She didn’t look like she wanted to deal with me or my paperwork. Her feelings were understandable considering it was Monday, sunny outside and the mayor’s office had to be a crappy place to work. I wondered if they planned to replace the clerk who died in the accident. Maybe this lady was doing double-duty and wondering the same thing.
“Just put your paperwork on the small desk by the door to the mayor’s office,” she said, “and pull the door shut behind you when you leave. It’ll lock.”
Then she was gone, hauling her purse off to blessed escape from city service and leaving me alone. At least it seemed like it. Only the faint hum of the air-conditioning broke the silence of the abandoned office.
I turned toward the mayor’s office, paperwork in hand to show I had official business here, in case anyone tried to stop me. Or shove me in the trash chute. Or have me brought up on breaking and entering charges. I hadn’t done anything remotely criminal. Yet.
I bypassed the little table the secretary had suggested and entered the mayor’s empty office. Maybe a quick look around would give me a clue that would bring the whole embezzlement case into focus. Why was the mayor stealing money from the city? Perhaps I’d find the receipts from the orphanage he was building with all the dough. What did Cerberus have to do with it? Maybe he’d kicked in a million bucks too, for hot meals for needy children. Happy endings all around.
And maybe I should have turned around and run like hell. I wanted to live long enough to wear that duck costume. Didn’t I?
I stood there in fight-or-flight mode until the phone on the mayor’s desk starting ringing loud enough to bring Jesus running from the church across the street. Then I did the smart thing. I opened the nearest door and tore through it.
A great escape…if the door had led outside. But it was a closet. A dark closet. Full of boxes and something prickly I hoped was an artificial Christmas tree shoved out of the way for its eleven months of darkness.
My girls barely cleared the door as I pulled it shut with a loud click. Lucky for me, the phone’s ringing drowned out all evidence of my stupidity. I was prepared to wait in that closet for as long as I needed to. Or until I had to go to the bathroom. Whichever came first.
Suddenly, the phone stopped ringing and I heard Mayor Ballard’s voice. The louvered lower half of the closet door that provided ventilation for the artificial tree’s long interment also guaranteed sound travel.
“Hello?”
A beat of silence.
“Yeah, everyone is gone. Like a grave around here after four o’clock.”
A chill went down my spine. I figured he knew about those things.
“Uh-huh. I got it. Christ, you’re bleeding me dry.”
I heard the creak of his chair as he sat down. I wanted to sit. This could be a lengthy conversation and I started to wonder how long Harry would wait for me in the school parking lot.
“I know. You don’t have to remind me,” the mayor said to the phantom caller on the other end. “Lucky for me these morons in accounting still have no idea.”
I tried to breathe quietly, but the fake tree was poking me in the ass and making me itchy all over.
“Ha.” A short, dry laugh came from the mayor. I sure wasn’t feeling amused. “Gambling is what got me into this mess in the first place. You can keep your bet.”
More silence as Mayor Ballard listened.
“You’ll get your money, Cerberus. I just need a few more days to wrap up our other little project. Then you’ll be off my ass.”
I thought maybe he’d hung up the phone because he was quiet for a long time.
“Uh-huh. The permits won’t be a problem. I’ll make sure some old deeds disappear.”
The mayor laughed heartlessly. The kind of laugh he’d use when he murdered me in cold blood for hiding in his closet. I wanted to throw up.
The phone clicked. I waited. A few footsteps, drawers opening and closing, and then silence. I counted to one hundred. Then I did it again to be on the safe side.
I slipped out of the closet, dropped my folder on the little desk where the big-pursed secretary had suggested and barreled through the doors to the front sidewalk. Outside, I sucked in a big breath of air and kept moving toward the street.
I made it about a foot and a half before I hit a wall of navy blue uniform. The impact might have hurt, but the wall smelled good. And I had adrenaline on my side. I stepped back and raised my eyes to Kurt’s surprised face.
“Whatcha doing here, Jazz?”
“Dropping off some paperwork.” Despite breathing a little too hard, I thought I pulled that off with a nonchalant tone.
“This late? I figured the office was closed by now.”
I looked Kurt over and considered my options. Spilling my guts to a sympathetic listener was always on top of my list. But my “be difficult” first line of defense kicks in automatically when I find myself in trouble. It won out.
“Then what are you doing here?” I asked with as cocky an expression as I could muster.
Kurt grinned and nodded toward the fire station attached to city hall. His slow glance settled back on me. He leaned close and his cheek brushed against mine as he whispered in my ear.
“I work here.”
I needed a deep breath. Or oxygen. Or something. Maybe I had come closer to suffocation in that tiny closet t
han I even imagined.
“Likely story.” I looked across the street and saw Harry’s truck just about to pull out of the school parking lot. Tired of waiting for me.
“There’s my ride,” I said quickly and started to scuttle toward my cousin. I cleared the porcelain dalmatian wearing a fire helmet, the flagpole and almost passed the war memorial in the front yard of the city office when I heard Kurt’s voice behind me.
“Jazz.”
I paused and turned. My powers of resistance were about as low as usual. I knew Harry saw me now and would pull up and wait.
“I would have given you a ride.”
His wicked grin almost made me forget the last ten minutes of total terror, but I jaywalked recklessly across the street anyway and dove into Harry’s truck.
As I reached for my seatbelt, I saw my flower arrangement from Cerberus wedged between a tissue box and a pair of red cowboy boots on the floor.
“So tacky,” he observed.
I hated to even ask. I looked straight ahead.
“I mean the flowers. A little round nun gave me these and said they belonged to you.”
I raised my eyebrows in a gesture of total innocence.
“I read the card, of course,” he continued. “You never know if you can trust a nun.”
I continued my silent observation of the street ahead.
“As your landlord and tallest cousin, I should inquire who DC is and what he expects to get as a return on the investment of those overpriced hothouse flowers.”
His day job arranging flowers for my parents’ greenhouse and floral business made him an expert in this field. I had to face the music. No point lying to Harry, the master of subterfuge and suspicious behavior.
“Damien Cerberus owns the marina across the lake. He’s having a big boat show next weekend and he’s recruiting me to be a hostess for his show.”
I hoped the word recruiting would make it sound more professional. But nothing impressed Harry.
He grinned. “A boat ho. I like it.”
“I’m not a ho.”
“How much is he paying you?”
“Enough for a down payment on a new car.”
Harry reached over and patted my shoulder affectionately. “Sorry, honey. You’re a ho. But there’s good news. I’m going to find you something fantastic to wear. You’ll knock ’em dead in a Harry Shepherd special.”
“I hope it’ll be worth it. My boss wasn’t too keen on it. For some reason, she knows Cerberus and sure doesn’t seem to like him very much.”
“Maybe she’s jealous he didn’t ask her to be a boat ho.”
“Have you ever seen Old Lady Clark?” I took a deep breath. The heavy fragrance of the expensive flowers at my feet filled the truck’s cab and made me queasy. “I do need a costume favor.”
Harry smiled.
“I need a duck costume.”
He glanced at me with one eyebrow raised. “What kind of a boat show is this?”
“Not for that. For the St. Pete Duck Race this weekend at the Bluegill Water Festival. I’m the mascot.”
“I always knew you’d make it one day, Jazzy. I’ll see what I’ve got on hand.”
After drinking my half of a bottle of wine on a school night, I’d almost fulfilled my naughty quota for the week. It was way past dark, but Harry was just winding up for a drag queen animal fashion show. I needed a break. Too many sequins and feathers on his skinny body mixed with too much merlot made my world spin.
I sat on the front porch and let the cool night air brush my flushed cheeks. My peace didn’t last long. Headlights swept across the porch and settled into a solid beam on Harry’s garage. The window on the police cruiser slid down.
“That you, Miss Shepherd?”
I considered saying no just for the hell of it, but I knew Balcheski would investigate. Maybe it was better if he didn’t come much closer.
“Hello, Chief.”
He hoisted himself out of the driver’s seat. “Anything new?”
“Maybe,” I said. Balcheski advanced several steps, apparently confident about my maybe.
“I overheard a conversation between Mayor Ballard and…”
At that moment, the screen door behind me whipped open and Harry made a glamorous entrance onto the porch. It would have been a stylish sweep of long legs in any outfit, but Harry stood before us in a nude-colored leotard with a few yellow feathers covering just enough of his external organs to be considered legal. Some of the feathers had reflective glitter spread over the tips. Some actually lit up.
Balcheski’s jaw dropped and, even in the darkness, I watched him turn several shades paler.
“You’re a local professional,” Harry said, “what do you think of this outfit for selling ducks?”
I don’t think Balcheski considered himself much of an authority on duck costumes, cross-dressing or any intersection of those two things.
“Selling ducks?” he repeated.
Harry opened the screen door and reached inside. He flipped the light switch for the porch light, and Balcheski’s head snapped up like he’d been shot.
“Too much for the church crowd? I got it from sluttyduck.com last year for something special,” Harry explained. “You probably don’t want to know about that.”
I didn’t think Balcheski wanted to know anything about my cousin’s affairs.
“Maybe if I add a few tasteful feathers here and here,” Harry continued as he gestured at strategic places on his body.
Balcheski got out a tissue and dabbed at his forehead.
“Add a few feathers and I’ll come inside in a minute,” I said.
Harry shrugged. “Gotta put new batteries in anyway,” he said, and then disappeared into the house.
An awkward silence followed his exit. Balcheski, to his credit, recovered a few seconds before I would have expected.
“So,” he said, “about that conversation you overheard.”
You have to admire a public servant who can get right down to business again. Even after the scene he just witnessed.
“Ballard and Cerberus on the phone. It was mostly about money and some other project that Ballard mentioned.”
“A project.”
“Uh-huh. Something involving deeds and making them disappear. Not sure what that was about.”
“Anything else?”
“He said gambling got him into this mess.”
“Gambling? The mayor?” Balcheski took off his hat and twirled it clumsily around his finger. “That’s interesting. Might explain why he owes Cerberus money.”
“Is Cerberus a bookie?” I asked. Not that I was an authority, but I used to be able to afford cable television and a girl picks things up.
“No. But he does own a casino. At his marina across the lake.”
“So…the mayor ran up some gambling debts,” I said. “And he stole money from the city to pay off Cerberus.”
“It’s a theory.”
“Sounds like case closed.” Wishful thinking, but I was always in a hurry for the happy ending. Like fast-forwarding through the tense moments in movies. All part of my unrealistic charm.
“You don’t wonder why a businessman like Cerberus would loan a small-town mayor a million bucks to gamble on in the first place?”
“Nope.” Sure it was a lie, but I was still on fast-forward mode.
Balcheski put his hat back on. “It seems more like he advanced him a huge stake to have fun in his casino and then reeled him in. Stupid Ballard. Wonder what the project is. Sure you didn’t hear anything more?”
Even imprisoned with a fake tree poking me in the ass, I knew I’d heard it all. There was no magic answer in the mayor’s half of the conversation. I shook my head.
“Just out of curiosity, how’d you happen to overhear this?”
I gave a brief description of my time in the storage closet.
“Anybody see you?”
“Just Kurt.”
“Reynolds?”
“Yep. I bu
mped into him when I was leaving.”
Balcheski nodded and opened his car door. “Keep your eyes and ears open. Our FBI guy will probably make contact with you at the festival this weekend.”
“Will there be a secret handshake?”
“Never know with those guys. They’re slippery.”
I could handle slippery.
I went back inside and found Harry wearing a yellow boa and strapping on an orange duck bill.
“Did I mention that I’m supposed to wear the costume?”
Harry dropped the boa and paused with the bill in midair, his disappointment palpable. I felt bad for bursting his bubble.
“But I do need you to pull the float with your awesome truck,” I said. “We could even decorate it.” Harry needed some consolation.
He peered down at me with a serious expression. He put both hands on my shoulders and his eyes met mine. “If there’s a God in heaven,” he said, “we’ll be right behind the baton twirlers. Nothing on earth is more entertaining than moms making their eight-year-olds do the baton death march. In the hot sun. In hideous shiny costumes.”
“You’re a real team player, Harry. Sister Mary Alice might even pray for your soul when she hears you’re helping out the cause.”
“Maybe that tall sister would loan me one of her nun costumes for the event.”
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, I stood on the dock waiting for my part of the flotilla to transport my little group to the park. About a dozen small boats were lined up ready to ferry the St. Pete’s kids across the river. Old Lady Clark had a way of getting people to volunteer. Her arm-twisting would probably pay off at the gates of heaven, though, because the kids were having a ball already.
Sister Mary Doris took her job as safety officer seriously. She tightened the straps on all the life jackets as tight as they would go, lifting a couple of kids right off the ground. All in the name of safety. Mary Alice had the tamer job of packing brown bag lunches into several waiting coolers. It was like a tot-sized booze cruise.
I shaded my eyes and looked across the river. Many of our students were already running through the green grass of the park. The dilapidated boat factory loomed over the sunny scene like a recent divorcee at a bachelorette party. I turned my attention back to the dock to keep track of my group. Kindergarteners are unpredictable, and the river was way too cold for a swim.
