by Liz Marvin
Betty arrived just as they were finishing up. She searched the tent for Clarise or Wes but didn’t see either of them. Achmed saw her and raced to her side, smiling and gripping her arm. “Where have you been?”
Betty’s arm hurt. She tried to shake free but could not. “I rode in with Bill. You remember? Chief of police?” Achmed loosened his grip but didn’t lose his smile. Betty rubbed her arm. “Now what is your problem?”
“The gossiping grannies are hijacking the reporters. I trust you understand why that may be a problem.”
Betty spied the three women posing for photographs. She also noted a number of the cooks, men and women alike, looking slightly ill.
“Something is wrong.”
Achmed grabbed her arm again, pulling her from the tent. “I know that!”
Betty noticed Achmed wasn’t looking quite right either. “And as soon as they stopping snapping pictures of the old ladies the reporters will notice too.”
Betty violently pried his fingers lose from her arm, bending his fingers back enough to get him to wince. “Announce that I’ll be taking a select group of reporters to view the site of the murder and get an interview with the chief of police.”
Bill wouldn’t like it but she had no choice. “How will you choose who comes and who stays?” Achmed hissed. She looked at him incredulously. “I won’t! I want them all to come!”
He visibly relaxed and looked even worse. Betty led the way back inside.
The last photograph was taken as Betty stepped between the three women and the reporter. “Hi I’m Betty Crawford one of this year’s judges and want to thank you for coming and remembering Marlee May. I’ll be leading a select group of reporters to view the site of this horrible tragedy and meet with the chief of police William Owens so if those -”
“Just a second!” “I wasn’t asked to come!” “We demand equal access!”
Betty held up her hands to forestall more shouting. “Please, please. All right anyone who is interested in coming please follow me.”
The entire contingent of reporters surrounded Betty and left the tent with her. She stopped at the barbecue tent and praised the food, continued on to the midway where she highlighted the vendors and games, pointing out new booths and those who had been coming to the fair for years.
Betty described the midway rides and introduced Gladys at the first aid tent then wandered through the livestock barn on her way to the reviewing stands. She stopped to say hello to a few of the young contestants and was pleased to note the reporters and photographers busy taking notes and pictures.
Finally, when she couldn’t comfortably stall any longer she led them to “the grandstand” as she called it. The yellow police tape still blocked off the entire area and a number of state police were busy combing the area and taking photographs. Betty spied Bill talking, or rather listening as the county sheriff and state police captain argued. Smiling, Betty asked the reporters to wait there and headed for the trio, reaching them before anyone could stop her.
“Hey Bill, which of you three want to talk to the press?” The discussion stopped abruptly. Bill belatedly covered his mouth to hide his smile. The sheriff and police captain glared first at Bill, then at Betty.
“What are they doing here?”
“Why they’re doing their job!” Betty replied innocently.
“Get them out of here!” The sheriff demanded.
“Great idea!” Bill responded “sounds like a job for the county sheriff’s department.”
“Not me! You’re the local authority.”
“I’ll go tell them you’re in charge Bill.” Betty said and turned to go.
“Now just a second! Nobody said he’s in charge!” The captain fumed.
“So is he the spokesman?” Betty asked.
“No he’s, we – the state police in murder investigations” the state police captain sputtered “just never mind! I’ll go myself!”
“Not without me you won’t!” The county sheriff added and the two men headed for the gathered reporters almost racing to see who would reach them first.”
Bill laughed quietly and gave Betty a quick hug. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Just glad to get them out of my hair and yours. Do either of them know anything?”
Bill became suddenly serious. “No.”
One word answer. Bad sign. The investigation was going worse than Betty imagined.
“How about the pickpockets? Anything come from the video surveillance?”
“No. Wes is on it. Haven’t heard from him.”
Wherever Wes was it was a sure bet that Clarise was with him. He was probably at the State Police command center watching multiple screens for signs of suspicious activity and another set of eyes would help. But Clarise had a director’s eye for watching how people moved; if anyone could spot something out of the ordinary it would be her.
Betty wished she could help Bill in some way but the area had more than a dozen people looking searching for any clue.
“Maybe they’re looking for the wrong thing.” Betty found herself blurting out. Bill looked at her questioningly.
“Maybe they should be looking for what isn’t there.”
“We’ve got the serial number for the purse. And a picture. We’re looking for it.” He tried to smile. “Thanks for the heads up on that.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the purse. I was thinking about her jewelry.”
Bill frowned. “There wasn’t any jewelry missing.”
“Exactly. She had rings, bracelets and a necklace. All understated but all very valuable and easy to take. At least as easy as a purse.”
“Hmmm.” Bill frowned. “But – hmmmm. So you think that either there was something in the purse worth more than the jewelry or the killing had nothing to do with the pick pockets.”
“Or both!” Betty gave Bill’s hand a squeeze “I have to get back to the cooking competition. We’ll be meeting the contestants in half an hour. Wish me luck!”
“Luck.” He said “not that you’ll need it!”
“Yes I do!” Betty kissed him on the cheek. “And here’s a kiss for luck.”
Bill took her in his arms. “That isn’t a kiss for luck! This is a kiss -”
“Betty!!”
The couple parted as Gladys, huffing and completely out of breath, joined them. “They need you back at the cooking competition. There’s – there is some sort of epidemic. Everyone – just about everyone is sick!”
“Did you call for ambulances?” Bill demanded.
“Not enough ambulances in the country!” She wheezed out.
“I’ll get on it.” Bill promised, “Betty you - “
But Betty was already gone, running towards the cooking competition.
Behind her a reporter in the back of the pack nudged a photographer. The pair slipped away and followed Betty as fast as they could without being noticed by the rest of the pack of reporters.
12. Chapter 11
A harried television field producer was yelling at Edna who was visibly wilting under the tirade.
“We canceled a special on island beaches to be here! What do you mean the cooking competition is canceled? Where is Achmed O’Rielly?”
“He is indisposed. That is to say everyone is -”
Edna threw up. A mixture of coffee, cornbread and some purplish jam. The mess hit the producer square in the chest and ran down his chest, splattering onto his shoes. The young blond on air talent and the fat old sound man tittered. The cameraman was already taping the exchange.
Betty stepped in taking Edna by the elbow. “I’m sure it isn’t half as contagious as it looks but Edna maybe we should get you back inside and you should lie down.” Betty smiled over her shoulder at the now worried television crew. “You should shower and change right away and double bag and seal up those clothes until they can be disinfected.”
The last she saw of the producer he was pulling his pants off, the sound man was laughing hysterically and the
young blond had covered her mouth and turned away. The cameraman was still filming.
Inside the tent, tables had been cleared of food and turned into makeshift beds and every one held at least two groaning contestants. A few men and women rushed about, offering what comfort they could. Betty stopped the nearest one, the older man who had helped with the barbecue just a day ago.
“Is there space for Edna?”
He took Edna by the arm and led her away. “I’ll find her a spot. Thank God you’re here. Achmed is in the far corner. He’s delirious.”
Great, thought Betty, the one person who might stave off disaster has gone off the deep end. She raced to the back of the tent to find him. Along the way she noticed all the food and cooking equipment supplies had simply been tossed under the tables to make space for the ill. Some of the dishes looked complete and very tasty. Sadly the efforts were once more in vain; another day’s efforts lost. The enormity of the problem stopped Betty in her tracks. Even during World War Two the cooking competition had endured but how would they – how could they continue this year?
She grabbed a teen-age girl with a tear stained face. “Is your mom in the competition?”
The girl shook her head no “Grandma. She’s stopped throwing up and I got her to drink some water. She just fell asleep. I have to call my mom and - “
The girl’s lower lip started to quiver. There wasn’t time for an emotional collapse. “Your grandmother will be fine but I need your help. These women worked really hard to make these dishes and I need the cook’s name and the title matched up with each and every one of them. If we – if you can’t do this then everything they’ve done will be in vain and for the first time ever the Lofton Fair cooking competition will be canceled.”
The girl straightened up. “What do I need to do?”
“Find a pen and pad of paper and get started.” Betty gave the girl a gentle shake. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve and nodded affirmative.
Betty kissed her on the cheek “Thank you!” She whispered as they parted.
Achmed was laid out on his back, his legs and arms splayed out, hanging off the table. His head rocked back and forth as he babbled. “Tell Saddam not to eat. No don’t let him eat. I didn’t cook this he has to know I didn’t make it. Hide me. I have to hide. He won’t care he will kill us all. We have to go.”
Achmed struggled to push himself up and off the table and Betty arrived just in time to stop him and gently push him back down. “Mister O’Rielly! Achmed you’re in Lofton North Carolina. You’re just a little ill. You’ll be all right. Just lie down and rest. You will be all right.”
Achmed clutched her arms, squeezing hard. “You don’t understand. You don’t!” He collapsed and closed his eyes. “The walls have ears and the wind has eyes. They are everywhere. They will hunt me down.” He opened his eyes, wild eyed, grasping at and batting away invisible things.
Betty struggled to hold him down. She had heard he had worked in the kitchens of tyrants in the Middle East before the last round of wars and revolutions. She knew he had escaped to travel the world and become a celebrity chef but she had no idea what horrors lay in his past and had never thought to ask. She realized now she couldn’t begin to imagine them and he had never spoke of those dark times.
The very thought of his ghosts terrified her but Betty steeled herself and held on, keeping the sick man from hurting himself. “The wars are over. You are a famous chef with restaurants all over the world. No one can hurt you.”
He grabbed her again, wild eyed but holding her gaze. “You don’t know. I know them. They never quit. Never stop. Never forgive and never forget. I have to kill them. I have to or they will kill me. They will kill us all.”
He collapsed, barely conscious, his mumblings dropping to an incoherent whisper. Was he right? Betty, stunned, had to consider that perhaps, just maybe someone was trying to kill him. Were all these people just collateral damage? Who but a monster – or monsters – could do such awful horrible things?
She spied the young girl kneeling under a nearby table, labeling food and writing notes on a tablet.
“What’s your name?”
“Virginia. Everybody calls me Ginny.”
“Ginny you’re doing a great job. Be careful not to taste any of this food.”
She stopped writing. “Why?”
“Because it may not be safe. I’m probably just being silly but will you do that for me? “
The young girl nodded and went back to work.
Betty checked Achmed’s pulse. His heartbeat was rapid and shallow but she had no idea what it meant or what to do. She moved to the next table. Thelma was there and if anything was in even worse condition than Achmed.
“Thelma!” The older woman smiled weakly at Betty. “Twice in two days. I’m afraid someone really is trying to destroy the fair.” She coughed, and rolled to her side and tried to vomit but there was nothing left in her frail system. She rolled back onto her back and looked Betty in the eye. “You’ll be the only judge this year, Betty.”
“Oh no. We’ll postpone the contest.”
Thelma shook her head. “Not again. No. You can’t let them win. You have to choose. You must pick this year’s winner.”
“But I can’t! I haven’t tasted everything. I haven’t tasted anything.” Betty dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned over Thelma. “I am not sure all the food is safe.”
Thelma laughed then dissolved again into a coughing fit. Betty did her best to hold her. “You’re right, Betty. The food isn’t safe. None of it.” Thelma looked Betty in the eye. “I watched. Everybody was trying different things but no one was eating the same things.”
“What were the common ingredients?” Thelma didn’t answer. She closed her eyes and appeared to be asleep. Betty whispered the question again and her eyes snapped open, clearly annoyed. “I am trying to think, to remember. Be a dear and come back in a few minutes.”
She closed her eyes again. Betty was afraid to leave her, afraid she would never open her eyes again but she continued to check on people and when possible find out what they’d eaten. Everyone, it seemed, was tasting everything.
Everyone had been working together and helping each other and generally have a great time and they all credited Betty’s encouragement after the first disaster. All the contestants were having the time of their lives until they started getting sick but there was no rhyme or reason to the illness. No common denominator that tied the recipes together. At least none Betty could find.
Gladys arrived and joined her. “You’re a natural caregiver. You should be a nurse.” Betty shuddered. “Right. Every time someone vomits I feel like throwing up and if I don’t get some fresh air soon we will need another table!”
Gladys shook her head. “You eat anything yet?”
“Here? No! Do you think its food poisoning?”
“Not exactly. Symptoms are wrong but it sure is something they all ate.”
“The problem is they all ate different things.’
Gladys shook her head again. “It is a puzzle but if we don’t solve it and find out what caused this I believe things will get a lot worse before they get better.”
On that pleasant note Betty headed out for some fresh air.
Outside Betty saw Walter Peyone dressed as a Confederate general with a revolutionary war era musket in one hand and a shiny modern dress saber in the other. Henry was talking to the television producer who was wearing a poorly fitted trench coat and hippie style sandals. The young blond was flirting with Walter who was preening and clearly enjoying himself. Betty found herself wondering which prospect she dreaded more; dealing with Walter and a television crew or going back inside and facing sick cooking competition participants.
Walter spied her before she could decide.
“Elizabeth! How good to see you again!”
“Walter Peyone what are you doing?”
He handed the musket and saber to Henry and rushed over to Betty. “I’ve got t
he biggest announcement of my career and I’m trying to get these chuckle heads to cover it in a manner befitting the gravity of the situation.”
“You’re giving up acting and joining a Civil War re-enactors group?”
“No! I’m starring in the greatest civil war movie of all times and it’s going to be filmed right here in Lofton! Well not exactly in Lofton but this is where the production will be headquartered.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially “The producers wanted a place that was untouched and looked the same as it did one hundred and fifty years ago and if that doesn’t describe Lofton I don’t know what does so naturally I recommended it. Henry sent them a bunch of internet pictures with his digital telephone camera and they loved it and best of all I’ve got jobs for you and Clarise! Didn’t she tell you?”
“No. Are you sure you told her?”
Walter furrowed his brow and looked at Henry who was gesticulating wildly with the saber. “Well I told her there was a job but not exactly what it would be I guess. Say, what’s going on with the cooking competition? They’ve screwed up everything!”
Betty clenched her fists and started counting to ten. Slowly. She only reached five when Henry interrupted them. “Can we get inside yet? The camera crew really needs to start filming.”
“We’ll be filming at the grandstand during the closing ceremonies. I’ll be making the presentations then.”
“We can’t wait.”
“Then I’ll tell you about the winning recipe.”
“Can we meet the winner? We really need to meet the winner.”
Betty was stuck. She hadn’t picked the winner yet. “I’ll check and see if she’s here.” She responded cheerily and ducked back inside before anyone could ask another question.
A wave of odors hit her senses. Worse than before. Ginny was holding a handkerchief to her nose as she wrote on her tablet. Betty’s eyes watered. She spotted Gladys and raced to her side. “Where is Addie?” Gladys looked around. Ginny joined her. “Addie’s gone” the young girl said. She left right after people started getting sick. She took her pie too.”
