Fat Cat Spreads Out (6 page)

“I'm so sorry,” Chase said, feeling her words were inadequate. “Do you have a place to stay?”

Inger shook her head, which was still bowed. Chase moved to the couch and put an arm around her. Inger burst into tears and Chase held her while she sobbed for a good ten minutes. Chase couldn't help but shed a few tears with her.

When Inger seemed to be done, Chase got tissues for both of them.

“Now,” Chase said. “What are we going to do?”

When Inger shrugged, Chase continued, casting about in her own mind for what to do next. “Have you talked to the baby's father? Is he going to be any help?”

“Zack was in the army.” Her face crumpled and she sobbed once more. “We were going to get married. We weren't careful enough.” She patted her stomach, though it hadn't started to bulge yet. “He didn't think he would get sent overseas again, but he did. And he didn't . . . he didn't come back.”

Poor Inger was truly alone.

After another brief crying jag, Chase called Anna.

C
hase wouldn't have believed it possible, but the fair was more crowded on Sunday than it had been on Saturday. Their neighbor had finally shown up. So far, the man she assumed was Harper had plopped boxes on his table and was stringing up his banner. It was cute, with “Harper's Toys” spelled out in primary-colored capital letters. Some of the letters were in the shape of toys. The
A
looked like a teepee playhouse, both
S
s were jump ropes, and the
O
was a striped beach ball.

She went over to say hello. The man, older and gray-haired with rather ugly black tattoos on his stringy forearms, balanced on the table and struggled to fasten the string to his banner in the upper corner of his booth. She didn't want
to distract him and make him lose his balance, so she waited until he spied her before she said anything.

He finally got the banner up, using a copious amount of soft swearing, and climbed off the table.

He saw Chase. “Hey, what do you want?” His voice was gruff.

That was rather ungracious, she thought. How was he going to sell toys if he frightened small children?

“I want to say hi. I'm Chase and I'm in the booth next door. I'm looking forward to seeing your toys. Are they handmade?”

“Yeah, they're handmade. You'll see 'em when I get set up.” He turned his back on her and started ripping his boxes open with a pocketknife. She walked away without seeing any of the toys. Why was he so unfriendly? The travel agents, their other neighbors, seemed nice anyway.

She whispered to Anna about Harper. “Our neighbor is a crabby old toymaker. Don't bother trying to talk to him.”

“Maybe,” Anna whispered back, “he's harried, being a day late to the fair. His mood might improve.”

Chase doubted it. After she zipped over to drop Quincy at the vet's office, she hurried back to help Anna get their booth ready to open. The onslaught of dessert bar buyers was truly phenomenal. Sales rivaled those of their two busiest times at the Bar None, which were freshman move-in week at the U and the holiday rush from mid-November until Christmas Eve.

Luckily, they were prepared, with piles of boxed treats and tray after tray of individual bars.

Anna had thought to bring several packages of wet
wipes for the sticky fingers of customers who scarfed down their sweets right there at the booth. She and Chase had noticed many of them doing that on Saturday. The eager customers couldn't wait to pop the Strawberry Cheesecake Bars, Lemon Bars, Cherry Chiffon Bars, and pineapple-coconut Hula Bars into their mouths.

Anna took a break midmorning to run home and check on Inger.

After Chase called the night before, Anna offered to let Inger stay at her place. She had more room—an actual guest room, in fact. Since it was Sunday, the shop was supposed to be open, following the normally scheduled Bar None business days of Wednesday through Sunday. However, they had decided to close up today, under the circumstances.

When Anna got back, Chase asked how Inger was doing.

“She was having morning sickness when I left earlier, but now she says she's feeling better. She was watching television. I believe she knows that she has to make some decisions about her future and the baby's soon. She had me drop her off at the shop.”

“She went in to work?”

“Said she wanted to help out with the baking.”

“The poor kid. I wonder if her parents will come around.”

“I hope so.”

Julie and Jay showed up just before lunchtime to help in the booth. Naturally, as soon as they arrived, there was a lull. So instead, they wandered off together to see the sights.

By noon, both women were starving.

“Charity,” Anna confided, leaning her head next to Chase's while ringing up a large sale, “I'm going to drop if I don't get something to eat.”

Chase grinned. “We can't have that. I'll run over to the food trailers and get something. Do you know what you want?”

“Surprise me. Anything but funnel cakes. I don't want extra powdered sugar all over our floor.”

“Does Inger have lunch?”

“She said she just wanted crackers, but I left some chicken soup for her to heat up.”

Chase hurried out of the booth and down the midway. The beautiful, unseasonably warm weather was holding.

She had worn a knit jersey top, rust-colored and lighter than the sweater she wore yesterday. She brought along her suede jacket, which had served her well the night before. In the back of the booth, Chase had spied a heavy cotton dashiki in bright kente cloth that Anna had stashed for herself for later.

For now, the sun bounced off the tarps of the vendors' booths, glinting off the white paint of the closed door to the butter sculpture building. The faintly dusty smell of the sawdust rose from her feet. Fallen autumn leaves had mingled with the sawdust. In places, she could even pick out brilliant reds from the maple behind their own booth.

The armed police guards were still around. Chase was reminded to be aware of her surroundings and keep her guard up.

She slowed a bit when she heard sobbing between the
butter building and the one next to it, that of a hawker of handmade silver jewelry.

The large sculptor, Karl Minsky, stormed out from between the buildings and strode away without noticing Chase. He was followed by his daughter, Mara.

Mara dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and almost stumbled into Chase.

“Is something wrong? Can I help you?” Chase asked.

“Yes. And no. I don't think you can help us.”

Chase took Mara's arm gently and guided her toward a seat near the food trucks. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Maybe a soda,” she said between sniffs.

The nearest line for sodas was short, so Chase wasn't gone long. When she got back, Mara seemed more composed. “Do you want to tell me about it? It might help to talk.”

“I'm so frightened.” Mara sipped her drink. “Daddy had a big argument with that man, right outside the main exhibition room.”

“What man?” Chase asked, although she was pretty sure she knew.

“The one that's dead. I'll bet a lot of people heard them arguing. And now he's been killed.”

“Just because they had words doesn't mean your father killed him.” She felt a need to comfort the poor girl.

“He was so mad.” Mara whimpered. She gave a couple of gulping sobs.

Chase wondered if the girl thought her father had
killed Oake. The next time she saw Detective Olson, she would check and see if he knew about Minsky's threat.

“I'm so sorry to bother you with this. Please forgive me.”

Given his intensity when she'd met him earlier, Chase could easily picture Karl enraged. It was very possible he was the killer. But she soothed Mara as best she could and hurried on to complete her errand as Mara wandered off, nursing her drink.

Anna probably wondered what was taking so long. Chase picked the shortest line, fried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, quickly grabbed two, and scurried back toward the Bar None booth.

When she was almost there, she could have sworn she saw Mike duck through the hangings into the fortune-teller's booth.

Julie and Jay strolled by.

“Do you need us yet?” Julie asked.

“Check in with Anna. I'm on my way there in a sec,” Chase said, dawdling.

They continued on toward the Bar None booth, stopping to browse at the travel agency.

Mike's mission in the fortune-teller's booth was short because he came out as Chase passed by.

“Love you,” Madame Divine called as he left.

Love you!
Who was this woman?

“Having your fortune read?” Chase asked with a bright, stiff smile. She really wanted to ask him what he was doing there. “Does Madame Divine think you'll be off the hook soon for the murder?”

“I wish she could know that,” he said, and walked past
her toward his office, trailing the scent of lavender. He hadn't returned her smile.

There was one more delay getting the fried sandwiches back to Anna. Julie and Jay and two women stood talking outside the travel agent's booth, which was next to the Bar None. As she neared, she realized the two women were the travel agents.

“Have you heard?” Julie asked Chase. “About the missing diamond cat collar?”

“It's the prize for the contest. The Picky Puss Cat Food Company donated it. It was displayed along with all the other cat items,” Jay added.

“It was the most valuable thing there,” the tall blonde said.

“I wonder what they'll do now,” the redhead said.

“About what?” Chase asked.

“The collar!” The redhead threw her arms out. “It's the whole point. Why have the contest?”

“They have to have it,” Jay said.

“We'll be there in a few minutes,” Julie called as Chase left them to their speculations and proceeded to the Bar None, recalling that Patrice, aka Madame Divine, had been protesting behind her tent about having borrowed something from an exhibit and having lost it. If Chase recalled the words correctly, she'd been addressing her grandfather and she'd mentioned the Fancy Cat Contest. Had she taken the diamond cat collar? And lost it?

What was Mike's involvement with her anyway? There must be more than a pet connection. She vowed to find out. And to try not to be overly jealous when she did find out.

The toymaker had gotten his booth set up, finally, and
was in full swing. Chattering children crowded into his booth, begging their parents to get them a carved wooden truck or a hand-sewn doll. Chase was heartened that the children took pleasure in the simple, non-battery-operated toys. If and when she had children, she would like for them to play with toys like that. Harper remained surly, even with his customers, but they bought the toys anyway.

Midafternoon, a scruffy-looking man walked past the Bar None to Harper's booth. He wore filthy, baggy jeans and a zippered jacket that was stained with what looked like automobile grease. Chase was curious because he didn't look like the typical toy buyer, or even the average fairgoer. Julie, standing at the edge of the booth, wrinkled her nose at his stench. Chase sidled up next to Julie and watched.

The scruffy man waited for the crowd in the toy booth to thin out, then approached Harper.

“Hardin, I heard you were here,” he said.

Hardin? Julie and Chase exchanged a look.

“Keep your voice down,” Harper whispered. “Get over here if you want to talk.”

The man went around to the other side of the display table. Julie and Chase could no longer hear them. Hardin? Harper? Was the man hiding and using a false name?

“What's going on with that guy?” Julie asked.

Chase gave a helpless shrug.

The scruffy man left soon after, and children once more flocked to Harper's.

Whatever the toymaker's name was, he was good for the Bar None because the children, stopping for the toys,
were also attracted to the pretty stripes and good smells next door. Or maybe it was the parents who were drawn in. However it worked, families usually stopped at both booths. Anna, Chase, Jay, and Julie, relieving each other periodically, toiled hard all day long.

That evening as Chase dragged herself, exhausted, to Mike's office to pick up Quincy, she reviewed what she would say to him on her way.

How exactly do you know Patrice?
No, too direct.
Have you known Patrice long?
That might do.
Have you heard about the missing diamond collar?
That would be good.
Is it the same one that Patrice filched from the exhibit and lost?
Maybe not.

When she got there, the door between the reception area and the examining room was wide-open. Patrice and an older man were talking with Mike inside. Betsy was again gone. Mike was certainly giving her nice hours.

“Hi, Chase,” Dr. Ramos said as soon as he saw her. “I'll go get Quincy.”

That seemed rude to Chase. “Who are your friends?” She entered the room and said to Patrice, “I know you, of course. I'll be by for my fortune before the fair is over.”

Patrice seemed happy about that.

Then Chase turned to the older gentleman. He had a dignified air about him. His wispy gray hair didn't take away from his ramrod posture. Although he was beanpole thin, his casual clothing—a pair of khakis, a long-sleeved pullover sweater, and polished loafers—fit well.

“This is Vik, my grandfather,” Patrice said.

“Viktor Youngren.” The man held a careworn hand out to Chase. “I'm so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mike finished containing Quincy and handed the crate to Chase. “Meet more of my Youngren relatives.”

“You're related? To Patrice?”

This man was obviously not a Ramos relative. Mike had a Swedish mother, and Patrice must have a Swedish father.

“Yep, she's my cousin, the daughter of my aunt Betsy.”

Thank goodness she hadn't gotten a chance to ask some of her idiotic questions about Patrice and Mike's possible romance. The three acted like they were going to stay and chat all night, so Chase said her good-byes and stepped into the tiny reception room, closing the door halfway. She waited, still inside the darkened room for a moment, fiddling with Quincy's carrier and peeking through the opening to see if any fireworks were going to erupt.

“Mikey, I'm so sorry this happened to you.” Patrice wasn't keeping her voice down. “It's all my fault you got caught in there.” She waved her hands when she talked. Patrice's rings glittered in the bright overhead lights.

Chase stared at the turquoise one on her left hand.

She had stolen Chase's ring when they'd shaken hands in her fortune-telling tent! Chase gaped at the brazen woman.

“At least I could say I was looking for the cat,” Mike said. “It gave me an excuse for being there. If not, I'd look even more guilty.”