Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death (19 page)

I glanced away from her. Susan was making her way up the sidewalk, moving into the thicker part of the crowd, looking back over her shoulder. I didn’t want her to get away.

“We have some time?” I asked.

“Yeah, we can finish the parade,” she said, then looked at the chaos in front of us. “If there is a rest of the parade.”

The C.A.K.E. protesters were still firing water at the judges and screaming, but people were realizing that it wasn’t part of the show and were starting to flow from the street to their truck to try and stop them. Mama, Bruce, and Matilda were trying to scramble down from their now soaked stage on the tower, but the hoses were making it difficult. Several men from the crowd were climbing aboard the C.A.K.E. truck and wrestling with Scarecrow and his cohorts. Dorothy was still screaming her brains out.

And Susan was getting away.

“I need to go get Susan,” I said.

“What?”

“I can’t explain now,” I said. “But she’s trying to escape.”

“From
what
?”

“I think she killed George! And she’s running!”

“Deuce, so help me, if you are chasing that woman and miss . . .”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“. . . I swear to the Lord, I will murder both you and Victor and I’ll tell this child that he or she was immaculately concepted.”

“Conceived.”

“Whatever! Now’s not the best time to correct my grammar, Deuce. Just promise you won’t miss the birth of your child.”

“I’ll be there. I promise. We’ve got time, right? You just said so!”

“Deuce, if you . . .”

“I’ll bet you,” I said, glancing toward the crowd. I could still see Susan, but she was about to round the corner toward the fairgrounds and I was going to lose her. “I’ll bet you I’ll be there.”

“Bet me what? And are you wagering on the birth of your child?? Right now??”

“I make it there in time, I get to name the baby,” I said. “I don’t, you get full naming power.”

She started to say something, but then thought about it. I think at that point she actually would’ve been glad for me to miss it.

“Full naming power?” she asked. “No arguments?”

“None. But if I get there, I get full naming rights.”

Her voice was drowned out by the roar of a motorcycle behind us.

Butch had pulled up, his helmet on, his sunglasses on, a stern expression on his face.

And a massive flag with George’s face on it mounted on the back of his bike.

“She’s running!” he yelled. “You need a lift?”

“What?”

“The Blamunski woman,” he said. “I heard part of your conversation. She’s running. You need a lift before she gets away?”

I looked at Julianne.

“I swear to God, you better be there,” she said. “Go.”

I kissed her cheek. “I will be. Full naming rights.”

I looked at Butch. “You got another bike that could get her to the hospital?”

Butch turned around, put his fingers to his lips, and ripped off an ear-piercing whistle. Two bikes immediately roared in behind him, both with the same George flag attached to the back of them.

“This woman needs a ride,” Butch yelled. “Take her wherever she tells you!”

Julianne’s forehead was in her hand.

I climbed on the back of Butch’s bike and shoved on an extra helmet he’d handed me. “I love you! I’ll be there!”

“I’m going to give your kid the worst name ever, Deuce Winters!” she yelled, shaking her head.

So I had some incentive to get to the hospital in time.

47

“You like the flags?” Butch called over his shoulder. “Told you it’d be good!”

My parents were near the judging platform when the chaos broke loose and my mother was already to the street by the time I realized I needed her. She assured me she had Carly and also assured me I would owe both her and my father an explanation when time allowed.

Butch and I were still snaking through the crowd on the street, the parade now at a complete standstill thanks to C.A.K.E.’s antics. I’d lost Susan while getting on the bike, but Butch said he had a bead on her and he was doing his darnedest to get us through the masses without flattening anyone.

I clutched the seat because I couldn’t bring myself to put my arms around Butch. “Yeah! Awesome!”

He nodded and hit the throttle and we jerked forward into a small opening in the crowd. If anyone thought it was odd that we were trying to get through, they didn’t show it. They were too caught up in the hosing down of the judges.

It took us several more minutes to get to the end of Main and I didn’t see her anywhere. “Where’d she go?”

“Toward the arena,” he said over his shoulder. “I saw her turn into the grounds.”

I nodded. It was an odd choice if she was trying to hide. The fair was nearly empty—because everyone was at the parade—and she’d be easy to spot. But maybe her car was parked on the other side of the grounds in the main lot. Maybe she was trying to cut through the fairgrounds to get to her car.

Butch jumped the sidewalk and we hit the dirt path that led to the entrance. He turned the throttle again and we shot through the gates, dust clouds blossoming around us. I moved my hands from the seat to him, trading vanity and ego for safety.

We roared around the exhibit buildings, past the food stand, and toward the arena. The main gate to the arena was open and Butch punched the throttle again and we rocketed through the entrance into the massive dirt arena.

The entire grandstand was empty, except for Susan, who was sitting in the first row. She didn’t run when she saw us, but she did look confused.

Which didn’t make any sense to me. Why had she tried to sneak away from the parade to go sit by herself in the stands?

Butch brought the bike to a halt near the steps to the grandstand, a final dust cloud swallowing us. I coughed and slid off the back.

“What’s going on?” Susan demanded.

“Why are you running?” I asked, climbing over the railing to where she was sitting.

“Running? What are you talking about?”

“I saw you take off in the chaos at the parade,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d ever leave the 4-H float. You were running away after our conversation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You killed George, didn’t you?”

“I told you, I had an alibi.”

“But you didn’t tell me what it is. So why are you running?”

Her face screwed up with agitation. “I wasn’t running! I didn’t kill anyone!”

Her conviction weakened mine. “But you left the parade.”

“Because he told me to meet him here!” she bellowed.

“Who did?”

She pointed over my shoulder. “Butch!”

My stomach dropped and I turned around slowly.

Butch was resting against his motorcycle, aiming a gun at both of us.

48

“Butch, what the hell are you doing with a gun?” Susan asked.

“Taking care of loose ends,” he said, smiling.

“Loose ends? What?” She looked at me. “What’s he talking about?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted.

Butch just smiled.

“He called me fifteen minutes ago and told me to leave the parade,” Susan said. “He told me to meet him here and that it was an emergency.”

“You two know one another?” I asked.

Susan’s face flushed.

Butch grinned. “Oh, yeah. We absolutely do.”

I was still in the dark.

“We, um, well,” Susan stammered. “Butch and I . . .”

“I think the correct term is friends with benefits,” Butch said. “We sleep together. Excuse me. We sleep together when she isn’t pining for George.”

“I wasn’t pining for George.”

Butch rolled his eyes, but kept the gun steady.

My stomach churned. “How long were you seeing each other?”

“A few months,” Susan said. “We’ve been sorta off and on for a few months.”

“More off than on,” Butch said, shaking his head.

“Why the hell do you have a gun?” Susan demanded. “What is going on?”

“I think I have an idea,” I said, my mind working everything over.

They both looked at me.

“Butch killed George,” I said.

Susan gasped, but Butch stayed silent.

“No,” Susan said. “That can’t be true. You wouldn’t do that. Butch?”

Butch didn’t say anything.

“I was asking you about your alibi,” I said to Susan. “Back at the float. Did Butch call you after that conversation?”

She blinked several times. “Well, yeah.”

“Guess he overheard most of our conversation,” I said, glancing at him.

Butch shrugged.

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Susan cried. “Butch was my alibi. I was with him the night before you found George in the freezer.”

“The entire night?”

She thought for a moment and then her face paled. “No.”

Butch’s mouth twitched at the corners.

“I broke up with him,” Susan said quietly. “I told Butch that I didn’t wanna see him anymore.”

“Because you were still pining for George,” Butch said, frowning.

“So we argued for most of the night,” she continued. “He didn’t want to break up. He wanted to keep seeing me. He was mad at me. But our relationship was . . . is . . . over. I thought I finally got that through to him. And then he finally left. It was early morning.” She nodded slowly. “It was sunrise. It had taken me the entire night to get him to leave. He didn’t want to go, but he finally did.”

The pieces of the puzzle were sliding together.

I looked at Butch. “You really don’t wanna make this worse for yourself.”

“That’s why I have the gun,” he said, grinning. “I’m no dummy. I’m going to make it easier for myself. So you don’t need to waste your breath and go all Law and Order on me.”

“Was it an accident?” I asked, trying to buy myself some time to think about how to get out of this mess.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, raising his eyebrows. His smile said otherwise.

“You
really
killed George?” Susan asked, incredulous. “Sweet George?”

“Let’s remember your sweet George was in love with sweet Matilda,” Butch said, frowning. “He was not in love with you, which you were too dumb to see.”

“How did it happen?” I asked.

Butch was ignoring me, though, focused on Susan. “Your sweet George wanted nothing to do with you. He told you to take a hike.”

“Stop,” she said.

“He couldn’t stand you,” he continued. “He told you he didn’t want anything to do with you.”

I couldn’t fault George there.

Susan bit her lip.

“But me?” he said, pointing his own finger at his chest. “Me? I’ve been there for you. Always trying to help you out. Do whatever you ask. And what thanks do I get?” He shook his head, disgusted. “You tell me we’re done because you want to try again with George. Only George is already in love with someone else and has absolutely zero interest in trying anything again with you.”

The pseudo-love triangle was making my head hurt. It seemed as if Susan had tried to replace George with Butch and, while that hadn’t worked for her, he apparently had taken to the role.

Maybe a bit too much.

“I even went to check with him for you,” he said, frowning like he smelled something rotten.

“You did what?” Susan asked.

“I went to make sure there was no chance he’d get together with you,” he said, waving the gun at her. “You were all broken up that he’d told you to stop bothering him and, stupid me, I thought I’d go tell him he’d hurt you and maybe that might change his mind. Even though you’d just told me we had no future. Because I’m
that nice
.”

The way he was waving the gun around and talking, Butch seemed anything but nice.

“So you went to tell him about Susan’s feelings for him?” I asked, scanning the arena and the grandstand.

We were still alone. The parade must have stalled out completely and I imagined everyone in the town was trying to sort out the commotion.

“Yeah,” he said, annoyed. “I left her house after she told me we were through and went right to his house. Woke his dumb butt up to tell him he was passing up a great opportunity with Susan.”

“And what’d he say?”

“He told me to get off his property,” Butch said, narrowing his eyes. “I thought that was rude.”

“George was never rude,” Susan said. “He didn’t have it in him.”

“Whatever,” Butch said. “I didn’t like the way he dismissed me. He wouldn’t even listen to me. I mean, I was trying to do the guy a favor. So I wouldn’t leave.” He chuckled. “He didn’t like that, either, but he couldn’t do anything about it.”

Butch seemed to enjoy his role as kind of a bully. I thought that joining a motorcycle club probably only empowered his sense of worth. And if he really was that hung up on Susan, he seemed like he was more than capable of hurting someone.

“So he decided he was just gonna leave, since I wouldn’t,” Butch said. “So I followed him here to the fairgrounds.”

“What did you do to him?” Susan said, her hands on her cheeks.

Butch chuckled. “Well, it was sort of an accident. He wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to get him to listen to me. For
you
, Susan. I tried to talk to him for you.”

Susan was crying now, tears running over her hands, which were plastered to her cheeks. For the first time, I felt a little sorry for her.

“I gave him a little shove,” Butch said. “And he didn’t really like that. And, then, when he took a swing at me, I shoved him a little harder.”

Susan sobbed quietly, her cries echoing up the stairs of the grandstand, and I didn’t say anything.

Butch shuffled his feet. “He sorta hit his head—on a brick—and didn’t get up.”

“He was dead?”

Butch hesitated, then nodded.

“So you just put him in the freezer?” I asked.

He hesitated, then nodded again. “Didn’t really know what else to do with him.”

“Call the police,” I said. “Or an ambulance. Nine-one-one would cover all your bases. He took a swing at you. You could’ve claimed self-defense.”

“Yeah, those didn’t occur to me,” he said, shrugging.

Clearly.

“And let’s face it,” Butch said. “I pushed him. I knew it would come out about me and Susan. I knew what it would look like. Putting him in the freezer seemed like the right thing to do.”