State Fair (16 page)

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure that went over well.”

I nibbled at a thumbnail. “Yeah, it was stupid, I guess. But this isn’t Mississippi in the 1960s.”

“Still, we have our problems here.”

“How come you and I never talk about race?”

“Because we’ve known each other since second grade,” she said, leaning her head back in her high-backed gray leather chair. “Time trumps race. Bless Emory for taking Sophia for a walk. It feels so luxurious to not have to worry about her for a few hours. Am I a horrible
mama
for thinking that?” She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Call me crazy, but Cal was dating a girl who is half black, whose father is the county’s first black general manager of our county fair. His body was wrapped in a replica of a famous African American quilt. In my opinion someone is deliberately making this a racial issue. Or at least look like one.”

“It certainly does have those undertones. But you know how this town works. People will try to ignore that possibility because no one wants to cause any tension. We’re a college town. We like to pretend we’re open-minded.”

“What a world little Sophie Lou is inheriting,” I said, shaking my head.

She opened her eyes and sat forward. “Her name is
Sophia!
Please, go eat a fried Twinkie. This emotional stuff is getting tiresome.”

“Today is my healthy day. Only fried cheese and pickles.”

At the fair, I stopped by the museum’s booth before heading over to the arena. It was twelve thirty and there was still an hour until Cowboy Church.

At the Bears Quilt Shop booth next to the museum’s, all hands were on deck—Vivs, Russ, William and the store’s namesake, Bear himself. Right in the front of their booth was a large pickle jar filled with bills and coins. The colorful sign taped to the front read Harriet Powers’s Quilt Fund—Help the Ebony Sisters Make a New Quilt.

“You guys are the best,” I said, putting ten bucks in the jar.

“It’s not much,” William said. “But we want to help.”

“We heard the quilt was completely ruined,” Bear said. “What is wrong with this old world of ours? What a shame.”

“Pretty much. Not to mention it’ll be in the evidence locker, like, forever.”

“That’s why we figured we’d start this fund. We’d gladly donate the fabric, batting and backing,” said William, “but we wanted to make a statement of quilters’ solidarity.”

“I’m sure the Sisters will appreciate it.”

The museum’s booth was crowded and I was surprised to see only Maggie holding down the fort. Though she’d occasionally pitched in at different co-op events, she wasn’t actually a member of the co-op so had no obligation to work the booth.

“What’re you doing here alone?” I joined her behind cash register.

“Jazz didn’t want to come in today and I can’t blame her. There would probably be reporters all over her trying to get a statement. I said I’d take her shift.”

“Not up to me, but I’m sure it’s fine. I don’t blame Jazz for not wanting to be within twenty miles of this fair. How’s she doing?”

Maggie rearranged some fabric book covers. “Not good. You know, I think she might have had stronger feelings for this boy than we realized. She said the fiancé part was bogus, but that’s all she would tell us last night.”

I contemplated their relationship. “People her age are very connected to their friends.”

Maggie nodded, then glanced over at a group of girls close to Jazz’s age. They were perusing some sixties-style bead necklaces. “Katsy went into town last night to see how Levi was doing. She says he looks exhausted.”

“How long is Jazz going to stay out at the ranch?”

“I hope until they know who’s behind Cal’s death.”

There was an awkward few seconds when neither of us spoke.

I fiddled with the stack of fabric book covers, fanning them out in a colorful rainbow. “Anything I can do?”

“Not really. It’s that old waiting game.”

Maggie had spent a large part of her working career around law enforcement and she knew one of the little secrets that they didn’t always like the public to know . . . that a good many crimes were solved just by some person opening their big mouth and either bragging about what they did or, in a vulnerable moment, confessing it to someone who then ratted them out. Most criminals were either stupid or vain, or both.

“Where are you off to?” Maggie asked.

“Cowboy Church. I promised Mac.”

“Since you’re headed in that direction, do you have time to drop these chocolate chip cookies off at Levi’s office?” She reached under the table and pulled out a plastic container bulging with cookies. “When Katsy’s upset, she can’t sleep. So she bakes.”

“I can relate.” I took the container.

She patted her trim stomach. “If she keeps it up for the next three months, then we all might be in trouble.”

“Let’s hope Cal’s murder gets solved faster than that.”

Doubt seemed to radiate from her dark eyes.

Inside the administration office a young gum-smacking receptionist with shiny burgundy braids and turquoise eyes dialed Levi’s extension. After a few murmured words into the receiver she informed me I could go on back. Except for her, an older woman in a flowered polyester blouse working on a computer and a sleepy-looking basset hound, the office area was empty.

“Quite the impressive line of defense you have up front,” I said to Levi when I walked through his open office door.

“Why would I need protection?” he asked sharply. “I can take care of myself. And my daughter. I don’t need anyone’s help to protect my family.”

I froze. “Uh, of course you don’t . . . I mean . . .” I looked down at the container in my hands. “I come bearing gifts. Cookies. Katsy baked them last night. When she couldn’t sleep.” I clamped my mouth shut, embarrassed by my inane rambling. I placed the cookies on the corner of his messy desk.

He rose, ran a hand down his face, then gestured at me to take a seat. “I apologize for snapping, Benni. My nerves are on edge. Really, I’m sorry.”

I almost said I understand, then caught myself.

“Forget it,” I said instead, sitting down in a visitor’s chair. “I can’t even imagine what you are going through right now. Have you heard anything new about the . . .” I faltered, not wanting to make him feel worse. “About the case?”

He pulled nervously on his left earlobe. “Detective Hudson came by this morning. He says they have some ideas but nothing concrete so he wasn’t at liberty to reveal anything.”

“That sounds like Hud. Did he ask you any questions about particular people? Sometimes you can figure out what the cops are thinking by the questions they ask.”

He gave me a small smile. “I guess you’d know about that. He just asked me how long Jazz and Cal had been seeing each other. Who else had she been seeing. Had there been any threats. Was there anyone angry at me.” He grimaced at the last sentence. “When I was offered this job, it made a lot of folks angry.”

I nodded, remembering Milt’s conversation after the concert.

“But,” he continued, “I told him that I didn’t know of any
particular
person who was upset with me. Frankly, I think this young man just got himself involved with some bad people, probably drug-related, and they decided to send a graphic message to anyone else who would mess with them.” His lips straightened. “I told as much to the mayor and the three city council members who called me.”

Again, I didn’t answer, not wanting to dispute something he’d obviously thought about all night. The glaring fact remained—the body had been wrapped in the Harriet Powers quilt. That took thought and planning on someone’s part because the quilt had been displayed in a completely different building.

Levi came around the desk. “I’ll admit I was expecting
some
trouble because of my appointment to this job. The letters didn’t surprise me. I thought maybe we’d have to deal with some graffiti. Kid stuff. But nothing like this.” He sighed and stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his dark slacks. He wore a pale blue cowboy shirt today, open at the collar. “I do feel for this young man. Apparently he didn’t have an easy time of it. Jazz said he was trying to turn his life around.”

Again I felt helpless to do anything but fervently wish that when we did find out who killed Cal that it had nothing to do with race. But I suspected I might as well have been wishing the moon was made of string cheese.

The corners of his eyes sagged. “It will be lonely at home without my baby girl, but Jazz is safer out at the ranch for the time being.”

I stood up, hitching my backpack over my shoulder. “We’re all going to do everything we can to protect Jazz. And I can promise you one thing, if anyone can solve this fast, it’ll be Hud.” I smiled at him. “The only person who could do it faster is Gabe, but it’s not his jurisdiction.”

Levi gave a tired smile back. “Thanks, Benni. Tell Gabe to come on by and we can check out the fair’s new wine garden. I’ll treat you both to some raspberry wine ice cream.”

“I’ll tell him. Personally, I’ll stick with deep-fried Snickers.”

A small chuckle actually came from somewhere deep in his chest; for a moment, the worry lines around his eyes softened. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I’ll take my chances. Watch your back.”

Next on my mental list was to find Hud and see if he’d clue me in on Cal’s case. I knew as well as any experienced armchair detective that most homicides were solved within the first forty-eight hours. After that, much of the evidence went cold. New homicide cases took precedence and the unsolved ones slowly worked their way down the list of importance. There was a good chance Calvin Jones would become just another name on Hud’s cold case list.

The door of the sheriff’s command post office was closed and locked. I’d have to try Hud’s cell phone. I wanted more privacy than the administration offices provided so I left the air-conditioned building. A wave of heat rolled over me and instantly, beads of sweat dampened my upper lip. I could almost feel my naturally curly hair start to frizz. I pulled it into a scrunchie, making a high bun to get it off my neck. Then I found a quiet corner under a shady tree to phone Hud. His voice mail picked up after the fourth ring.

I leaned my head back against the tree trunk thinking about Cal’s murder. I spent weeks and months of my childhood visiting Arkansas where the issue of skin color could not be ignored. A good deal of California was multiethnic—but our little county, not so much. The thing that kept bugging me was the thought that if an individual or group killed Cal because he was dating Jazz, wouldn’t they have at least made sure everyone
got
that point? Wouldn’t they want to claim the murder?

I dialed Hud again. This time he answered.

“Where are you?” I asked. “I need to talk.”

“A very good morning to you, too. It
is
a wonderful day at the fair, isn’t it? What do you have planned? Have you ridden the Ferris wheel yet? Maisie says the new Scrambler ride is crazy fun. And the Great Kansas Pig Races, don’t want to miss those perky little fellows. Or maybe I should say porky.” He laughed at his own joke.

“Hud, this is serious. I just talked to Levi. He’s really upset. You need to solve this murder fast.”

There was a moment of silence. “Doin’ the very best I can.”

“Can we meet somewhere to talk?”

His sigh was audible. “Nothin’ to talk about, but I’m always happy to see my second-favorite girl in the whole world. Meet me at Cutie’s Cupcakes. I’ve got a hankering for a red velvet.” He hung up.

I reached the cupcake stand before he did so I bought two red velvet cupcakes and two lemonades figuring to bribe my way into finding out what was going on in the investigation. I knew that it really wouldn’t make a difference, that he’d either clue me in or not. Still, you never knew. Wouldn’t be the first time refined sugar was used as an inducement.

The spot I found on a picnic bench beneath a scraggly olive tree felt only slightly cooler. A few minutes later Hud slipped into the bench opposite me.

“Here,” I said, pushing the melting cupcake and icy lemonade in front of him. “If you’d been one minute longer, that cupcake would have been history.”

“I do not understand how you still fit in your jeans, ranch girl.”

“What’s going on with Cal’s homicide?”

He slowly peeled the paper off the cupcake and took a generous bite. “Almost as good as my
grand-mère
’s.”

“What about Dodge? Did he have an alibi? What about Milt? Did you find out who he made that snarky remark to? Maybe Dodge and Milt are in it together.”

He slowly ate his cupcake without answering. He licked some stray icing off his thumb. “You realize what cupcakes are, don’t you? Just a highly efficient icing delivery system.”

“Hud, quit stalling.”

“One, we’re looking into it. Two, yes. Three, we’re looking into it. Four, no. Five, I seriously doubt it, but that sure would make a stupendous episode for a TV cop show.”

I jiggled the ice in my plastic cup. “What
have
you found out?”

He readjusted his straw cowboy hat, running the back of his hand across the sweaty red dent it made in his forehead. “You know I can’t tell you the details. That is what we call in the crime business ‘privileged information.’ It’s the
Rules.
Capital
R
.”

“Like the rules have ever meant anything to you. I’m gonna smack you upside the head if you don’t tell me something.”

He grinned and leaned closer. “I love it when you get mean. Okay, here’s this. The medical examiner concluded that Mr. Calvin Jones likely died between midnight and six a.m. Our boy Dodge has a rock solid alibi from nine p.m. until two a.m. because he was over at the Cattle Chute Tavern making a general nuisance of himself in front of about twenty or so regulars.”

“That dive in Atascadero. I’ve heard of it. But the bar closed at two a.m., right?”