by Liz Marvin
“Oh hush. She needs her rest and so do you though I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath lecturing you youngsters you’ll do whatever you aim to do anyway just get going and leave this poor old woman alone to tend to her piteous charges.”
Just then Wes showed up. “Lipstick cams are up and running. The Staties will be watching all night. I’ll take over tomorrow morning.”
Clarise immediately attached herself to Wes “give me a ride home?”
I really hope I don’t look that goofy when I smile at Bill Betty thought, knowing full well she probably looked worse. Bill took her arm. “Looks like you’re giving me a ride home.” Betty fished the keys out of her pocket and handed them to Bill “I don’t like to drive while I’m preparing to drink.”
“One glass!” Gladys added.
“Take the keys, Bill.” Clarise chimed in “She turns into Miss Hyde behind the wheel.”
“Oh please!” Betty said but Bill took the keys and gave her a kiss and her heart only skipped a little bit of a beat.
“Come on. Let’s leave these rubes to the carnival.”
Betty took him by the arm, stuck her tongue out at Clarise who, smiling, responded in kind and the couples left together.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into today and he wants to hire us both.” Clarise said as they made their way through the empty fairgrounds. “I don’t care I am not talking to you and the only reason I’ll invite you to stop in for a glass of wine is because Wes is such a gentleman.”
Ahead they spotted a Yankee civil war re-enactor apparently on guard duty, marching with his reproduction rifle on his shoulder. Bill and Wes slowed in unison and the girls fell silent. Bill let go of Betty and Wes did the same with Clarise. Wes slipped into the shadows as Bill marched up to the pretend soldier.
Betty grabbed Clarise who returned the favor. They moved as one into the shadows opposite Wes.
“What are you up to?” Bill asked the re-enactor who immediately froze at some semblance of attention.
“We – well, I heard there was some trouble at the fair and well I thought maybe I would walk around like a guard sort of and maybe keep anybody from trying anything. Sir.”
Bill forced himself not to smile. He spoke a trifle louder than necessary, like he was trying to reach an unseen audience. “I appreciate the thought but there are state patrolmen making rounds and unlike you they have real guns but they might not recognize yours as a reproduction in the dark. I suggest you hurry on back to your bivouac and get some sleep.”
The faux soldier blinked rapidly. “Bivouac?”
“Camp! He means campgrounds!” Clarise called from the shadows. The man relaxed and lowered his prop gun to the ground, smiling. “Miss Birdsong is that you? I was wondering if I could give you my headshot -”
“Tomorrow.” Bill cut in. “Give it to her tomorrow. Now, back to camp.”
The soldier gave a crooked salute and left at a trot. Wes, Betty and Clarise joined Bill.
“There were two others behind the kettle corn stand.” Wes said, “They took off when you called out their sentry.”
“They were sure quiet about it.”
“Probably just kids out larking about after hours.”
“Or pros casing the area.”
“The Staties will see them on the video feeds and draw their own conclusions. Ask them in the morning.”
“Will do” and with that Wes and Clarise disappeared into the night. Clarise cast a worried glance back over her shoulder at her friend but Betty and Bill were already lost to the outside world.
“You are so … good” Betty observed “and good at your job too.”
Bill sighed “I like it a lot more when I don’t have to be. Now with the county and state gendarmes crawling all over the place getting in each other’s way and carving out areas where they can be in charge instead of finding ways to work together and solve the crimes. I miss the days when my biggest problem was opening the door for crew members who showed up late and staying late for crew members who worked late.”
Betty giggled. “I used to show up late just so you would open the door for me.”
Bill spun her around and grabbed her by the shoulders holding her at arm’s length just to look at her. “And I always hoped you’d be late.” There were laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. They made him even more handsome, thought Betty, if such a thing was even possible. Some people would have seen stress lines but his laugh was so open and genuine and joyful she could only see the wrinkles as laugh lines.
His kiss still took her breath away. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
~
They drove in silence, Betty’s head resting on Bill’s shoulder, Bill’s strong arm wrapped protectively around her. A peaceful looking scene but inside Betty’s mind was racing. So much had happened, so many threads spinning through the fair it seemed impossible to grasp them all and weave them into any semblance of order.
Murder, robberies, vandalism, all crimes, all unsolved. Why here? Why now? Why all at once? Were the crimes and criminals related or just coincidence? Most important who were the criminals? Not the gossiping grannies. Not Clarise, Bill, Wes or herself. That left ninety nine point nine percent of the fair-goers and workers.
Let the police handle it she told herself over and over again but she kept going over the events of the day searching for clues; something she missed.
Betty’s parents met them at the front door. “Chet, Mary” Bill accepted a handshake from her dad and a kiss on the cheek from her mom. Her mother held a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other.
“I’ve been told to have these ready for you.” Mary said, speaking pointedly to her daughter. Betty blushed.
“And I’ve cleared off space on the mantel for your new trophy.” Her father chimed in.
“I swear gossip travels faster than the speed of sound or light in Lofton.” Betty fumed “Violates all known laws of physics and propriety.”
“Oh hush! The only reason people talk about you is because they love you.” Mary ushered them into the living room. A fresh veggie platter was laid out with lots of broccoli, cauliflower and celery coupled with a small platter of cooked shrimp.
Betty felt sick. “Does everyone know I have diabetes?”
Mary looked at her. “No. But it isn’t anything to be ashamed of and you shouldn’t be so set on keeping it a secret.”
“I’m just not ready to face everyone judging me and everything I eat.”
“You need not worry about that anymore!” Chet cheerfully piped in, “The pie eating contest pretty much settled your reputation on that front. Brewster Haddock called and said you set a new fair record.”
Betty studiously sipped her wine. Bill stood up “And that was before she fought off a mugger and wound up unconscious in the first aid station.”
Mary stiffened. “No one told me – us about that.”
Bill rested his hand on Betty’s shoulder. “Don’t know if he knocked her out or she fainted. Either way she was clutching her purse and nothing was missing so I’d bet on the former. She’s just about the only person who was targeted who didn’t get the purse snatched or pocket picked including Clarise. Add to that her single handed calming of the disgruntled tourists and saving the fair’s cook-off and I would say she’s had a pretty full day.”
Chet was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him. “What’s this about robberies at the fair? We’ve never had any trouble.”
“If you don’t count a certain rambunctious teen aged boy who may have freed a few prize piglets back in the day.” Mary added, patting her husband’s knee.
Chet leaned back in his chair. “Oh no one wants to hear those old rumors.”
Bill smiled “I am fairly certain that case is closed and the statute of limitations has run out and I – we have a very busy day tomorrow.” He pulled Betty to her feet and kissed her lightly. “Can I borrow your car? I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t wait
!” She said, adding “Thank you.”
“I’ll have breakfast ready and waiting.” Mary promised. “High protein, high fiber, low fat and low carb.”
Bill laughed “Thanks for the warning!” and kissed Betty again. Betty kissed him back and gave him a neck crushing hug for good measure – and he was gone.
She turned to her parents. “I know you mean well but -”
“- But we might have pushed a few boundaries. I know and we’re both sorry aren’t we Chet.”
“Course we are. Now what’s this about you getting robbed?”
“I didn’t get robbed!” Betty sat down and took a gulp of wine. “I was heading for the cooking competition when somebody tried to grab my purse. I held on with one hand and started hitting with the other, screaming at the top of my lungs. He let go and I fell down. Next thing I know I was in the nurse’s tent. Do you know Gladys - Gladys McRorie? She’s a nurse. She’s the one who said I should have a glass of wine.”
“Then she’s the one who called us.”
“She told us you were fine and said we should pick up a bottle of red wine and ignore anything we heard from the gossiping grannies.”
“She’s the best nurse in the world.”
“And you’re the best daughter in the world for understatement and exaggeration all in the same story but now it’s time for bed. Bill will be here by sunrise and I promised him breakfast.”
Betty kissed her parents good night, poured herself another half glass of wine and went to her bedroom. Her computer was on and there were more than a dozen email messages waiting for her.
Betty ran a web based business out of her bedroom. She had several specialty retail websites plus she bought and sold items on auction sites and she had sorely neglected her business for the past week. Sighing she sat down to try and catch up.
Suppliers had sent her a few ads for new products which she filed away for further study. There were a few spam messages (which she dutifully cursed and reported to her spam filter service). She was delighted to find two questions about products she had listed and she answered them quickly. Even better were two orders which she was able to confirm for shipment early next week. A pair of thank you notes capped off the day. All in all a very good day’s work considering she hadn’t even been there to do anything.
And she still had half a glass of wine left. She opened a web browser and searched for anything about Lofton in regional and national news. The big story was the vandalism of the cooking competition and how Achmed O’Rielly of the famed Cafe Nouveau Rustico had stepped up and saved the day.
The articles read practically like an advertisement for his worldwide chain of trendy overpriced, upscale restaurants. This was not the Achmed she knew but really, how well did she know him? She took another gulp of wine and banished the question from her mind. He was a good man, a kind man and the reporters were what passed for journalists in the sorry modern age.
Lofton was mentioned again on some of the Hollywood gossip websites. Nothing specific, but lots of hints alluding to an historic motion picture production coming to Lofton and coming soon. The stories all mentioned the august doyen of stage and screen Walter Payone which suggested they were more hype than substance. None the less Betty printed one article to show to Clarise in the morning.
On a whim she did a search on traveling pickpocket gangs and learned a lot about how they worked, or at least how they worked one hundred years ago. They usually worked in teams of three or four. There was a spotter who picked a target, a diversion to distract the target (a pretty girl, someone in trouble, or just somebody to jostle the victim), the lifter (the person who actually steals the goods) and a drop (a person who takes what is stolen so that if the lifter is chased or stopped they won’t have anything on them).
The victim is called the “mark” and if things go wrong the whole team will descend on the mark and cause enough distraction for the drop to make their escape.
Thinking back, the concert was a perfect distraction. The crowd was packed close together and jostling each other and enjoying the music. The pickpockets didn’t need to do anything but take what they wanted and get away.
She noticed one more technique. A man would yell “my wallet is gone!” and instinctively everyone would check on their own wallets and valuables, thus giving the pickpockets the location of valuables. Clarise had done that! But who was around when she said it? Betty couldn’t remember. She finished her wine. Perhaps Clarise would remember. She would ask her in tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be a very busy day.
11. Chapter 10
One thirty one. That was Betty’s blood glucose level when she awoke. She had hoped forlornly for something lower but after her escapades of the previous day she hadn’t expected it. She took a deep breath and headed for the shower. Wash, shampoo hair, floss and brush teeth and add a touch of makeup all in less than fifteen minutes.
Dressing took longer. She wanted to wear a pair of jeans and a comfortable blouse but she knew she would be on television. She should wear a dress. But she looked terrible in dresses. But she would look like a slob or worse, a hick if she wore jeans.
Her mother knocked on Betty’s door and entered to find Betty sitting on her bed staring at her closet. “Bill is here. I made an egg wrap and decaf for you.”
Betty’s mom knew that caffeine would raise her blood sugar but also knew her daughter wouldn’t leave the house without some sort of cup of coffee. A quick look around and Mary knew the problem. “What would you wear in Los Angeles if you were meeting a new client?”
Betty glared at her mother for a split second then brightened and smiled. “Of course! Thank you.” Betty jumped up and hugged her mom. “Tell Bill I’ll be out in a jiffy and I’ll take breakfast to go!”
A three quarter length khaki skirt, a light weight deep purple sweater with a straight neckline that rested just shy of her shoulder. She considered and rejected all her usual jewelry choices; nothing she owned would highlight her outfit, her or the town. She looked herself over in the mirror. Simple but not plain and pretty without being too fancy for the show.
Bill lost his breath when he saw Betty bounce into the room. She kissed him on the cheek grabbed her coffee and wrap and was headed for the door before he recovered. “A good night’s sleep and high blood sugar in the morning does wonders for her mood” Mary added dryly, pushing Bill after her. “I guess it does at that.”
Mary and Chet watched the Lofton chief of police squeeze into Betty’s compact and drive away. Chet slipped his arm around his wife. “Do you think she’s forgiven him for that ticket?” Mary hugged him back “I expect she has, honey, I expect she has.”
~
Addie was asleep at her spot at the back of the cooking tent, her head resting on her arms. Her hand were rough red and raw. The other contestants who drifted in shared smirks and snide comments but they left her to sleep.
On the stove Addie’s large kettle simmered merrily away. The other contestants dipped into it, taking boiling water for their own recipes.
By the time Achmed O’Rielly arrived with a gaggle of print reporters and photographers in tow most of the contestants were well into preparation of their recipes. The reporters pumped Achmed for the first half hour but the photographers were soon bored and began examining the contestants. They all focused in on Addie. Somehow in her exhausted she captured their imaginations.
The other contestants noticed and it didn’t take long for them to become jealous. Some openly solicited photographs of their entries and a few of the more polite photographers obliged. As soon as the opportunity arose Edna made a point of sidling up to the sleeping girl.
“Wake up! You are embarrassing the entire community.” Mrs. Rail hissed. Addie sat up, rubbed her eyes and was startled by flashing cameras.
“Best shots of the day.” “Wish she’d slept two more minutes. The light was just coming in.” “Say kid, what are you cooking?” “Yeah! What about your entry?” “Did you work all night?”
Addie was so distracted she didn’t know what to say. Edna scowled and spoke up. “This is her first contest. She’s tired and overexcited so please kindly leave her alone.”
Addie stood up. “No. I’m fine. I stayed to watch over the tent. After the attack yesterday I felt somebody should.”
A photographer dragged a reporter over who arrived just in time to hear Addie.”
“That’s amazing. What’s your name and what are you making?”
“My name’s Addie – Adeline Beurey and I’m making an old family recipe. A berry pie. The berries are thrice cooked - “
“That’s great. Tell me about your family.”
“Well, my great great grandmother Adeline Beurey won the Lofton Fair cooking competition seven years in a row. Oh my!” Addie pushed past the photographers and reporter and raced to the stove, turning off the pot and lifting it to the ground. The photographers snapped away, watching as she carried the huge pot to the nearby sink and carefully straining out a colander full of large purple berries. She disappeared in a cloud of steam while the photographers oohed and ahhed and jostled each other for the best shot.
She rinsed the berries with cold water and returned to her spot with the colander and a pair of bowls. Using an ancient small paring knife she popped the tiny seeds from each berry into one bowl and dropping the pulp into the other. Her hands were practically a blur, working so quickly as if each finger had a mind of its own.
“The berries have to be boiled twice and seeded for -”
Edna pushed her way in front of Addie. “That is fascinating dear but there is another contestant who must be remembered. Marlee May Johnston died yesterday. She was last year’s champion and was foully murdered yesterday. We have set up a memorial with her winning entry this way -”
Edna gestured and, after a few final shots of Addie, now studiously staring into her bowl of berries, they followed Edna to a black draped table with a large photograph of a much younger Marlee May and a latticework crust pie. Pictures were dutifully taken including a number of shots featuring Edna, Thelma and Ira. The three women were overly made up but looked peaked and worn and their smiles decidedly forced. There was a decided air of grief engulfing them and the photographers worked to capture it.
