I walked aimlessly around town for about an hour, trying to wrap my mind around all that had happened, but everything still seemed unreal. And why had nobody told me about Tweety’s accident? Was I really so disconnected from home? Had I given my mother the impression I didn’t want to know about that kind of thing? I mean, I had told her once or twice we needed boundaries … but not lawn mower accident boundaries! I couldn’t help but wonder what else I had missed.
All the thinking I was doing made me hungry, so I decided to buy a hot dog at the fair before taking a look at the photo display Mr. Sullivan had talked about.
I walked over to the agricultural building, letting the processed meat work its soothing magic. The building was located a good distance away from the midway, so there were fewer people, and even though it smelled like manure, the sound of cows mooing was kind of relaxing.
I stopped in front of the large corkboard, popping the last bit of bun into my mouth. The pictures were covered with plastic wrap, and the board itself had an overhang, so the photos were protected from the rain. That should make Mr. Sullivan happy. I spotted the photo he had been talking about pretty quickly. The ribbon-cutting ceremony for the pharmacy. My eyes dropped to the typed strip of paper pinned underneath. MR. RAMSBOTTOM AND MR. SULLIVAN SENIOR. So that was Mr. Ramsbottom. Huh. He looked to be in his fifties when the photo had been taken, probably not all that long before he had died. There was something about him that did sort of emanate power and money. Maybe it was the suit. And my mom was right. He did have a big chest. I noticed a gawky boy standing behind him. Oh my God! Was that Mr. Sullivan Junior? Sully? My eyebrows shot up. I needed to show Freddie this. He had the same in love smile on his face as he’d had back at the store. Wow, that guy really loved his pharmacy.
My eyes slid to another picture. This one captured a fall fair queen standing on a stage waving to the crowd in a modest bathing suit and heels. I leaned forward to read the caption. MARG JOHNSON. Well, crap. I couldn’t help but admit she was a bit of a hottie back in the day … and that really didn’t make me like her any more. I knew she had a mean-girl vibe about her.
My eyes skimmed along the board, passing one picture after the next. There was an old shot of the library … lots of pictures of the fair … then … twins!
I didn’t recognize them at first, but, really, how many identical twins could Otter Lake have? I huddled forward to get a closer look at the grainy photo. It was a group shot, and there were lots of people surrounding them, but the twins stood out. Not in the beauty-salon sort of way that Marg Johnson had. They had more of a buxom, badass vibe, like the pinup woman flexing her bicep in that war poster. I looked at the caption. FAIR VOLUNTEERS.
I scanned the photo again. Wait a minute … off in the background there was a man with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, leaning against a barn, arms folded across his chest. I knew instantly who it was. The pompadour gave him away every time.
He was looking at one of the twins … had to be Tweety. And the look in his eye … that could make a girl’s knees go weak. It was all need.
I shook my head and leaned back. I couldn’t help but wonder what broke them up. Hard to imagine a guy who could look like that giving his love up for anything, but then again, it was just one look … in a photo from long ago.
Once I had given the board a good once-over, I decided to walk back to the midway to see if Freddie was done terrorizing the town’s teenagers yet. I only made it about halfway through the games when I realized how thirsty I was. The sun was back out, and I was shielded from the wind by all the games, so it was getting pretty hot. I walked over to a guy seated in a giant lemon and bought myself a drink.
Just as I took the first sip, something caught my eye … actually someone. Grady, back in full sheriff’s gear, walking the midway with Rhonda.
My heart clenched at the sight, and I couldn’t help but think again how much this trip sucked. Sure, Tweety was the important thing here. Oh God, and Mr. Masterson. I really needed to stop forgetting about him. But I couldn’t help but grieve just a little bit for the week that could have been.
Just then I saw Rhonda smack Grady a few times on the arm before pointing at the Strong Man Game.
I walked a few steps closer just in time to hear the vendor call out, “Oh ho ho, it’s the Strong Arm of the Law, folks! Come on, Sheriff. Step right up and give it a whack!”
Grady held up a hand to wave him off.
“What?” the man asked. “Are all those pretty muscles just for show?”
Grady arched an eyebrow at the vendor but kept on walking.
“Come on, Sheriff. Show the people of Otter Lake why they can sleep well at night.”
Grady shook his head again, but Rhonda elbowed him in the side then pointed to me. Grady looked over. When he spotted me, he brought a hand up to rub his forehead, but a small smile broke over his face.
I walked a few steps closer to the edge of the gathering crowd.
“Nobody’s won yet, big man,” the vendor yelled, “but I got a feeling you could be the first.”
Grady looked at me again, indecision still on his face, but the smile was getting bigger.
I smiled back and mouthed the words, Do it. Maybe I would get my overpriced teddy bear after all.
He shot me a look with his eyes under his hat that said, Really?
Oh yeah.
I couldn’t help myself. Grady and I needed this moment … a moment that wasn’t all serious and complicated by murder. We needed a moment full of fun, flirtation, and … oh yes, him unbuttoning his sleeves at the wrist and rolling the fabric up his rippling forearms.
“Woo! Sheriff!” a woman shouted from the other side of the crowd. My eyes snapped over. Hmm, Kelly Green. She was at least fifteen years Grady’s senior and worked at the post office. She was also my new mortal enemy. My eyes darted back to Grady. He was gripping the sledgehammer and finding his stance … which made me forgive Kelly just a little bit. Really, who could blame her? Grady in his uniform, showcasing his muscles, was a lot to take. Besides, it sounded like she had visited the beer tent.
Grady shot me one more look, definitely flirtatious this time. Then he swung the hammer.
“Oh, Sheriff!” the man at the game shouted. “You can do better than that! Good thing you’ve got two more tries.”
Grady frowned at the man but then glanced back over at me. I fanned my hand in front of my face to let him know it was getting hot out here. Grady’s smile widened at the sight, and my heart skipped a beat.
He adjusted his stance and grip, then took another swing.
“Oh no!” the man shouted. “That was worse than the first one. Are you sure those pecks are real?”
“I’ll check,” Kelly shouted. “Let me check. I’ll be real thorough.”
Okay, Kelly was getting on my nerves again.
Grady stepped back from the game and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He looked at me, and I took a long sip from my straw before mouthing, Thirsty? with a quick double pop of my eyebrows.
Grady chuckled this time and nodded.
I stepped over to the lemonade guy and passed him some money without taking my eyes off Grady.
He split his legs a bit farther apart to anchor his stance … and my God did the man make a good stance.
Grady swung this time in a big, big wide arc.
Bam!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“We have a winner, folks!”
The crowd cheered while I mumbled under my breath, “Wow. Nailed me.”
Someone coughed at my side.
“Matthew?”
He had one fist at his mouth; the other was waving me off. His eyes looked half shocked, half amused. What was so funny? Then it hit me. “I mean it! He nailed it! Not me! He’s never nailed me.”
Matthew laugh-coughed harder, unable to catch his breath.
“Are you okay?” I said, trying to whack him on the back, but my hands were full of lemonade. “Here. D
rink this.” I passed him one of the cups just as Grady and Rhonda walked by …
Aw … crap.
Grady took a look at the drink. Then at Matthew. Then at me.
“No. No. No,” I said, waving my free hand in the air. “I gave him mine this time. This one’s yours.” I held out the full lemonade.
But they kept walking. Grady tossed the teddy bear he had won to Rhonda … who looked over her shoulder at me, head slowly shaking with disgust.
“Oh, man,” Matthew said. “First I drank his coffee, and now this. Did you want me to go explain what happened? Give him his lemonade?”
“I really doubt that will help,” I said, watching Grady walk away. “Besides, I don’t think he’s thirsty anymore.”
“Funny,” Matthew said. “I’m always thirsty.” His expression stayed completely still, straw in his mouth … before his eyes widened just a touch in feigned innocence.
I couldn’t help my drop my chin to my chest and laugh a little.
It was either that or cry.
Chapter Twenty-four
“So why is Mrs. Masterson our next step again?” Freddie shouted over Lightning’s engine. “What about following up on this thing with Tweety and Mr. Ramsbottom?”
“Not yet,” I shouted back. “For all we know, Marg is the only one who thinks there’s a connection between the twins and Mr. Ramsbottom. I don’t want to stir up more gossip.” I pushed some hair from my face. “Besides, we need to know what Mrs. Masterson thought was going on between her husband and Tweety.”
Freddie nodded and eased off the gas. “Good plan. Besides, you know what they say about murderers.”
“I do?”
“It’s usually the wife.”
“I don’t think they say that.”
“Well, it’s the person closest to the victim.”
I sighed.
“Oh stop. You were the one who told me Matthew pinned his mother as a suspect.”
“I don’t think he meant it, though.” I was kind of regretting telling Freddie what Matthew had said the night before at the fairgrounds. “It was just a flip comment.”
“Uh-huh.”
Freddie had made me wait until end of the day to leave the fair. Luckily, there was a concert tonight, a small country band, and Matthew had mentioned that he was thinking of sticking around to watch, so we knew there was a good chance we could talk to his mother alone. We were headed there next. We just needed to make a quick stop at the retreat first.
“Don’t take too long, okay?” Freddie said, gliding toward the dock. “I hate waiting.”
“You’re always welcome to come up with me.”
“And have all those silent people stare at me?” He shuddered. “They’re almost as bad as the pumpkin people. Besides, I hate watching you and your mom do charades. It’s like watching monkeys on typewriters … but less funny. I can’t take it.”
After hopping once again from Lightning to the canoe to the dock, I hurried my way up the steps. I didn’t particularly want to go another silent round with my mother either, but we needed a pretext to go over to Hemlock Estate, and she had the perfect one.
I searched the lodge but couldn’t find anyone, so I decided to check out back. The sun now hung low in the sky, but it was still a pretty nice night. Maybe they were on another walk or doing an outdoor meditation. I turned the corner of the porch and—
Thwack!
“Ow! Frick!” I shouted bringing my fingers to my brow bone. “What the—” My watery eyes dropped to the ground.
Birdie.
I looked up through my fingers. Yup, there they were. Playing silent badminton. I spotted a horrified-looking woman mouthing, Sorry! over and over. I put up my It’s okay! hand and muttered, “This is what happens when you can’t shout, Look out!”
My mother hurried over, eyes wide.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
She smiled.
“And before you try to ask,” I said, holding up a hand, “I don’t have any news on Tweety.”
She nodded, the worried crease between her eyebrows deepening.
“Um, listen. I’m not staying long,” I said, not quite able to meet her gaze. “I just came by because I ran into Matthew Masterson, and apparently you make some tea for his mother that calms her nerves?”
My mother nodded … suspiciously. This was going to be tricky. I really didn’t want to tell her I was going over to interrogate Mrs. Masterson. She might have feelings about that … and her silent feelings took so long to communicate.
“Well, I’m headed over there, and I thought I could bring it with me? It might help with the … grieving.”
My mother scanned my face. A moment later she nodded and went inside.
That had gone better than I’d thought. I shoved my hands into my pockets, turning back toward the game right when—
“Wah!” I ducked down as another birdie zoomed by my head.
Same woman.
I wagged a friendly finger at her as the screen door slammed shut. My mom walked back out with a small bag in her hands.
“Thanks, Mom, I’ll just take that and be on—”
She folded the bag underneath her arms.
“—on my way?”
She arched an eyebrow.
“What?”
She arched it even higher. Wow. She must be doing face yoga now.
“Fine,” I said, planting my hands on my hips. “I’m not just going over to Hemlock Estate to deliver tea. I’m going over to see if I can find out anything that might help Tweety.”
My mom’s expression didn’t change.
“Hey, you were the one who told me about Mr. Ramsbottom,” I said. “And thank you for not acting out that name, by the way.”
A smile touched the corner of her mouth, but she still didn’t release the bag.
This was ridiculous. “Look, I’m just going to see if, you know, Mrs. Masterson has any thoughts she’d like to share on who she thinks might be behind … everything that’s going on.”
She regarded me closely for a moment then nodded … but still didn’t give me the bag!
“So…?” I asked, holding out my hand.
She put up a hang on a second finger.
I groaned.
She pointed at my chest.
“Me?”
She then started flying around the porch. Like a bird. Flapping its little hand wings. Dipping its head down every now and then.
“Tweety again?”
Her shoulders slumped before she caught a glimpse of all the guests watching her. She straightened back up then held up three fingers.
“Third word?”
She got up on her tiptoes and walked in a line like …
“A sobriety test!”
She gave me yet another look that did not need interpreting. She really had those down.
“Mom, I don’t kn—”
“For the love of vegan balls!” I whipped around to see Freddie walking toward my back. “She’s saying, You.” He pointed at my chest. “Bee.” This time he flapped his arms like wings. “Careful!”
My mother jumped up and down, air-clapping.
“Oh,” I said loudly drawing out the word. “Yeah, of course, I will. No problem.”
Suddenly my mom’s arm were wrapped around me.
“She loves you too, Ms. Bloom,” Freddie said quickly, then muttered, “Give me the monkeys any day. Let’s go!”
* * *
Ten, fifteen minutes later we were pulling up to the Mastersons’ long dock. It was nice not to have to make a jump for shore from Freddie’s boat for a change.
We tied off Lightning then headed up the slope to the manse just as the sun dipped into the water.
“So,” Freddie said, pointing to the small paper bag I was holding. “You must have been talking to Matthew for quite a bit to get all the way to his mother’s beverage choices.”
I cut Freddie a look. “What are you doing right now?”
“I’m not doing anyt
hing,” he said with a shrug. “But seriously, what’s going on with you and Mr. Architect?”
“Nothing.”
Freddie stopping walking.
“What?” I asked, stopping too.
“Your face,” he said, pointing directly at it.
I resisted the urge to touch my cheeks. They felt warm. “What about my face?”
Freddie shook his head. “I thought I saw it last night at the bonfire with the carnies … but you were all No, no, no. Grady. Grady. Grady. But now … I’m not so sure.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s written all over your face, Ms. Smitten Kitten.” He swirled his finger. “And by the way you’re blushing, well, let’s just say I’m guessing there’s a pretty steamy scene in chapter five of your Erica–Matthew novel.”
I batted his hand away. “Stop it. You know Grady and I are on the cusp of … well, something! Matthew’s just nice, and … and why are we always talking about me? Let’s talk about you for a change!”
“Easy now,” Freddie said. “I didn’t mean to pick a fight. It’s only natural you’d find Matthew attractive. We’ve all wondered what it would be like to be Lady of the Manse.”
I exhaled a breath. “It is a pretty awesome manse.”
“Oh yeah. Would you look at those porches?” Freddie said, finally turning away. “You could totally wander around those puppies at night thinking mournful thoughts.”
I shot him a sideways look. “You have put some thought into this.”
“He’s handsome too. Almost as good looking as Grady.”
“Nobody’s as good looking as Grady.”
“He’s close, though, and in a weird way that almost makes him more attractive. You know what I mean?” Freddie looked to me for agreement. “Grady’s perfection can be off-putting.”
I huffed a breath. “You’re just jealous.”
“I am,” he said, nodding. “Oh! And I bet Matthew wouldn’t have any issues with our crime-fighting partnership.”
“Seriously, just stop it,” I said. “And Matthew might have some issues with our investigation if he knew you kept naming him as a suspect.”
Pumpkin Picking with Murder Page 15
