Candy-Coated Secrets (20 page)

“Nope. And now that you know the identity of your friend, I doubt you’ll see any more of that gorilla slash Bigfoot.”

“Uncle Roy will be disappointed.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

I arrived at the fairgrounds Saturday morning with every intention of watching the hustle and bustle associated with the teardown and removal of the rides and portable buildings. Instead, carnies stood huddled around Ruby, Mabel, and Aunt Eunice. The only member of the committee missing was my neighbor, Mrs. Hodge. Since her son Richard had been shot by Joe while the man had been trying to kill me, Mrs. Hodge stayed pretty much to herself. The ordeal of her son trying to involve her in his scheme of stealing diamonds had almost been more than she could bear. Eddy Foreman paced between the two divisive groups, waving his arms over his head.

I squeezed through the packed bodies. “Aunt Eunice, what’s going on?”

“Seems the carnival can’t pay for the use of the land. The committee,” she pointed at Ruby and Mabel, “is holding their property as payment. Buildings, rides, animals, etc.”

“Where’s the senior Foreman?” Most of the buildings were a permanent fixture from fairs over the years, so that part didn’t bother me. Having to house wild animals did.

“Seems to have disappeared.” Aunt Eunice crossed her arms across her ample bosom and tilted her head closer to mine. “Ruby and Mabel confronted him yesterday, he went to his safe to pay them, discovered it empty, and nearly had a heart attack. No one has seen him since.”

“This case gets more curious by the minute.”

Shouts rose in the air as the carnies realized there most likely wouldn’t be money for their salaries. Big Sally approached us, leaning on a cane and breathing as if she’d run a mile. The crowd parted like they let royalty pass.

Woodrow toted a wooden bench that he placed in front of the mob. Sally sat, her bulk drooping over the edge. She held up a hand to quiet everyone.

“Everyone calm down. Let Eddy have time to sort this all out.” She smiled at me. “I’m sure Summer won’t kick us out on our rears. She’ll let us stay until this matter is resolved.”

Well, sure I would. We didn’t use the land for anything but the annual fair, but it would’ve been nice to be consulted. I nodded at the questioning glances from the carnies.

“What about the electricity you’ve been using?” Mabel wanted to know.

“And the water.” Ruby’s head bobbed like the tiny sparrow she resembled. More so beside the plump Mabel and massive Sally. “Who’s going to pay for these things?”

“We’ve got the earnings from last night.” Eddy pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his blue polyester pants and wiped his brow. “It ought to cover the utilities, but that’s about it. Rather than worry about the money, someone ought to call the police to find out what happened to my father. This fair is his baby. He wouldn’t have left voluntarily. And Grizzly Bob is gone, too.”

“He feeds the animals,” someone yelled. “I ain’t touching that elephant.”

“It’s like the rapture of the carnies,” Aunt Eunice whispered. “The way they keep disappearing.”

“Shhh.” I retrieved my cell phone from my pocket and punched in Joe’s number. When he answered and I explained why I was calling, his sigh vibrated through the air waves. “Please hurry, Joe. The mob is getting restless, and Aunt Eunice is volunteering me to take care of that elephant.”

“I don’t even want to know why. I’ll find out when I get there.” Click.

“Ginger trampled Harvey,” I pointed out to the others. “I don’t feel qualified to take over her care.”

“Honey, she likes you.” Sally shifted her bulk. The bench creaked beneath her. “She didn’t care for Harvey, nor Grizzly Bob much, come to think of it. You’re the best choice.”

“You’re her trainer.”

“I can’t do what I once did.” A hard glint shone in Sally’s eyes, belying her smile. “We can’t let the poor thing perish from hunger and lack of exercise, can we?”

Whoever said a fair was fun was not at the top of my popular list. It’s been one headache after another. I couldn’t help but remember the warning regarding Ginger that Harvey had given me. Maybe Ethan would feed the beast. Then fear for my beloved flooded through me. The gray saggy-skinned giant did seem to hold a fondness for me. The elephant, not Ethan. “Where’s the bucket?”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” Sally waved a hand until a teenage boy sprinted to my side, a battered plastic pail, the kind you buy bulk food in at a club warehouse, in his fist. “Feed’s in that building over there. Water spigot is next to the paddock. She’s all yours.” Sally struggled to her feet. “I’ll sit close by and give you instructions if you need ’em.”

“What about the liability?” Mabel’s round face creased with worry. “Insurance?”

Sally waved her off. “We don’t worry about such things between friends.”

Friends, huh? We may have started out on friendly terms, but something about Sally was starting to bug me.
Watch over me, Lord, as I embark on another foolish errand
.

The bucket banged against my jean-clad legs as I marched toward the small shed that held Ginger’s feed. All I wanted was to make a difference in the world. Maybe save a few lives. Leave a legacy, other than making the finest chocolates this side of the Mississippi River. Something people would remember, and God willing, rid myself of the burden of guilt I felt over my parents’ death. Taking care of a temperamental elephant didn’t fit in with the plan.

Sighing, I pushed open the sagging wooden door. I recognized this building. Years ago, it had served as a pump house to a pioneering homestead of my great-grandfather’s. Remnants of the rock wall still took prominence in the eight-by ten-foot shack. What would he think now, seeing his once profitable cotton acreage as home to a group of carnies and misfit animals?

Dust shimmered in the rays of sunlight filtering through the cracks of the walls. I sneezed. A mouse darted across my feet, startling me. I choked back a scream and dropped the bucket. I giggled recalling Ethan’s aversion to mice.

After lifting the bucket, I dipped it in the barrel that contained some fragrant grains and couldn’t help but remember the bloody gardening glove I’d found in a bucket of birdseed during the summer.

I squinted against the noon sun as I emerged from the dim building with a much heavier bucket. Sally hadn’t told me how much to feed Ginger. As my arms strained with the load, I hoped one bucketful would be enough.

I approached Ginger’s paddock praying she was in a good mood today. The beast’s trunk went straight for the water.

“If you spray me with water from that trough, I’ll bang you upside the head with this bucket.” Ginger trumpeted her reply, and I set the bucket by my feet. Next to the paddock a pile of hay was heaped. Using a nearby pitchfork, I tossed a forkful on the ground next to the feed.

So far so good. Her manner seemed consistent with that of a docile Hereford.

Uncle Roy roared onto the fairgrounds with a blare of his 1952 Chevy truck horn and a shout hello. The melodies of Dixieland burst from beneath his hood. A field mouse ran between my legs, and I screamed.

Pandemonium broke loose. Ginger tossed her head, blasted her own horn, and crashed through the wood railings of her paddock, knocking me to the ground. Guess she wasn’t much for Southern anthems.

My side collided with the wood, and I lay in the dirt, hay, and trampled grasses and struggled to breathe. This was it. For the second time I thought I’d die trampled beneath the feet of a monstrous beast. I rolled under the lowest rail, out of Ginger’s way.

Ethan lunged from the passenger side of the truck and shoved his way through the throng of hysterical people. I watched him come, like the moving reel of a slow motion picture.

Ginger knocked Sally backward and she shrieked.

Uncle Roy, exiting the truck, slid back in and slammed the door. Aunt Eunice waddle-darted—I’d never seen her move so fast—to the arts and crafts building. Mabel and Ruby froze, looking oddly like female versions of Laurel and Hardy. Eddy Foreman darted here and there, shouting orders and waving his arms. The rest scattered like a flock of chickens chased by a fox intent on carnage.

My ribs ached from the knock against the fence. With one arm hooked over a rail, I pulled myself to my feet. Ginger obviously had no intentions of harming me. Her goal seemed to be the green Chevy. I pointed. “Ethan, help Uncle Roy.”

Ethan stopped his dash toward me and spun. In horrific Kodak color, Ginger charged the truck, ripping off the door Ethan had left open. Uncle Roy’s eyes gleamed white, seeming as large as dinner plates, when Ginger turned for another charge. Ethan grabbed the pitchfork from where I’d tossed it and sprinted toward the enraged animal.

Lowering her head, Ginger butted the Chevy, knocking it to its side. Screams rang through the air, followed by shouts as carnies grabbed any weapon they could find and joined Ethan’s rush toward the elephant. The Chevy flipped again, now resting upside down.

Joe’s squad car pulled into the melee, lights flashing, siren wailing. Ginger trumpeted and thundered through the throng of approaching peasants armed with farm tools and sticks. With tosses of her head, she threw the men like a child’s toy soldiers.

Joe emerged from his car, gun drawn. He pointed his weapon into the air and fired several rounds to no avail. He moved to the backseat and withdrew a shotgun. “Get back!” He aimed and fired.

Ginger changed direction. Her hooves shook the ground as she charged my cousin.

Harvey, bless his soul, hobbled past me with a huge tranquilizer gun. “That peashooter won’t penetrate her hide.”

Holding an arm firm against my side, I stood beside him. “So, you’ll put her to sleep?”

“Oh, yeah. Unfortunately, it won’t be permanent. Grizzly Bob keeps this gun for such a time as this.”

The boom had me covering my ears. The dart hit. Ginger faltered and staggered. The next shot felled her with a mighty cloud of dust rising around her still body. She lifted her head and gave a feeble bleat. Harvey had taken her down just feet from Joe.

I rushed as fast as damaged ribs would allow toward my fallen friend. Despite the near miss of Joe and Uncle Roy, I—Uncle Roy! I changed direction.

Ethan knelt beside the truck and I limped to his side. “Get an ambulance!” Ethan shoved his cell phone in my hand. “That elephant caused a lot of damage. They might want to send two.”

“Roy, Roy, Roy,” Aunt Eunice chanted with each pant as she rushed toward her husband. “Tell me he ain’t dead!”

Ethan stopped her. “He’s alive. Just hurt, and the truck is smashed bad enough I can’t get him out.”

She fell to her knees. “Roy, honey. Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you. Ethan told you I wasn’t dead.”

“You’re bleeding.” Tears coursed down my aunt’s face.

I bent for a closer look. Uncle Roy must have grabbed his hunting knife from the glove compartment before being rolled. It stuck out from his chest in the middle of a spreading stain of scarlet.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The hospital waiting room felt like a sardine can, stuffy and cloying with the perfume of elderly ladies. Beneath the scents hung the unmistakable odor of antiseptic. Gray walls, maroon vinyl furniture, and a desperateness signifying the need to flee from the room hovered over my concern for Uncle Roy.

Ethan, uncharacteristically gruff with several well-wishers, found me and Aunt Eunice a seat. I’d never been prouder of my protective man. Once he’d made us as comfortable as possible, he dashed down the hall after the doctor.

Aunt Eunice and I had been praying for a lifetime, it seemed, and while my spirit felt at peace, my body quivered with nerves. My hands shook and tears slid so regularly down my cheeks, I felt they forged a raw canyon. My makeup was long gone.

Ruby and Mabel perched on a shiny vinyl sofa like a sparrow and a plump dove. They’d been acting like bitter rivals since both courting the same widower. Yet here the two sat, praying against the enemy with my aunt and for my uncle. Uncle Roy said, despite their outward antagonism, the two were the best of friends.

Harvey, the mighty elephant killer and saver of the day, slumped in a chair, his casted foot propped on a stool. Eddy Foreman, the only other carny in attendance, paced. Probably worried about liability, the little weasel. The gold chains around his neck caught the reflection of the fluorescent lights.

If Uncle Roy should die, my guilt would be complete. The thought lodged the ever-present lump more firmly in my throat. I vowed to walk away from the case of the carnies and never look back. My obsession with nosiness was affecting those around me.

April rushed into the room, glanced in Joe’s direction, then knelt before me. “How you holding up?”

I shrugged.

“I brought you a coffee.” She handed me my favorite: a venti mocha frappuccino with whipped cream.

“Thanks.” The drink froze my trembling hands and when I sipped it, icy heavenliness soothed my parched throat. Then I was able to speak. “Uncle Roy stabbed himself, April.”