State Fair (30 page)

“Got a quarter?” I asked Hud, sitting down on one painted with a black-and-white cow pattern.

“You are as bad as Maisie,” he said, rummaging through his pocket. He put one in mine, then sat in the pink one next to me.

My machine started vibrating. “You can’t just sit there. It’s against the rules. You have to pay or step off the Footsie Wootsie.” The last few words came out sounding like I was a cartoon robot.

He put a quarter in his. “What else do you remember?”

I closed my eyes and concentrated. My feet buzzed, sending vibrations through my body. Around me, the sounds of the fair seemed to meld into one loud hum. Then it stopped. I opened my eyes to find Hud staring at me, his machine still going, his expression patient.

“There was a sticker,” I said. “On the bumper. An odd-shaped one. Pointy at the bottom, like a star. When the truck pulled around me, it sparkled in my headlights.”

“Sparkling pointy starlike sticker. Great work, Trixie Belden.” He stood up, his machine still running, wasting a perfectly good foot massage. “Now, run along and enjoy the fair. You could
try
to stay out of trouble.”

The ground underneath my feet seemed to still be buzzing. “
You
could try to sound a little less condescending.” I took off his hat and tossed it at him like a Frisbee.

He slipped it back on his head, his laughter following me as I walked away. My thoughts turned to ways I could get back at him. Maybe his daughter would receive a nice anonymous present—a cute little bunny, a cute little
pregnant
bunny. At the entrance to the Bull Pen, I nixed the bunny plan. I liked his ex-wife, Laura Lee. I’d never do that to her.

Before punching the code to enter the hospitality suite, I pulled out my cell phone, moving from ways I could torture Hud to a verbal smack down with my own husband. Of course my call went directly to voice mail. Either he was out of range or he’d turned his phone off. I left a terse message.

“You are in
mucho grande
trouble, Chief. Be forewarned.” I pressed the end button.

Upstairs the hospitality suite was busy. After the usual bantering with people I knew, I went over to the bar, bought a Coke and wandered out on the balcony to see what was happening in the arena.

It was my good luck to catch the barrel racers practice. When I was a teenager I’d competed a few years at local high school rodeos, where I’d learned just enough to appreciate that a sport was much more difficult than people realized.

There were four girls in the arena waiting their turn at taking their horses through the clover-leaf pattern around the fifty-five gallon steel barrels. I could see Maggie across the arena talking to one of the girls, giving her some pointers. Maggie had competed in college rodeo and had been good enough to go pro if she’d wanted. But she always claimed she was too much of a homebody to live on the road like so many rodeo athletes did. “I’d miss my garden,” she’d said. “And my cows.”

A lanky young man walked up next to her, took off his red cap and slipped it on her head. She turned and smiled up at him, smacking him lightly in the chest. From here, I could see it was my stepson, Sam. I laughed to myself. Leave it to Sam to be wherever there were cute girls congregated.

I watched the girls practice their runs, my mind relaxed for the first time in days. I didn’t even hear someone come up beside me.

“That Katie Seaver is probably going to win,” Milt Piebald said, leaning on the rail next to me.

I glanced over, trying not to look surprised, irritated or any of the negative emotions flowing through me right then.

“She’s good,” I agreed, looking back at the arena. The last thing I wanted to do was engage in conversation with Milt.

“So, what’s the chief up to today?” he asked.

I continued watching the barrel racers practice. “Working.”

“If you call it that.” He laughed and bumped my shoulder with his. “I heard he’s going to be out of town.”

I moved over a foot. “Where’d you hear that?”

He grinned and sucked on a toothpick hanging from his lips. “I get around.”

“I need to pick up my aunt,” I said, turning to go back inside.

“That the same aunt who was so snippy to me and Juliette yesterday?” he asked, his voice light, but mocking. “You might need to reel Miss Marple in a little or she could irritate the wrong people someday.”

A flame lit in my chest and I turned slowly around. It was one thing to try to scare me. I could walk away from that. But you start messing with my family and I’m going to start shooting. “She’s elderly and isn’t always diplomatic with her words. But I’m warning you. Stay away from her.”

He gave me an unhurried grin and pushed back the rim of his gray cowboy hat so I could see the full expanse of his wide, tanned face. His blue eyes flashed bright against his skin. “What in John Wayne are you talking about? Juliette and I were tickled to death by your aunt. She gave us a good old laugh. I’ve got a couple of loony aunts myself who feel like they need to tell everyone how to run their lives. That’s all I was trying to say.”

He ran his tongue over the top of his shiny teeth, then smacked his lips. “You seem a tad jumpy. Tell your gramma I’ll make her a good trade for that little red truck of hers whenever she wants.”

I tried to keep my face calm when I went back into the air-conditioned suite. His laughter followed me until the glass door closed. In less than five minutes, he’d managed to threaten me, my aunt and my gramma, letting me know that he knew exactly what was going on. Now I was convinced that he had to know something about Cal’s death.

I weaved my way through the crowd and down the stairs. I pushed open the door and practically head-butted Justin Piebald.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing my shoulders. “You okay?”

I stopped, blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to hide my angry tears. “Yeah, fine. Just allergies. Dust, you know. Crazy. All the animals. Alfalfa and . . . you know, allergies.” I realized I was babbling, so I clamped my mouth shut.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, his expression confused. “Right. What . . . well . . . you know it’s . . .” He stuttered like a teenage boy.

I stared at him, wondering what he thought about his father. Now that he was a cop, did it embarrass him to have a father who it was rumored was slightly crooked? What would it do to Justin if his father actually was involved with Cal’s homicide?

“Have you seen Jazz?” I said, without exactly knowing why.

Just the mention of her name caused his cheeks to turn pink. “Not today. Why?”

“Just wondering if she’s doing okay.” I inspected the toes of my boots. This exchange was awkward and I wasn’t sure how to maneuver out of it.

“Sure you’re okay?” he repeated.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” I went around him and melted into the crowd. When I got about fifty feet away, I turned around. He was still standing in the Bull Pen’s entryway, watching me. The suspicious thoughts I’d had last night came back to me.

Stop it, I told myself. There is absolutely no reason for you to mistrust Justin. Even if Milt was involved with Cal’s death, there’s no reason to believe Justin was. Except what if he knew something and was torn between his sworn duty as a police officer and his emotional duty as a son? Which would win out? I didn’t know Justin well enough to guess. But I knew somebody who might.

Sam was still in the arena shooting the breeze with the barrel-racing girls. From the bleachers he yelled comments that were a combination of encouragement and harassment. The girls called back with good-natured hoots.

“Hey, Sam,” I said, sliding in next to him. “I have a question about a friend of yours.”

His darkly tanned face was half shaded by the rim of his red cap. “Whatever they did, I swear I wasn’t involved.”

“As far as I know, none of your friends have done anything. I just want to know what you think about Justin Piebald.”

He turned his head back to the arena to watch a pretty dark-haired young woman run the barrels. “He’s cool . . . for a cop. Why?”

“I know this is awkward, what with him being your friend and also working for your dad, but his dad . . .”

“His dad’s a dickhead.”

“I agree. But what I was wondering was . . .”

“If Justin is like his dad? About as much as I’m like
my
dad. Does that answer your question?”

“Sort of. It’s just that . . . okay, what if . . . what if there was something about his dad he knew, something his dad had done that wasn’t legal . . .” Up here in the bleachers, the midday sun felt like scalding water on the back of my neck. I undid my pony tail, feeling instant relief when my damp hair covered my neck.

Sam’s face remained neutral, but his chocolate eyes were troubled. “I don’t want to be between my friend and you and dad.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I have a bad feeling about his dad and I’m afraid that maybe Justin might know something.” Around us the cacophony sounds of the fair seemed to ebb and flow like a stormy ocean.

“Look, I know that some weird ass stuff is going down between Justin and his dad. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Cal. I don’t think so. I
hope
not. But Justin’s my friend.”

“If you knew . . .”

He looked me directly in the eyes. “If I knew for sure that Justin or his dad had anything to do with Cal’s death, you know I’d tell you. Dad might think I have completely whacked out morals, but I don’t.”

I touched his forearm. It was hot and slightly damp. “Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything like that. And I’m sure Gabe doesn’t think you have whacked out morals. It’s just I know what it’s like to feel like you need to protect a friend.”

“If Justin helped cover up his dad murdering Cal, then he isn’t my friend.” He shifted on the bench, the wood creaking under his weight. “You know, Cal was my friend too.”

“One last question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think the relationship between Jazz and Cal was serious? I mean, like marriage serious?”

He shook his head without hesitation. “Doubt it. Jazz told me she liked him, but she was also kind of confused about how she felt. She felt sorry for him too and that’s never cool. If a guy figures something like that out it would make him feel totally lame. Second rate.”

“You think Cal knew she felt sorry for him?” It seemed this young man didn’t catch any breaks in his short life.

Sam considered my words. “He was so into her that I doubt he noticed. He was just glad she was hanging with him. And even if he did find out, he probably wouldn’t have been surprised or maybe even cared. Cal didn’t expect much in life.”

“That’s sad.”

Sam shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, it’s messed up. But, you know, Cal was one of the most righteous guys I ever met. When he believed something, he was totally into it. He was all about doing what was right and treating people with respect. And that dude wasn’t afraid of anything. I always got the feeling that was because he felt like he had nothing to lose, you know?”

I leaned down and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Sam. Every time I hear a little more about Cal I think that I would have liked him.”

“You would have. He thought you were pretty cool.”

“Me?” Why was I even on this young man’s radar?

“He got onto me once when I was ragging on you. He said that I should cut you some slack because the person who had to change the most when you and dad got married was you, that you had to figure out how to be a second wife, a cop’s wife
and
a stepmom.”

“That was very perceptive of him.” I tapped the rim of his ball cap. “You were ragging on me? I’ve always been an excellent stepmother.”

“It was when I wanted to buy my truck, remember?”

“Yes, and I was smart not to take sides.” Sam had wanted Gabe to loan him the down payment and Gabe wanted him to earn the money himself. Despite being tempted when Sam begged me to intervene, I’d stayed out of it. They’d compromised. What Sam saved for a down payment, Gabe matched and they both felt satisfied. And neither was angry at me.

“Thanks for your insight,” I said. “I just hope that the sheriff’s department solves this soon. Cal deserves justice.”

“For sure.”

I was walking past the Australian Battered Potatoes stand when I heard my name called. One of the members of the San Celina Quilt Guild hurried toward me, holding an ice-cream cone the size of a baseball mitt.

“Wow, for me? Thanks!” I said, holding out my hand.

“You wish. This is my lunch and dinner. I’ve taken a double shift at the fair booth so Retha can help make dolls tonight. I’m glad I caught you. Maria embroidered some doll faces.”

“Thanks for taking a double shift. Like you probably heard, the dolls are selling incredibly well. Are the doll faces at the booth?”

“No, she’s finishing them up over at the Family Campground. Said you could come on by anytime. If she’s not there, ask Bobby Joe where they are. Nothing gets past him.”

I laughed. “Some things never change. I’ll head over right now.”

The Family Campground was in back of the midway. The noisy, dusty campground was an adult’s nightmare and a kid’s dream. Many of the kids competing lived in the Central Valley or Shandon or San Miguel. Commuting every day could be a real pain so many 4-H and FFA leaders brought their RVs, tent trailers, campers, canvas tents and plain old canopies and during the fair, the vacant lot behind the midway became “Kidville.”

Kidville’s unofficial mayor was Bobby Joe Gomez, an ex-bull rider and San Celina High School football star most notorious for being voted prom king three years in a row. That was a good fifteen years before my time in high school, but his reputation was school legend. Bobby Joe was not only as handsome as a movie star with his thick, wavy mahogany hair and rugged jawline; he was as easygoing and good-natured as a department store Santa.