State Fair (18 page)

O
N THE WAY TO SEE THE QUILTS WE PASSED THE AGRICULTURE building where a sheriff’s deputy was tearing away the yellow and black crime scene tape crisscrossing the front entrance.

Aunt Garnet’s rouged cheeks flushed a deep rose. She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the double doors. “Let’s take another look at the crime scene!”

“All right,” I said, figuring, what could it hurt?

What was the reason behind this new-and-improved version of my aunt? Had she always had this side to her or had something radical happened in her life that caused this change? Before the day was over, I was going to just flat-out ask Aunt Garnet what the heck was going on.

Inside, a few people meandered around the room pretending to look at other exhibits while trying to sneak peeks at the exhibit where Cal’s body had been discovered. The Piebald exhibit was being dismantled by two brawny young men. Juliette Piebald hovered over them like a kindergarten teacher on the first day of school.

“Be careful of those photographs!” Juliette Piebald yelled as the young men pulled down tissue paper-covered plywood. “Those photographs cost me a thousand bucks.”

Her voice was an octave higher than normal and a little screechy. Otherwise she looked runway ready in her narrow-legged black jeans, pink gauzy tank top, diamond earrings the size of hummingbird eggs and bright pink ostrich cowboy boots.

Aunt Garnet said out of the side of her mouth,“Her lipstick matches her boots. How Miss America.”

I glanced up at my aunt, amazed. She was making a joke. Sort of. Something was definitely wrong.

“Where’s the truck shell?” Aunt Garnet asked.

“I bet the sheriff’s department removed that last night. Since Cal’s body was found under it . . .”

“DNA,” she said, nodding. “Where’s y’all’s crime lab located?”

“We don’t have one.”

She tsked under her breath. “Shocking. What do y’all do then?”

“We send stuff either to a lab down in Santa Barbara or one in Bakersfield. It’s pretty expensive to maintain a crime lab and our county just doesn’t have money in the budget for it.”

“They
are
extremely expensive.” She stated it with such authority I wondered if she’d actually done research into the cost of building and maintaining one.

We watched silently as Juliette, like a border collie with OCD, circled the young men, directing them exactly how to place the stuffed sheep and cows in the big wooden boxes, what to do with the colorful tissue torn off the backdrop and where to stack the bulky sheets of plywood.

At one point Juliette turned, scanned the room with a frown before spotting us. Her frown morphed into a practiced smile and she waved at us.

I waved back. “Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you,” she called. “But thanks so much for offering.”

Even from where we stood, I could see her bottom lip tremble. Though I hadn’t agreed with how she essentially cheated to win the Family Farm exhibit grand prize, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. From a back door emerged Justin Piebald and Dodge Burnside. They were deep in conversation, only stopping when they reached Juliette.

“Seen enough?” I asked Aunt Garnet, after a few minutes.

“Just a minute,” Aunt Garnet said, tapping her bony knuckles on my forearm. “I think something interesting is about to happen.”

“What could possibly happen now?” It felt wrong to stand here and stare, like we were rubbernecking a gory highway accident.

“Shhh,” she said, her eyes glued to the scene. “Look.”

The moment she said it, a large piece of plywood backdrop, held precariously by the two young men, teetered a half second, then fell forward.

Juliette screamed. “Dodge, watch out!”

Dodge jumped back, the board missing him by inches.

“Are you guys crazy?” Dodge Burnside yelled. “Watch what you’re doing!” He turned to Juliette, who stood a few feet behind him. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, her eyes wide.

Excitement over, I turned and started toward the exit, but Aunt Garnet grabbed my arm.

“Wait,” she murmured. Then, after a few seconds, “Okay, we can go now. I saw what I needed.”

I followed her out of the building, confused. “What do you mean you saw what you needed? What are you talking about?”

“In good time, my dear,” she said.

I felt like bopping her one.

Inside the building where the quilts were displayed, the air was cool and damp, the atmosphere serene. People laughed, sipped their bottled waters and pointed at the intricate quilts, hand-knit sweaters, beautifully carved jewelry boxes and clever table settings for fictional dinners that all sounded deliciously decadent. Murder wasn’t on the menu in this building.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Aunt Garnet said. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”

I gave up . . . for the moment. Aunt Garnet was immune to nagging. But I’d wheedle the information out of her eventually.

We strolled around the room, studying each display. The entries had been organized by color this year, giving the room a sort of rainbow effect. We were in the oranges, about a half hour into our tour and her comparison of every quilt with one she’d made and entered in the Arkansas State Fair, when I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. I broke into her historical reverie of past quilt glories.

“Aunt Garnet, for cryin’ out loud, you gotta tell me. What did you see over there when they were dismantling the Piebald exhibit? You’re holding back on me.” I wasn’t going to listen to one more word about her quilting conquests until she told me what she saw or
thought
she saw.

She looked down at me, her long, even teeth and pale powdery skin as familiar to me as Dove’s long braid. Her blue eyes twinkled and for the first time it occurred to me how the shape and color of them were so similar to my gramma’s. The mischievous look in her eyes definitely reminded me of Dove.

“C’mon, Aunt Garnet. Fess up.”

“You know when that piece of board fell?”

I nodded.

“Tell me exactly what you saw.”

I exhaled impatiently. She obviously was going to make me work for the information. “Juliette was nagging the workers to be careful. She waved and I waved back. I asked her if she needed help and she refused. Dodge Burnside and her stepson, Justin, walk in. The three of them talk. Then he almost got hit by the falling board. Juliette screamed for Dodge to watch out.”

“It’s what happened right after the board fell that is particularly interesting.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”

“Dodge Burnside,” Aunt Garnet said, her voice triumphant.

I thought about it. So Dodge Burnside was there helping them pull down the display. Dodge worked for Milt Piebald, so that seemed perfectly logical. I said as much to Aunt Garnet.

“Ah, but does his job include “fringe benefits”?

“Aunt Garnet! I can’t believe you even know what that means!”

She gave a low chuckle. “I have read books published in the last five years. And I watch Jon Stewart. So, my point is that in a split second Mrs. Piebald and young Mr. Burnside gave away the fact that there might be a little something more between them.” She tsked primly and patted her cotton-candy hairdo.

I honestly hadn’t noticed a thing. “They did?”

She leaned down close. “When the board fell, they all jumped back. But after it was obvious they were safe, Mr. Burnside touched Mrs. Piebald’s waist just long enough and just intimately enough to tell me that he’d shimmied down that garden path before.” Her lips turned up into a triumphant smile.

I was shocked. Then I was annoyed . . . at myself for missing it. “Wow, that certainly opens this situation up to a whole new ball game.” Then I caught myself. “Wait, no it doesn’t. So
what
if Dodge and Juliette are doing the horizontal mambo? What’s that got to do with Cal’s murder?”

Aunt Garnet’s faced flushed telling me that I’d struck a nerve . . . and taken some of the air out of her investigating sails. Feeling bad that I’d ruined her moment of Sherlockian glory, I linked my arm through hers. I wouldn’t take her mystery away from her. I mean, what could it hurt? It was only a conversation between my aunt and me.

“You’re right, Aunt Garnet, it
is
suspicious. Maybe Cal saw them and told Dodge and he killed Cal so Jazz wouldn’t find out. Or maybe Juliette killed him so Milt wouldn’t find out. Shoot, maybe Milt killed him because Cal was the one having the affair with Juliette. There are all kinds of possibilities. I say we save that puzzle piece and come back to it when we have more information.”

She opened her mouth and I was almost certain she was going to reprimand me, tell me not to take that condescending tone with her. But she surprised me. “You’re absolutely right, niece. It’s a small observation that may or may not have anything to do with our case.” She squeezed my hand and smiled. “Now, what’s next?”

I looked into her face, which seemed to me to look a little wilted, the area around her eyes pale. Like Dove, she’d never admit when she was getting tired or when something was too much for her. But since I didn’t know yet what was going on with her, I decided to finagle her into resting a little while.

“Let’s go over to the Bull Pen,” I said. “That’s what we call the hospitality suite. It’s cool and they have a bar and always have snacks. Really good ones this year because of Emory. We can look over the fair schedule and decide if there’s anything we’d like to see this afternoon.”

“Sounds lovely. Will they allow me in?”

“Absolutely. You’re with me and I’ve got connections.” I waggled the all access pass hanging around my neck.

“Nice photo,” she commented.

Tim, the official fair photographer, was an old college friend who also had aspirations toward stand-up comedy. He’d taunted me until he caught me with my mouth open, then snapped the picture. I appeared to be angling for bait. Then he refused to reshoot the photo.

“Trust me, I’m gonna get back at ole Tim for that.”

Early afternoon was the most pleasant time to visit the hospitality suite. There were enough people in the room to chat with but not so many that it took you a half hour to get something to drink or eat. I bought myself a Coca-Cola and an iced tea with three sugars for Aunt Garnet. I brought our drinks and a plate of locally made goat cheese and whole grain organic crackers over to where Aunt Garnet was visiting with Emory on the sofa.

“Aunt Garnet, you have to see the Great Kansas Pig Races,” he was saying. “If you’re tempted to bet—mind you, it’s a tad illegal, but it happens—go for Sukie, the black-and-white one with what looks like a daisy on her side.” He lowered his voice. “She’s a ringer.”

“Shame on you!” Aunt Garnet exclaimed. “I will not be betting on pigs or anything else, Emory Delano Littleton. The Lord doesn’t look kindly on gambling.” The words sounded like the old Aunt Garnet, but she was smiling indulgently at her favorite nephew. In Aunt Garnet’s eyes, Emory could do no wrong. If anyone could talk her into laying down a few bucks on a racing piglet, it would be Emory.

“Quit trying to corrupt her,” I said, flopping down on the sofa.

“What’s the scoop on how the Booster Buddies are taking Cal’s murder?”

Before he could open his mouth, his eyebrows went up. He stood up, a phony smile on his face. I turned around to see who would cause this quick change in my cousin. Milt Piebald strode toward us, his face definitely not in a happy place.

“Emory, have you seen Levi?” Milt demanded, his voice loud as a rodeo announcer’s. His black hair glistened like the shine on his cowboy boots. “That boy seems to be a lot harder to find after this incident with his daughter. He’s not answering his walkie-talkie or his cell phone. What’s the use of paying for those buggers if people ignore your call? My friend, we might as well be shouting at a herd of heifers.”

“Milt, shut up,” Emory said. His voice drawled the words, giving them a good-natured timbre. “Levi’s not answering calls because he’s probably walkin’ around the fair making sure everything’s runnin’ like it should, which is exactly his job. He’s doin’ fine, so just leave him be.” His smile was full of steel.

Milt hesitated, recognizing that Emory was angry, something that happened so rarely that when it did, it threw people off.

Milt rolled his tongue around in his mouth. “He’s deliberately trying to keep this low profile to protect his little girl. She was running around with that young man who, in case anyone is interested, already had himself a nice little criminal record.”

“Hey, Milt,” I said. “Did it occur to you that Levi might be trying to keep this incident low profile for the good of the fair?”

“All’s I know is that we’ve got ourselves a peck of bad publicity and I’ve got myself one pissed-off wife. Juliette is not happy about having to take down our prizewinning display.” He pulled a paper-wrapped toothpick out of his pocket, dropped the wrapping on the floor and stuck it in the side of his mouth. “And when the missus ain’t happy, believe me, she makes sure I’m not happy.”

“The sheriff has the investigation under control,” Emory said, standing up. “I talked to Detective Hudson this morning and the Jones homicide has top priority. But these things take time and I’d suggest we all return to the business of making this fair as successful as we can.”

Milt moved the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. “Easy for you to say. Your wife’s not chomping on your balls every dang minute.” He looked over at Aunt Garnet. Her thin lips were pressed together in a Sunday school teacher’s scowl. He had the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry, ma’am. Don’t mean to be crude.”

“Then don’t be, young man,” she snapped.

Milt jerked his head back in surprise, obviously expecting her to give a polite
That’s all right.
Ha, he didn’t know Mrs. Garnet Wilcox. He adjusted his white cowboy hat, then marched over to the bar without another word.