“They said they had a security company patrolling the place for them, night and day.”
“But a security company can’t do much about faulty rides and equipment. Maybe they didn’t expect the track to fail.” I was parked facing the fairgrounds. I could see the Ferris wheel and the topmost hill of the roller coaster track. Though it was a bright, clear day, the dark clouds I’d imagined above the Ferris wheel now hovered over the roller coaster, too.
“No, but one look at those rides and the entire operation should have been shut down before it even opened. I was going to call the Swayton County officials tomorrow and beg them to come out and inspect the rides. If the officials are any good at all, they would have condemned the entire place.”
“Looks like someone beat them to it,” I said.
Sam paused and then said, “You think the tracks were sabotaged?”
Again, I found myself debating what I should say. Well, I knew I should tell Sam, the police officer, what I’d found in the back of the shooting gallery. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wasn’t sure what those drawings meant, but whatever it was, Scott was involved. I tasted the bitter wash of guilt at the back of my tongue. If I ever sought psychotherapy, I’d have to explore deeply why, despite that my feelings about him had once soured enough that I’d wanted to divorce him, I could neither turn in my second ex-husband nor believe him capable of murder or attempted murder.
I hoped my hesitation didn’t have something to do with my own ego, that it wasn’t the result of my not wanting to shine the bright light of truth on the bad decisions I’d made when it came to men. Maybe I didn’t want to find out, even all these years later, that I’d once chosen to be with someone who’d ultimately become so evil—if Scott was, in fact, the culprit.
I’d begun to believe my judgment was improving. Ian was more than amazing, and Sam, well, if Sam and I ever became a couple, he was spectacular, too.
Finally, I said, “Should be looked into, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. What a mess.” Sam stared out at the grounds and then turned back to me. “I’m glad you and the other vendors . . . I guess I’m glad that everyone’s okay after today. Hopefully the only casualty from this situation will be Mr. Morrison.”
“Did you find out anything else about him? Did he have a long list of enemies?”
“I haven’t learned much. He lived and worked around Orderville for about twenty years. Can’t find any information on where he came from. Believe it or not, I’m trying to figure it out based on the tattoo. Maybe some organization or group he belonged to is into spider tattoos on their necks. I came here today to snoop around.”
“He was retired military. Maybe it was something his regiment did,” I said.
Sam blinked. “I don’t think he was ever in the military, Becca. I searched, couldn’t find anything to indicate that. If he had been, he’d be much easier to trace.”
I thought back to the poker game the night before. Had it only been the night before?
“He inherited his house, a place out in the country, from his aunt. He didn’t have a house payment,” I said.
Sam shook his head. “That’s not what I found. He paid cash for the house twenty years ago, so yeah, it was paid for, but it wasn’t free.”
“Do you know who owned the house before he did?”
“Not offhand. I’ll check it out, though.”
Why did my poker friends think he was retired military and that he’d inherited the house? I thought back harder. They’d all been in agreement about Virgil, where he’d come from and what he’d done for a living. “He did lots of odd jobs,” I said.
“That I know. I’m looking more closely at all of them.”
“Hang on. Why are you looking so closely at Virgil’s death? It’s not in your jurisdiction. What’s your interest?”
“It’s a murder, and fortunately, Monson’s a little quiet in the murder department at the moment. I have faith in the local authorities, but I can’t get over the fact that this fair was allowed to open its gates at all. It’s bothered me since I was here a couple days ago. There’s something else going on. I have no idea what it is, but if I’m not too busy in Monson, it won’t hurt to poke around here a bit.”
I bit my tongue. I had information that would help him. But I just couldn’t tell him. Yet.
I did have something I was willing to contribute, though. “I hope the case is solved, and quickly. I know a lot of people who have enjoyed working at and attending this event, Sam. Closing it will hurt the owners financially, probably, but my sense of it is that the vendors weren’t here for the money. From what I can tell, most everyone is local and they look at the fair as something fun.”
I suddenly wondered, though, how many of the vendors were local? Were me and my fellow market vendors and Scott the only ones who weren’t? That was something I wanted to know. I peered toward the trailer and pondered how difficult it would be to track down Lucy and how willing she might be to answer some of my questions.
“That’s my sense of it, too,” Sam said, but his thoughts were churning. His eyes scanned the fairgrounds, but he turned back to me a moment later. “Hey, I gotta go. Thanks, Becca, for the information. I’m going to look a little closer . . . at everything. I’m glad this one’s not around home. You might be more willing to stay out of it, huh?”
I waved away his question. “Yeah, I’ve got work to do. Can’t be getting in the middle of this mess.”
Sam got out of the truck, held the door open, and shook his head. “Don’t think you’re kidding me for a second. I know this is all too much for you to resist. Be careful. Call me if . . . when you need me. But getting back to work really would be the best idea. Keep it in mind.” Sam smiled before he shut the door.
“Damn,” I said, but I got over it quickly, particularly when just as Sam passed through the gates again, I saw Lucy walking purposefully toward the trailer.
If I ran fast enough, I’d reach her before she managed to shut herself inside it.
I turned off the truck and propelled my sore self out of it.
Thirteen
“Lucy!” I ran at breakneck speed—well, breakneck speed for someone who wasn’t all that fast anyway and who had a big bruise on the top of her thigh and a cut on her chin that was extra painful with every footfall.
Lucy held her clipboard under her arm and kept her eyes to the ground as her legs took her directly to the trailer.
“Lucy!” I yelled again just as she put her foot on the first metal stair. Everyone else in the vicinity heard my screechy yowl and sent me questioning looks, but it took her a second to turn in my direction. When she did, my heart fell. She looked emotionally beaten: sad, tired, distraught. Of course she did. From all indications, Lucy loved and lived her job. The tragic events would be painful. As far as I knew, she wasn’t an owner or an investor in the fair, but I could tell she took ownership of every job she was given. My sister was like that, and I recognized the type. They threw their whole selves into their tasks, always striving to exceed expectations.
Lucy was devastated.
“Hi,” I said as I stopped in front of her. “Sorry to bug you.” Past experience told me that if she’d gone into the trailer, she wouldn’t have answered my knock, but I was sorry to have interrupted.
“Becca, you’re still here. Do you need help with anything?” she asked wearily.
“No, no, I’m packed. I was just hanging around . . . anyway, Lucy, I’m sorry about the turn of events. It’s great news, though, that no one was hurt as a result of the coaster tracks.”
“Yes, it is.” She stared at me expectantly. I wasn’t quite sure how to drop some questions on her, but she saved me. “Your chin looks better. You had someone here patch it up?”
I smiled. “Yeah, my . . . did you know that one of my . . . well, my ex-husb
and works here. Scott, the guy with the shooting gallery. We were married, but for a short time.”
“I knew that,” she said. “He rebandaged it? That makes sense. Him being an EMT and all.”
She knew that he and I had been married? I wondered how, but that wasn’t the most important question I had.
“Yeah. He did a good job. I was wondering, well, I’ve gotten to know some of the people working here and I’d like to keep in touch. I know that Scott doesn’t live in Orderville.” I laughed; I wasn’t smooth, but Lucy didn’t seem to care much. “Is everyone here from Orderville?”
“No, but most of them are. Some of the vendors, like your ex, Scott, travel with their games or food trailers from fair to fair or event to event. However, off the top of my head, besides you, your fellow market people, and Scott, I can think of only a couple others. The funnel-cake lady, Carolyn, is always on the move. There’s a big need for funnel cakes apparently. And, there’s a guy who’s . . . who’s supposed to have been here, but he didn’t show up after the first couple days. He has a chocolate-dipped-pretzel trailer.” She looked out toward the grounds a moment. “He’s from your neck of the woods, Monson, or maybe Smithfield. He was excited about being part of the fair, but he never even got his trailer all the way set up and then he left altogether after a couple days. His name is Walter Logan. You know him by chance?”
“Never heard of him.” I didn’t even think I knew of a Logan family.
“Well, if you run into him, tell him he doesn’t get his space deposit back.”
“I will.” I nodded. “Lucy, I want you to know how much we appreciate how you tried to make us feel welcome. I’m sorry if we were cranky.”
Lucy waved away my apology. “That’s my job, and I understand why you were cranky. Business was pretty bad at first, and now . . . this.”
“You couldn’t have controlled this.”
Her eyes flashed big and wide for an instant as if maybe there was some aspect of the unfortunate events that she could have controlled, but she didn’t say as much. I was probably just reading into it, hoping for some substantial reaction or clue.
“We’re going to move forward with the opening of the corn maze. Are you still willing to donate some pumpkins?” she said.
“Of course. I’m planning on it.”
“Great. I’ll have my guys there Tuesday night to help.”
“Thank you.” I paused. “So, how are the owners?” I continued.
“In bad shape, though they’re eternally grateful that no one else was hurt. Virgil’s death was hard enough. If someone else had been killed or hurt, I’m not sure they could have coped.” She glanced toward the shut trailer door.
“Is that where they keep their office?” I nodded at the trailer.
“What? Oh, no, they’re never out here. This is just my office.”
“Who are the owners?”
Lucy shrugged, then put her hand on the door handle. “A couple brothers.”
“What are their names?”
Lucy looked at the phone on her hip. “Excuse me, Becca, I’ve got to take this.”
I hadn’t heard the phone ring or buzz or jingle or give any indication that a call had come in.
“Sure.”
“Let me know if you or the other Bailey’s vendors need anything.” Lucy held the phone to her ear as she pushed down the handle and hurried into the trailer. I tried to peer in behind her, but I didn’t see anything. Once the door was closed, I didn’t think twice as I reached for the handle myself and pushed. It didn’t budge; in the flash of time it took her to shut the door and me to reach for the handle, she’d locked the door.
What was in that trailer?
“Becca,” said a voice behind me.
“Jerry, hi.” I turned to see the corn-dog vendor standing behind me, his hands in his pockets.
“You need to get in the office?” he asked.
Actually, yes I did, but it was only to feed my ever-growing curiosity about what was so important that it was kept locked up and hidden from everyone except Lucy and Scott.
“No, I was just going to thank Lucy again.”
“I’ve never been able to get in there, never gotten any answer when I knocked,” he said. “It’s weird.”
“Huh.” At least it wasn’t just me.
“Yeah, you outta here?”
“Soon. How about you?”
“I’m packed and ready. It looks like my entrepreneurial venture wasn’t as successful as I’d hoped.”
“I’m sorry about that, but there are other fairs, other events that need corn dogs, surely.”
Jerry shrugged. “Dunno. No big deal. I rented the trailer. I’ll find a place to park it for the next week or so. I’ll look for something else in Orderville, or maybe I’ll check out Monson. It’s a little bigger.”
And there’s a farmers’ market in Monson. A farmers’ market that doesn’t sell corn dogs. Yet. I wasn’t in any position to offer Jerry a space, but I knew the boss.
“Give me your number; I’ll let you know if I come across anything.”
“Great.”
We exchanged numbers before Jerry hurried to answer someone’s plea of “Hey, can I get a hand here?”
I assisted a couple people with light lifting, tried to help with some packing but found that my efforts weren’t as precise as the vendor liked, and then looked around for either Sam or Scott. I found neither.
The only thing left for me to do was go home. Just a few days earlier, I couldn’t wait to escape the fair, but suddenly I didn’t feel ready to leave. There was more to know about the Swayton County Fall Fair and Festival, but it kept its secrets well hidden, probably under years of history that I’d never understand and wasn’t meant to understand anyway. I’d be back on Wednesday with the pumpkins, but I doubted I’d learn much more than I already knew.
I did one more search for Scott and Sam but came up empty even though both of their vehicles were in the parking lot and Scott’s shooting gallery wasn’t yet fully disassembled.
More reluctantly than I would have imagined, I steered my old orange truck out of the parking lot and toward home.
Fourteen
But I didn’t go home, or at least I didn’t stay there. I stopped by to drop off the few supplies I’d originally taken to the fair: a small display rack, a folding chair, and what was left from a stack of my business cards. Since the day had been cut short, I still had inventory, so I deposited the unsold jars of product into one of my oversized refrigerators. I could have used the time to make more product, but my official return to Bailey’s wasn’t scheduled until the next week. I could wait a couple days before heading back into the kitchen. Hobbit was with George, so I took advantage of the time to make an unofficial visit to my sister and fellow vendors.
I’d mostly recovered from the horrifying near-disaster on the roller coaster. In fact, I was so relieved that no one else had been hurt, I was almost buoyant. I was sure that once the adrenaline wore off I’d be exhausted, but for the time being I was infused with energy.
My sister wasn’t in the small building that housed her office, so I joined the medium-sized crowd in the market aisles and searched for her or for someone else I could talk to without bothering them too much.
The first available vendor I happened upon was Abner, the wildflower man. His science-fiction-like greenhouse kept his wildflowers growing all year long, so he never took time off from the market.
“Becca, what’re you doing here? What happened to your face?” he asked as I approached. Though his gruff tone made him sound like he didn’t want to see me, I knew better. It was just his way. Abner’s crankiness was his strongest personality trait, but we were pretty good friends.
I told him my injury story and about the day’s earlier events, finding that talking ab
out them was almost as disturbing as living them.
When I finished, Abner whistled and said, “Holy moly, little girl. You should have hightailed it outta there sooner.”
“I’m taking in some pumpkins on Wednesday, but that’ll be easy.”
“Golly, I haven’t been into Orderville in a number of years, can’t remember why I had to go last time. It’s as small a town as you can get.”
“Believe it or not, I haven’t seen the town yet. Haven’t made it that far.”
“You’re not missing much,” Abner said. “S’cuse me.” A customer had come up on the other side of the stall.
As I waved good-bye, I wondered, though. Maybe I had missed something by not driving into Orderville. Maybe I could learn more about Virgil if I asked around the town. I wished I’d thought of it earlier, but at that point I wasn’t in the mood to backtrack.
I sauntered up and down the aisles, stopping to get some eggs from Jeanine the egg lady and chatting with my stall neighbor and best friend, Linda.
“He’s coming home for sure?” I asked, referring to the return of her husband, Drew, who was off on some convert Navy SEAL mission. He’d been gone a long time, and a number of worldwide happenings, such as rescues of kidnapped political prisoners and assassinations of some very bad men, had occurred in his absence. Drew wasn’t allowed to have much contact with his wife while on assignment, and he was strictly forbidden from sharing the details of his missions, but she and I had speculated a number of times as to whether or not he was involved in the things we heard about in the news.
“He’ll be home next week,” she said. “Understand that he’s not the one who told me this. Someone else called me, claimed to be one of his commanding officers, and told me the good news.”
“That is more than good, that might be some of the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”
“Ian finished the sculpture I had made for him. You’ll have to stop by and see it. It’s perfect.”
A Killer Maize Page 13
