State Fair (26 page)

“Fine. This stolen car situation has got the mayors and city councils of every town in San Celina and Santa Barbara counties with their panties in a wad. Says that it’s hurting tourism. Guess it was reported on the major news networks down in LA. Not helpful. Now we have to placate the powers that be
again
.”

“Any good leads?”

He stroked my cheek. “We’re working with the sheriff’s department and highway patrol.” His face seemed stretched with fatigue. “We’ve got some ideas about who’s behind it, but no proof.”

Gabe loved his job, but I often wondered how long it would be before it either emotionally or physically took its toll on him. “Friday, have you thought about finishing your master’s thesis? Teaching has to be easier than chasing car thieves.”

He took my hand and kissed the palm. “I’ll need a skip loader to clear away the accumulated dust. But rumor is that academia is more stressful than police work. And a lot more treacherous.”

A GARAGE THAT PERFORMED SMOG CHECKS WAS ONLY TWO BLOCKS from the folk art museum. They promised me Dove’s truck would be ready in a couple of hours. The first thing I did at the museum was call the store downtown to check on the supply of black cloth dolls. Their stock was down to three. My next call was to Flory Jackson.

“Greetings, Mrs. Jackson. It’s Benni Ramsey Harper Ortiz.”

“Good morning to you, Mrs. Chief Ortiz.” She loved teasing me about being the wife of a police chief. “Whatever you got to say, better say it quick because I’m already late for a Women’s Missionary Union meeting at the church and it can’t start without me ’cause I got the coffee cake. Our Botswana missionaries are coming to visit us six days after the fair is over and I need three . . . no make that six . . . more hands.”

“I hear you. I’d loan you mine if I weren’t so attached to them.”

Flory groaned loudly into the phone. “If I weren’t so busy, I’d come over there and pull your ear for using that tattered old joke.”

“I’ll be quick about it. Apparently we are almost completely out of black cloth dolls and people are clamoring for them. Do you have any hiding somewhere?”

“Oh, sugar, I’m sorry, but we gave you all we made. We have ten or so cut out and ready to sew, but they are nowhere near finished.”

I picked up a paper clip on my desk and started bending it in crazy shapes. “What if we had an emergency marathon doll-making session? I just hate losing this opportunity for the museum and for the artists to miss out on making money.”

“Benni, you know you are preaching to the converted, but I honestly don’t know when I can squeeze in one more project.”

“There’s got to be a few hours we could find. Don’t forget, every person who buys a doll receives a booklet and it tells a story that people need to hear about African American history.”

My last remark was a blatant and deliberate attempt to persuade her. Oral history, especially of African American women, was Flory’s soft spot. She was sixty-seven years old and had spent most of her life sewing for other people. She retired two years ago and, with the encouragement of her Ebony Quilt Guild Sisters, had applied at Cal Poly to study history. She’d not only been accepted, but she qualified for a special senior scholarship too. She started her junior year in September. We were all looking forward to her graduation party.

“Little girl,” she said, chuckling. “When you want something, you are as persistent as that grandmamma of yours. You know I can’t resist that challenge. Let me check my calendar.”

I waited while she hummed “Bringing in the Sheaves” and checked her schedule.

“Okay, Mrs. Chief, I have a four-hour time slot open tomorrow night from five until nine. Now go use some of that manure-scented rhetoric you just spread on me on some other folks and we might get us some workers. We should be able to whip up at a good plenty of those dolls. Might have to half paint, half embroider the faces, but that still makes them historically accurate. I’ll call Arnell Mason. She’s a real quick embroiderer. She can start on some faces tonight.”

“Flory, you’re the queen. Thank you. If you’ll put patterns in a bag on your porch, I’ll pick them up and start cutting out dresses and pants tonight.”

“No need. They’re in our cubby right there at the co-op.”

“Perfect! I’ll get on the phone and round up as many of the people as I can. Maybe Dove and Aunt Garnet can help. I’d ask Elvia, but you know she’s all thumbs when it comes to needlework.”

“Honey, when you’re as pretty and smart as she is, all you need is thumbs. I doubt I would have got my scholarship without her telling me how to fill out all those application papers.”

“Don’t you worry about snacks. I’ll bring them.”

“And I’ll let you. I’ll provide drinks. See you tomorrow.”

I pulled out my Rolodex—I was still old-fashioned enough to not have put all my contacts on the computer—and started calling. In an hour I’d gotten a yes from eight Ebony Sisters who were experienced at making the dolls. That was pretty good considering it was fair time when everyone was crazy busy.

When I called Dove at home and asked for her help, she gave a disappointed squawk. “Shoot, you know I’d fly to the ends of the earth for Flory Jackson. But I’m going to some fancy-pants dinner for Isaac over in Cambria.”

“It’s okay. There’s ten of us coming now, counting me and Flory. We knew it would be a crapshoot during the fair. Do you think Aunt Garnet might be interested?”

Dove’s voice went low. “It’d be good for her. She’s been acting nut-tier than usual today. On the phone so much I’m thinking about starting a tab. She times it so she’s talking when I’m out in the yard or the garden, then hangs up when I walk in.”

I cradled the receiver against my shoulder, bent another paper clip into a circle then looked through it like a monocle. “Can I talk to her?”

“Garnet Louise!” Dove yelled, practically fracturing one of my eardrums.

“Honestly, Dove, I’m right here in the same county,” I heard Aunt Garnet say. “There is no need to bellow like a bull.”

“Hey, Aunt Garnet. Benni here. Think you’d be up to a doll-making session tomorrow night?” I explained the situation.

“I’d love to. With all the inspiration at the fair, I’ve been itching to put a needle to fabric.”

“Great, so that’s tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t want to do anything today?”

“I’m letting you off the hook today. I want to catch up on my stories.” Aunt Garnet had been watching
General Hospital
and
All My Children
since they started, something she rarely admitted openly. “Oh, Dove just said to tell you she’s on her way back to the fair.”

“Okay, tell her I’ll find her so we can trade trucks. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

It was almost 11 a.m. before I settled down to my overflowing in basket. Two hours later, I’d finished two grant requests, sent brochures to twenty chambers of commerce, filled out my monthly expense report and finished a month’s accumulation of filing. Feeling proud of myself, I walked into the great room rubbing my aching neck. Deb, one of the quilters, was packing a plastic bag with paperback book covers, pillowcases, eyeglass cases and cell phone covers.

“Where’s that going?” I asked.

She looked up, startled. Her harried expression was typical during fair time. “Got a call from the gals at the museum booth. The tables are looking bare.” She glanced at the big black-and-white schoolhouse clock. “I have to drop these off and be back in time to pick up my girls at ballet practice in an hour.”

“Give it to me. I’m heading up there.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my overextended heart.”

“That’s a lot of folks’ problem during fair time,” I said, picking up the bag. “Is there an inventory sheet?”

“Yes, inside. Just hand it to whoever’s working.”

I called Gabe and found out that Father Mark called and wanted to have dinner with him tonight.

“No problem. I’ll just hang out at the fair and catch some of the events.”

It would be the first time since it opened that I could wander around on my own with no agenda or goal.

“Have a shaved ice for me,” he said.

By the time I picked up Dove’s truck at the garage and drove to Paso, it was almost three o’clock. At the entrance, I begged one of the maintenance guys to give me and my bulky plastic bag of craft items a ride to the booth. Tonight would be one of the fair’s busiest nights. We were right in the middle of the fair’s run and something was happening in practically every venue. People were still excited yet the fair didn’t have that first day frenetic buzz. And no one yet had the zombie look common to the last few days. I dropped off the crafts to two very grateful workers and wandered over to the Bears Quilt Shop booth next door.

“Hey, Russ. How’s business?” He wore a red and blue tie-dyed T-shirt that said: “Hold me, thrill me, make me buy fat quarters.”

“Better than we thought it would be. We might even make a profit this year. Those fabrics for the Harriet Powers replica quilts are flying off the tables. You sell the book and we sell the fabric. What a team!”

“Glad it’s working out. They’ve run out of dolls, though. We’re going to have a doll-making session tomorrow night. Any of you guys free?”

“Wish we were, but we’re all here until midnight.”

“I thought so. Anyway, we’ll do the best we can. I have quite a few people lined up.”

“You’ll get ’em made, Miss B. Oh, there’s something I thought you should know.” Russ’s voice became serious.

“What is it?”

“You know that Dodge Burnside, the one who was hassling Jazz?” It didn’t surprise me that our booth neighbors knew about the incident. During the time that the county fair was in session, it was akin to living in a very small town.

“Yes,” I replied slowly, hoping he would tell me Dodge had confessed to murdering Cal and that he was now in custody.

“He came by last night looking for Jazz. Vivs and William saw it all.”

“What happened?”

Vivs was over at the fabric measuring table. Russ gestured at him to come over. “Tell Benni what you and William saw last night.”

Vivis dark eyes were solemn. “He was mad and, frankly, a little drunk. Bonnie and Virginia were working. He didn’t get a thing of them. They just gave him the runaround.” He gave a wide, mischievous grin. “Said that they’d heard she’d left town, maybe even the state.”

William walked up holding a bolt of coffee brown fabric printed with silver spurs. “I went over and told him that I heard she went to Missouri.”

“Missouri? Why in the world . . .”

William laughed. “First state that popped in my head. Probably because my friend, Laura, just sent me some Jack Stack barbecue. Mr. Dodge stomped off cussing to beat the band.”

“What time was that?”

Vivs thought for a moment. “Right before the fair closed. I’d say around eleven p.m.”

Long after I’d followed Dodge to his friend’s house in Atascadero. “Thanks, you guys. I’m not sure what that was all about, but it’s good to know.”

“You take care, Benni,” Vivs said, resting his solid hand on my shoulder. “Watch your back.”

“Believe me, I will.”

Though I still needed to find Dove, I wandered through the midway, savoring the familiar smells of popcorn, cotton candy and America’s favorite scent—deep-fried everything. Jack and I had spent so much of our young life enjoying these rides, playing these impossible games. In a trunk somewhere I had a baby blue teddy bear he won climbing the rope ladder. It took almost every penny he had, but he was determined to win it. In his honor, I took a chance on one of the games he especially loved, the milk can toss. I
almost
got the softball in six times. The giant stuffed pink panthers grinned at me in the same cunning way the carnie did when he took my dollar bills.

“C’mon, honey, one more time,” the carnie said. He was gaunt and tanned, his eyes the spooky blue of an Australian shepherd. “You’ll win yourself a kitty this time.”

I gave him a skeptical smile.

“Let me give it a try,” a male voice said behind me.

The carnie snatched the dollar bill extended to him before I could turn around.

Hud grinned at me. “Want a pink panther, little girl?”

I held out my arm and stepped to the side. “Good luck.”

“Piece of Yankee cake.” He took the three softballs, eyed the milk cans and threw one, two, three—each one landing perfectly inside the milk can.

The carnie gave him an annoyed but respectful look. “You worked the circuit?”

“Nah,” Hud said. “Just lucky.” He handed the man a ten-dollar bill.

“Have lunch on me.”

“Thanks, dude.” The carnie handed me a stuffed pink panther half my size and then instantly started his patter on other customers.

“How’d you do that?” I asked, shifting the unwieldy toy from one arm to the other. Like a lot of things in life, wanting it was more appealing than actually getting it.