Food Fair Frenzy
Page 3
“So why would she say he died of a heart attack,” I asked.
“Beats me,” Mac said. “That’s the question of the day.”
“And then you checked him, and it didn’t seem like he suffered a heart attack?”
“Right.”
“Where is Mrs. Wagner now?” I heard Bay voice my next question.
Ain’t that cute how we think alike? I thought and smiled.
“She’s the Mistress of Ceremony,” Sheriff Haynes answered Bay’s question. He jerked a thumb toward the outside of the tent. He seemed perturbed with her. “Once we got here, she mumbled something about the show must go on and took off.”
The Mistress of Ceremony? I thought. Not the woman at the mike I saw when I walked in. No way had that woman’s husband just died.
I backpedaled out of the tent to take another look at the newly widowed Mrs. Jack Wagner. Sure enough she was doing her duty as the MC, carrying on like nothing had happened.
“And the blue ribbon,” she was saying, smiling as she spoke into the microphone, “for the 105th Freemont County Possum Pickin’ Competition for the best sweet fare in all of South Georgia . . .”
I can’t believe how composed she is . . . I thought shaking my head.
“And I’m sure this will come as no surprise to anyone . . .” Calm and collected, Mistress of Ceremony Wagner, raised her hand to quiet the crowd that had erupted in applause. “The winner, for her always delicious, ever scrumptious, cherry delight pie to die for, is Martha Simmons!” MC Wagner leaned in closer to the mike. “We all lovingly know her as Aunt Martha.” Mrs. Wagner started clapping and the audience followed suit.
I turned to look at Aunt Martha. Her mouth opened in amazement, she slowly rose from her seat. Standing, she clutched her chest, adulation and surprise smeared across her face.
Oh my goodness!
Chapter Five
I had had enough of the fair and dead people, and was ready to go home. It may not have been a nice thing to say, but it made me happy when the coroner arrived to pick up the body. I knew Miss Vivee wouldn’t have left until the very last second of the initial investigation was over, and I wasn’t going to leave without her.
I had ridden to the fair with Hazel Cobb, Renmar’s best friend, and Bay’s cousin on his father’s side. Bay and I had planned to go to dinner in Augusta after spending time at the County Fair, so I hadn’t needed my Jeep. Unfortunately, now date night had now turned into work night for Bay.
I walked back over to our picnic area and found Renmar, Brie, and Hazel packing up our things. Renmar still had to wait for the judging of her bouillabaisse, and Brie had agreed to wait with her. Luckily for me Hazel said she was ready to go.
Renmar’s entry in the savory category, her bouillabaisse, had won her the blue ribbon for the past seventeen years. No one spoke about it, but everyone this year was worried. For the past years’ entries, Renmar had used a fish that she and now dead Oliver Gibbons, her friend and town playboy, found on Stallings Island. Little did they know, as she had just explained to her mother, it was the only fish of its kind was thought to be extinct. Once it was rediscovered, there was no way she could get her hands on it, especially to put into a fish stew. She had to kiss that secret recipe goodbye.
“Where’s Mother,” Renmar asked. “I thought you went to see about her?”
“She’ll be here in a minute,” I said and threw my thumb over my shoulder, pointing behind me. “She’s walking with Bay. They stopped to get spaghetti-on-a-stick.”
“Didn’t they close the food stations down?” Hazel asked.
“Only the ones where people got sick,” I said. “The spaghetti sticks were deemed fit to eat.”
“Bay’s here?” Renmar asked.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. I had forgotten that she hadn’t seen him. “The Sheriff snagged him on his way in.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?” Brie asked.
“I’m not eating anything from here,” I said. “Even if they did give it the okay. And I thought you guys might need some help packing up.”
“No, we’re good,” Brie offered. “Just waiting for the savory judging to start.”
“Spaghetti on a stick?” Renmar said and scrunched up her nose. “How in the world did they do that?”
“I dunno,” I said and hunched my shoulders.
Miss Vivee came into the tent first, Bay right behind her, both were empty handed.
“What happened?” Brie asked. “Thought you were getting food.”
“Darn thing fell on the ground as soon as Bay bought it for me,” Miss Vivee said. “Just as I leaned it to bite it – Plop! Off it went.”
Renmar and Brie laughed. Cat raised her head, ears up, tongue out, probably in reaction to the missed opportunity for food.
“Nothing funny about that,” Miss Vivee said. “That thing cost six dollars.” She looked at Bay. “Hope you don’t think I’m going to pay you back. I barely got my face close enough to smell it.”
“No, Grandmother.” He chuckled. “I don’t expect you to pay me back.” He helped her sit in her quad chair.
“There’s my baby!” Renmar said, grinning at the sight of Bay. She went over and hugged him, stretching to get her arms around his six-foot frame.
“Baby? Could a baby do this?” He leaned down and hugged back, lifting her off her feet. She giggled and smacked his arm. Putting her back down on her feet, he walked over and gave Brie a kiss, too.
“Now, tell me what all the hullabaloo going on out there is?” Renmar said pointing over to the fairgrounds. “Did somebody really die?”
“It was Jackson Wagner,” he said.
“Not the Jack Wagner,” Renmar said and then lowered her voice. “Oh my. He was supposed to judge my bouillabaisse.”
“You knew him, Renmar?” I asked.
“I knew of him. He’s old Georgia money.”
“Well now he’s a possible new homicide victim,” Bay said. “Outside city limits, so my jurisdiction.”
“Oh, good Lord, no!” Renmar said, in her best southern drawl. “You and Logan were supposed to go out.”
“Duty calls,” he said.
“How long will you have to stay?” Hazel asked. I guess someone had filled her in.
“I don’t know,” Bay said. “I have to interview witnesses. Forensic team already came through. So probably not too long.”
“I don’t know how they thought they could put spaghetti noodles on a stick anyway,” Miss Vivee was still complaining.
“Don’t worry, Momma,” Brie said. “We’ve got some more of your egg salad sandwiches. I just saw a couple in the cooler . . .” She lifted the top off and searched for Miss Vivee’s Siran wrapped favorite.
“Logan,” Bay said. “Come walk with me.” He reached out his hand.
I grabbed it and followed him out of the tent. We walked a few dozen feet away before he spoke.
“So . . .” he started, taking in a deep breath.
“You don’t even have to say it,” I said and smiled up at him. I rubbed my hand over the waves in his black hair. “And it’s okay.”
“Are you still going to be this understanding when we’re married?”
“Married?” I shook my head. “I don’t know how you got a job as an FBI agent. You just have no clue. I’m not marrying you.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?” he asked, bringing my hand to his mouth and kissing it gently.
“For one,” I said. “You haven’t asked me.”
“Will you marry me?” he asked before I could finish my list.
“And, because,” I said talking over him. “I just can’t picture sharing my life with a man that can’t eat spaghetti from a stick. That quality is at the top of my “Who-I’d-Marry-List.”
“Well, technically, it was my grandmother who couldn’t do it.”
“Excuses, excuses,” I said.
“So you don’t want this two carat, emerald cut, flawless diamond I
have?” He patted his pants pocket.
“You do not have -” I said, feeling my heart start to race. I smiled so wide, my face hurt. “Do you?” I reached to feel his pocket.
He caught my hand and stepped back. “You want it, don’t you?”
“What?” I didn’t know what to say. Did he really just propose? “Do I want what?” My voice cracked.
“The ring. Marriage. Me. You want it all, don’t you?”
“Do you have a two carat ring in your pocket?”
“No.”
I snatched my hand out of his and punched him. He threw his head back and laughed.
“Not funny,” I said.
“It’s only one and a half carat,” he said taking my hand again. “That’s all I could afford.”
“Oooo. I hate you,” I said. I jerked away and took off walking – briskly – back to the picnic area.
“Wait, Logan!” he said coming after me, still laughing.
“Yoohoo!” I heard Miss Vivee yell. She had emerged from behind the wall of the canopy. “Yoohoo! Bay!”
Bay caught up to me. “You’re not really mad are you?” he said, still not able to suppress whatever had struck his funny bone.
“No,” I said.
“‘Cause remember,” he held up a finger, “you started it.”
“Bay!” Miss Vivee’s shrill voice floated over to us.
“Go and see what your grandmother wants,” I said. “And I’ll deal with you later.”
“Don’t dish out anything you can’t take, Missy,” he warned, touching his finger to the tip of my nose.
“You’d be surprised how much I can take!” I said to him as he turned and trotted over to see what Miss Vivee needed. Half way over he turned around, running backwards, he blew me kisses.
Who could be mad at him? Just looking at that man does something to me. I smiled.
Before I could get back, Bay and Miss Vivee had disappeared into the tent, and now were coming back out. Bay was carrying a yellow vinyl cooler, and Miss Vivee’s quad chair on one arm, and had her on his other arm. Cat followed behind, her tail wagging.
“C’mon,” Miss Vivee said to me as we met. “We’re leaving.”
I looked at Bay. “I gotta get back to work,” he said. “Murder is priority one.” Miss Vivee held out her hand so I could hold it. “You two are going to ride back home with Cousin Hazel.”
“Don’t forget about Mac,” Miss Vivee said.
“I won’t.” Bay reassured her. “I’ll go and get him once I get you two in the car.”
“I don’t know where he got off to,” I said. “I thought he was right behind me when I left the judges’ tent.”
“Probably found some young hot thing that’s got his nose.” Miss Vivee nodded her head as if it were some common occurrence.
“Grandmother!” Bay said.
“What? It’s probably true.”
“I think he only has eyes for you,” Bay said.
“I think so, too,” I said. I looked at Miss Vivee. “No. I know so.”
“Well, it wouldn’t matter one bit to me if he had,” Miss Vivee said but then looked over her shoulder, conducting a quick scan of the fairgrounds.
“You know what?” I said and let go of Miss Vivee’s hand. “You put your grandmother in the car, and I’ll go find Mac.” Bay nodded. “Be right back.”
I found Mac – talking to a pretty, young woman. I almost scolded him until he introduced her as one of his old patients. He had delivered her and her six siblings he relayed. He excused himself, and we got to the car just as Bay was putting the last of Hazel Cobb’s things in the trunk. Mac and I climbed in the back seat, Miss Vivee was in the front, and we waited while Hazel hugged Bay for what seemed like an eternity, as if she wouldn’t ever see him again.
I sat in the back and looked out the window at them. I thought about Bay, and wondered if he really did have a ring. And was he really asking me to marry him. To spend the rest of my life with him.
Would that be such a bad thing?
But then I thought about Camren Wagner. She didn’t seem to give two hoots, as Miss Vivee would say, about her husband’s death. Murder or not, she was more concerned with passing out colored ribbons. Can a person be married so long that the death of their spouse doesn’t bother them? Or was that just her way of covering up her pain?
Miss Vivee and Mac had loved each other a long time, but I didn’t know what to make of their relationship. Mac asked her to marry him every chance he got. Miss Vivee always turned him down.
Is that what I had to look forward to in a long-term relationship? Kookiness? Then I thought about my parents. They had been married forever. My mother, a pretty famous archaeologist gave my father so much grief with her antics. But he stuck by her and they were happy. Yep, dealing with kookiness seemed to be a fixture in long-term relationship.
But is that what I want for my life?
I had never thought about settling down and getting hitched, heck, before coming to Yasamee, I never thought about having a boyfriend. I worried about getting good grades, my doctorate in Anthropology and History, and making a name in my field. My goal, and I had convinced myself it wasn’t an arrogant thing to want, was to surpass my mother in name recognition in the field of archaeology. But, my father, Andrew Mase Dickerson, “Mase” for short who worried about me being “normal,” finding a man, getting married and having children, kept the hope of those things for me alive.
Bay was more than any girl could hope to have, and I knew my father would approve. He was kind, considerate, funny, and he loved me unconditionally. Just like my father loved my mother. Something I knew was hard for anyone to do.
I was the youngest of my three siblings, and I acted the part most of the time - spoiled, whiny, and disagreeable. Even though most times I didn’t want my mother getting into the details of my personal life, and we didn’t see eye-to-eye on anything, it was her I called whenever the least little thing went wrong. I depended on her more than I cared to admit.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you did back there,” Miss Vivee said, interrupting my thoughts. Hazel had finally gotten into the car and we’d left the fairgrounds.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Telling me I was tired and needed rest in front of all those people. I’m not feeble.”
“No one would ever think that about you,” Hazel Cobb answered for me.
“It’s not that I care. Leastways, not what they think of me,” Miss Vivee said. “People will think what they want.”
“Why didn’t you want to look at the note?” Hazel Cobb glanced over at Miss Vivee. “Wasn’t it sent to you.”
“I’m not sure if it was meant for me intentionally. But that’s exactly why I wouldn’t look at it,” Miss Vivee said. “Whoever did this is trying to control the situation. What? Do they think they’re the Son of Sam – David Berkowitz? Taunting people, sending out clues?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t going to let a cowardly murderer goad me into doing their bidding.”
“How do you mean?” Hazel asked.
“They want to hurt people. Make a game out of it. And they want us – me – to play along.” She shook her head. “I don’t want no part of that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So you were just going to let people keep getting sick?”
“It’s not like I had anything to do with it,” she said matter-of-factly. “And it’s not like I could have stopped it. The deed had been done already. And don’t think just by me reading the note, the person was going to get caught.”
“But you’ve read it now?” I asked.
“Yeah.” I could hear her opening up the clasp on her purse. “Take a look at it,” she said and tried to hand it back to me. She couldn’t quite put her hand back far enough, so I scooted up on my seat and reached up front.
“This is a copy?” I said. It was in a clear plastic covering, which I didn’t understand. It wouldn’t have had a suspect’s fingerprints on it.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Vivee,” Mac said. “That woman is still insisting that her husband had a heart attack. So no one is sure if one of those flowers did him in or not.”
“The Sheriff’s words not mine,” Miss Vivee said.
I looked down at the note. My lips moving as I read it silently.
Fair flowers of the field – mystery and wonder they provide,
But hidden within, the truth they belie.
Listen closely, and one can hear,
The trickery and deception that draws one near.
They mock you with their beauty, so innocent, so sweet,
But their power – no one can defeat.
So harken, and I will tell you true,
For this will be your only clue:
Nightshade and Iris’ purple majesty, truly a sight to behold,
Moleplant, and Yellow Jessamine, one milky, the other gold.
Diminutive petals hold Goldenseal’s power,
And striking is the Angel’s Trumpet flower.
Delphinium and Aconitum, tall their blossoms proudly stand.
But the Lily of the Valley, that one’s the most grande.
Its bells, so lovely, sure to please,
It is the fairest one you’ll ever see.
The flowers of the field will take away your breath.
Surely in them beauty abounds, but then, so does death.
“What does it mean, Miss Vivee?” I passed it to Mac so he could take a look at it.
“What?”
“The poem.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Is this what made everyone sick?” I leaned forward between the seats. “Is it what killed Jack Wagner? The flowers?”
“I don’t know that either,” she said.
“You didn’t get anything out of it?”
“All I know is whoever wrote it can’t spell.”