Ashlee tugged at the label on her bottle. “I do what I can, but the vet cut my hours and he was a cheapskate to start with.”
“But together, we can help Mom pay her bills and more importantly, heal from Dad’s death.”
Before I could say more, I heard the familiar hum of the garage door. A moment later, Mom stepped into the house, carrying a paper sack with a celery stalk poking out the top.
I crumpled up my gordita wrapper and took the bag from Mom. She sat down in my vacant chair as I unpacked the groceries.
“Boy, eating more fruits and vegetables is certainly increasing my trips to the store,” she said.
“Then we should definitely go back to the way we used to eat,” I said. “You’d save money and time.”
Mom laughed. “Nice try, but our new diet is here to stay.” She glanced at the clock, a hint of worry around her eyes. “What are you doing home so early?”
I shoved the vegetable crisper closed and folded up the paper bag. “Eating lunch before I set up for the cricket-chirping contest at the fairgrounds.”
“Is it that time of year already?” Mom asked.
I stuffed the bag in the thin space between the fridge and the counter. “You mean you’ve heard of this contest?”
“Well, sure, Fester Cartemberg from up the street came in second place last year.”
So the contest really existed. For some reason, I’d secretly believed that when I arrived at the fairgrounds, no one would be there. That the cricket-chirping contest was a mass delusion of the committee.
“There’s a contest where people chirp like crickets?” Ashlee asked.
“Your idea’s better,” I said. “Instead, people bring their pet crickets, and whichever is the best chirper wins.”
Ashlee drained her water and plunked the bottle on the table. “This I’ve got to see. Mind if I tag along?”
If the cricket contest was a bust, maybe Ashlee and I could entertain the contestants with our little “Me and My Shadow” dance routine from grade school.
Then again, maybe not.
“The contest’s open to the public, but if you want to go early with me, you’ll need to help set up.”
“You bet.”
I knew Ashlee’s idea of helping would be to keep a chair seat warm, but I’ve been wrong before.
“We’d better go if we don’t want to be late.”
She tugged her T-shirt at the waist. “One sec, I have to change.”
Was there a cricket-chirping dress code I hadn’t heard of? “You look fine. Besides, we don’t have time for you to pick out a new outfit.”
Mom checked the clock again. “You have a few minutes, Dana, and you know Ashlee takes pride in her appearance.”
Ashlee stuck her tongue out at me and strolled into her room.
With Mom watching, I tried to stifle my impatience. Instead, I threw my lunch wrappers in the trash, washed Ashlee’s sandwich plate, and wiped down the counters.
Still no Ashlee.
I opened the fridge door and shuffled the yogurt and milk cartons around on the shelves, lining the yogurts up like soldiers in a dairy parade. I shut the door with a snap and paced around the kitchen.
“Dana, for heaven’s sake. Sit down and relax,” Mom said.
While I’d been puttering, she’d opened an issue of Star magazine. I stood over her shoulder and read about the starlets hitting the clubs and the latest romances. Mom occasionally glanced over her shoulder at me but didn’t say anything. I made sure to breathe extra loud until she flipped the magazine closed.
“Ashlee! Hurry up!” Mom hollered.
I heard the door to Ashlee’s room open and she entered the kitchen.
“I’m ready.”
I studied her outfit. She’d changed into a black short-sleeved blouse and black miniskirt with black stockings and black boots.
“How is that getup better than what you were wearing before?”
Ashlee gave me a look like she questioned my sanity. “Hello? I’m dressed like a cricket. They’re black, right?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh, God, make the pain stop.”
“What pain?” Ashlee asked.
Mom smacked my arm.
“Nothing,” I said. “Let’s go.” Time to enter the exciting world of cricket chirping. Jason had better show up or this was going to be one long afternoon.
19
Ashlee plopped herself in the passenger seat of my car. I slid into the driver’s seat, started the motor, and pulled away from the curb.
“How’d you get roped into this cricket stuff anyway?” Ashlee asked, popping a piece of gum in her mouth.
“Esther belongs to a committee devoted to improving Blossom Valley commerce. The murder left her too embarrassed to attend the meetings and she asked me to fill in.”
Ashlee adjusted the air vent on her side. “What’s she embarrassed about? She didn’t kill the guy.”
I checked for traffic at the intersection and hung a left. “I know. But Maxwell was killed on her farm during opening weekend for this fantastic spa that was supposed to help Blossom Valley draw in a tourist crowd. Instead, it’s attracted a bunch of negative press and some crackpots who want to see where the guy was murdered.”
“Word on the street is that Maxwell was the victim of a mafia vendetta. He tried to swindle Freddie Three Fingers and got whacked.”
I swung around to look at Ashlee, jerking my arm in the process and almost swerving the car into a tree. “Freddie Three Fingers? Whacked? Seriously?”
Ashlee blew a bubble, then sucked the gum back into her mouth. “I got the lowdown from my friend Katie who heard it from her mom’s dry cleaner at Pressed for Time.”
The same business where Gordon got all his suits cleaned. Guess he’d spread the mob rumor after all. And now my sister was talking like an extra from The Sopranos.
I pulled into the fairgrounds parking lot, noting that only one other car occupied the lot. George apparently wasn’t kidding when he said I was in charge of setup. Across the lot, two large buildings squatted like sumo wrestlers waiting to battle. Off to the side, a third, smaller building sat alone.
I parked in the space closest to the buildings and turned off the air conditioning; the car instantly heated up. I got out, grateful for the tiny breeze that ruffled my hair.
Ashlee followed me to the first building, past a row of vending machines, and I tried the door. Locked. I jiggled the metal bar to be sure, then walked past the row of liquid amber trees and pushed the bar on the door to the second building.
The door swung open, revealing one large room with high windows. Huge lamps hung from the ceiling, casting circles of light on the hardwood floors. When the fair was in town, jars of jams, jellies, and pickled asparagus shared space with quilts and 4-H projects. Now, the room was bare, a blank canvas to be filled by chirping crickets, their owners, and their fans.
I spotted the rack of folding tables in the far corner. My shoes squeaked on the floor as I walked. Ashlee clacked behind me. With the size of the tables, I was glad she’d decided to tag along.
“You grab this end and I’ll hold the other, then we’ll walk it back over by the door.”
Ashlee glanced at her hands. “I got a manicure yesterday.”
“No nails will be harmed in the making of this cricket event,” I cracked. “But if you break one, I’ll spring for another manicure.”
She pointed a polished nail at me. “I’ll hold you to that, Miss Funnypants.”
Together, we heaved the table off the rack and carried it across the room. We each popped a leg out and tilted the table up and level.
The main door opened, a shaft of sunlight forming a rectangle on the floor. George Sturgeon walked in. Today, he’d skipped the retro suit in favor of Dockers, a polo shirt, and boat shoes.
He clapped his hands twice. “All right, ladies. Let’s get these tables up. The contest starts soon.”
“George, this is my sister, Ashlee.”
> “No time for introductions. These tables won’t stand up by themselves.”
If I had to work at this ex-army sergeant’s tire store, I’d go AWOL.
He joined us at the rack and dragged the next table down. I held the top vertical while he unfolded the legs. Ashlee stood to one side.
“How about you set up the chairs while we handle the tables?” I asked her.
Ashlee eyed the metal folding chairs leaning against the wall. “By myself?”
“We need two per table, one at each end,” George said.
She moved to the rows of chairs and unfolded the first one, while I turned my attention back to the tables. George and I set up the remaining eight.
By that time, Ashlee had unfolded all the chairs, set them in the middle of the room, and now sat in a chair by the door.
She caught me watching her. “I couldn’t put the chairs in place until you finished the tables, so I decided to man the door. Or woman the door.” She laughed at her own joke. “Anyway, you’d better hurry. I see cars pulling in.”
I grabbed the chairs from the middle and stationed them by the tables, Ashlee peering out the door from her seated position.
With everything ready, I stepped back and surveyed the room. The tables and chairs lined the walls, leaving an enormous amount of floor space in the middle, presumably for all those cricket-chirping fans that would be mingling with the contestants. If no one showed up, this would be a sad, sad day for the Blossom Valley Rejuvenation Committee.
I could hear doors slam in the parking lot. While I’d been arranging chairs, Bethany had arrived and now stood by the propped-open door, a bouquet of daisies in her hands. As each person entered, she handed out a flower. Ashlee had moved her chair back to make room for Bethany and now typed on her iPhone.
“I’m getting a soda out front. You interested?” I asked her.
She stood without answering, gaze fixed on her gadget. She followed me toward the door. When I stopped to let two people enter, Ashlee bumped into me.
“Watch where you’re going!”
“Sorry.” She shuffled out the door ahead of me, eyes focused firmly on the screen. Maybe she’d run into a parked car.
We walked back to the first building to where the vending machine sat to one side of the door. The machine sucked the dollar bill from my hand and I hit the button for Pepsi. I waited for the clunk and scooped the can out of the trough.
Ashlee looked at me expectantly, eyebrows raised, so I dug out another dollar and repeated the process. We stood in the shade of the building and drank our sodas as several people parked their cars. Perhaps the contest would have a decent turnout after all.
Beside me, Ashlee released a hearty sigh. “So boring.”
“The contest hasn’t started yet.”
“But you know it’s going to suck wind. I can’t believe the junk you have to do for your job.”
I took a sip of soda to swallow my annoyance. “You’re one to talk. You shovel cat poop and help spay animals all day. Jobs aren’t exactly growing on trees, you know.”
“But you should have waited it out down in San Jose. Gotten a good job.”
I blew out a rush of air. “For your information, I did get offered a good job.”
Ashlee tilted her head in disbelief. “Yeah, right, that’s why we’re at a cricket-chirping contest.”
“I’m serious. It was a fantastic position with great benefits and good pay and smart people. Working there would have been almost as good as working at Google.”
Ashlee tapped one manicured nail on the side of her soda can, the taps increasing in speed as she spoke. “You’re making this up. Why on earth would you turn down something so awesome?”
I fiddled with my necklace chain. Good question. “I’d already promised Mom I’d move back home. The offer came three days before I was scheduled to leave.”
Ashlee still looked unconvinced, so I plowed ahead. Might as well tell her everything now that I’d gotten started. “Have you looked at Mom lately? I mean really looked at her? She’d aged so much when I came up to visit for her birthday in February.” I pictured her once ramrod-straight back hunched as we sang birthday wishes to her. “Part of that was my fault.”
Ashlee crossed her arms, a few drops of caramel-colored soda spraying out the can opening as her arm swung around. “I thought we settled this at lunch, Dana. She’s just taking Dad’s death a little hard.”
“I know, and I wasn’t here when she needed me most. Instead, I fled back to San Jose as soon as Dad’s funeral was over. I never once thought about Mom needing me here.”
“I’m here. I’ve been supporting her.”
I squeezed my soda can and heard the aluminum crinkle. “And I’m glad for that. But when I saw Mom on her birthday, I couldn’t believe how bad she looked. No way could I call her at the last minute and tell her I’d changed my mind about moving back.” I’d summed it up in a simple explanation, but the move had been so much more complex. Had I missed my one shot at guaranteed success in the Bay Area? Would I be stuck in Blossom Valley forever?
“So you came home. To take over like you always do, the big sister and all that,” Ashlee said, the resentment clear in her voice. She turned away from me and brushed imaginary lint off her black top.
I dropped the empty can into the recycling bin and ran my hands down my jeans, worried I’d hurt Ashlee’s feelings. “Hey, nothing against you. I just think Mom needs both of us here right now. A double support team, like I mentioned earlier.”
“I guess.” Ashlee turned back toward me, her lips still in a slight pout. “She has been pretty down.”
“Right. But she seems to be getting better. She’s even started wearing lipstick again.”
“Yeah, I saw that. Of course, that shade she always wears doesn’t match her skin tone at all. Too much orange undertone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, it’s progress. Now we need to focus on getting her out more.”
Ashlee checked her iPhone, then glanced at me. “She goes to the grocery store all the time.”
“I mean social outings. Buying low-fat milk and flaxseed doesn’t count.” I glanced at the handful of people moving through the parking lot. “Maybe we should have asked her to the contest today. I didn’t even think of that.”
Ashlee smirked. “Please, it’s gonna be so lame. Mom’d never leave the house again if we made her suffer through this.”
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.” But if it was, Ashlee would be sure to tell me all about it. For the next twenty years.
Ashlee put her hand on her hip. “We’ve set up the tables like they asked. Let’s leave now.”
I considered Ashlee’s request. How exciting could a cricket-chirping contest possibly be? Didn’t those little insects all sound the same? And George had only requested that I set up the tables, not stay for the competition.
“All right, let’s go.”
“Thank God. I don’t even know why I asked to come along.”
As I turned toward the parking lot, movement near the other building caught my attention. George, his crew cut unmistakable, gestured for me to join him.
Drat.
I nodded toward him as I spoke to Ashlee. “Let me see what George needs first, then we’ll go.”
Ashlee grabbed my arm. “Pretend you don’t see him.”
Pointing with my free hand, I shifted away from her. “He’s looking right at me. Now let go of my arm.”
She dropped her hand, her lower lip already jutting out.
I ignored her and joined George near the entrance to the other building, Ashlee right behind me.
“Glad you’re still here,” he said. “We need you inside, in case people have questions.”
“I thought I was only in charge of setup.”
George scrubbed at his crew cut with the palm of one hand. “With me judging and Bethany at the door, we need someone inside. That’s you.”
I could feel Ashlee hovering by my shoul
der, willing me to say no. But as a stand-in for Esther, I had to help.
“No problem.” I could almost feel the gust of air riffle my hair as Ashlee let out a huge sigh.
“Great, follow me,” George said, leading the way through the door.
Back inside, a crowd of roughly ten people milled about the middle of the room, looking tiny in the open space. The folding tables each held one or two small cages, the owners standing to the side.
I walked around the outside of the room, trying to catch a glimpse of these gifted crickets, Ashlee still trailing behind me.
“Come on, baby,” one woman cooed to her cricket, lifting the cover on the cage to coax the insect. “Eat the tomato. You need to keep up your strength.”
I stopped next to a man slouched in his chair, his head resting on the metal back. He surveyed the room, never once looking at the cage next to him. His face sported a scraggly beard and his hair hung over the top of his collar, reminding me of Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean, though this guy was more like Johnny Depp’s slightly shady cousin.
“How’s it going?” I said. “I’m helping the committee that organized the contest. Think your cricket’s up to today’s challenge?”
The man’s gaze lingered on Ashlee before shifting to me. “You betcha.”
“Is this your first cricket-chirping contest?”
“Yeah, first one.”
With no one needing my help, I might as well see why people were here. “What made you enter the contest?”
The man scratched his chin, his fingertips disappearing in the clump of hair. “The five-hundred-dollar prize.”
“Five hundred dollars for a cricket?” Ashlee said. “How dumb.”
I whirled on my sister. “Ashlee, shush. Don’t be rude.” I turned back to the man. “Have you had your pet cricket long?”
“He’s not a pet. I caught him in my backyard last night. Used the little cage I had a frog in once. I’d never have a stupid bug for a pet.”
At the next table, a woman with a pageboy haircut and wearing a red corduroy jumper over a beige turtleneck with sheep on it glared. “Some people,” she mumbled under her breath.
Going Organic Can Kill You (Blossom Valley Mysteries) Page 16
