Mystery at the Fair

by Connie Cockrell

  What if it is Arris? Does he know Karen and I are asking around? Arris knows where I live. He knows what car I drive. The injury on her head throbbed and she put her hand over the spot to get it to stop.

  She was still pondering that question when the breakfast tray came in.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jean took a cab to her house after the doctor released her. She had to wear her bloody clothing home so the first thing she did when she got home was toss them in the trash and take a shower. The shower was tricky. She wasn’t supposed to let the water hit her head, but her hair was bloody and sticky and she wanted to get it clean. It finally occurred to her to wash her hair in the kitchen sink. She unwrapped the bandage that wrapped around her head and using the sink hose, washed the hair the ER staff hadn’t shaved off. Hair clean, she went back to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror.

  “Oh my God, did they have to shave so much off?” She turned her head in the mirror. “I look like friggin’ Frankenstein's monster!” A three-inch cut went from the top of her head slanting toward the back of her ear. Black stitches pulled the edges together with stitch ends sticking up. She felt them; they were stiff. The skin around the wound was stained orange-brown. Jean shook her head. “Wonderful.”

  “Where’s the first-aid stuff?” she asked herself. She hadn’t needed it since she moved in. After searching three drawers in the sink console, she found the sterile pads and gauze bandages. Using cotton balls she dabbed antiseptic cream on the wound, placed a gauze pad over it and wrapped her head with the bandage. She shook her head. “I look like a mummy.”

  After she washed her hands she dug around in her dresser for the scarves she had but never wore. She selected one in plain light blue and wrapped it around her head. A button-up-the-front blouse, in a nearly matching blue, eliminated the need to pull a shirt over her bandaged head. Shorts, white ankle socks and sneakers completed her wardrobe change. She felt so much better now that she was clean and in fresh clothing.

  In the kitchen she had just picked up her phone to call the cab company when the front doorbell rang.

  Chief White was at the door. “Nick!”

  “Jean. The hospital told me you were released.”

  “Uh, yeah. Come on in.”

  He pulled his hat off and stepped inside. Jean closed the door behind him. “I was about to call a cab.”

  “A cab?”

  She looked at him. “A cab, to take me to the fairgrounds.” She stopped short and stared at him. “I assume my rental car is still there?”

  “Yes. It’s still there. I had the lab do a quick fingerprint check. The rental company said they'd just detailed the car. Aside from the rental reps your prints were the only ones on it, so we left it there.”

  Jean breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh good. I don’t know what I’d tell the rental people if it had been taken in for processing.”

  "You're feeling all right?" A look of confusion, then sheepishness crossed his face. "I mean, you're okay to go work the fair?"

  "I'm good enough. I'll take it easy. It's not right to leave the whole thing to Karen and the other Superintendents. They have enough to do." She watched him nod.

  "I suppose, but I'm a little concerned about the attack on you." He drew a breath. "We haven't caught whoever did it." He rubbed his face. She could see he hadn't had much sleep.

  "I'm sorry, Chief, uh, Nick. I don't know who would think I have any information. If I hear something, I'll let you know but I've already told you everything I got from Josh Marlow and he was the only one I've talked to." She remembered Karen's comments from Wednesday. "Well, there might be something else."

  His eyebrows rose. "Something else?"

  "It's not much. Ina was known to be in a fierce competition with a Vera MacIlroy in the quilt department. I guess comments were pretty heated last year when Ina won Best of Show. Vera spit on Ina's quilt."

  Nick blinked. "Quilt wars?"

  His tone of voice made her feel stupid. "Sorry. But Analise got all over me on Tuesday at Ingram's and then Wednesday, Karen mentioned the ongoing feud between those two." She could feel her face heat up. "Anyway, it's a clue, or line of investigation, or whatever."

  She walked into the kitchen to get her bag with fair notebook, cell phone, and purse. He followed her, looking around at the living room, pictures of her in uniform, pictures of her son, and friends on the walls. There were a few pieces of southwestern art, pottery, rock drawings and the like on shelves and over the fireplace on the mantle.

  "It seems you've settled in pretty well."

  She walked back into the living room, keys in hand, bag over her shoulder. "Pretty well. Something I learned while I was in the military. Unpack, get out your belongings, make the place your home." Jean was glad he'd dropped the conversation about quilt wars. It sounded stupid even to her.

  He twisted the hat in his hands. "I really wish you'd reconsider going to the fairgrounds. It's dangerous."

  Jean adjusted the bag on her shoulder and stared him straight in the eyes. "I made a commitment, Chief, to the fair. It's more than just a cute thing. The county fair is where the members of the community gather to share their skills. Skills, I may remind you, that are rapidly dying out. This is our opportunity to interest the young in these crafts. Not just knitting or quilting, but wood-working, soap-making, growing and preserving food." She pointed at him. "These are life skills, as important, no, more important than how to use a computer. These skills will keep people alive if, God forbid, something horrible happens. Sure, there are bragging rights for raising a prize-winning steer, or running a barrel race on your mustang pony, but more important is the sharing of skills. I will not let the fair falter because I'm a wimp and can't put up with a little headache."

  Nick backed up a step at her intensity. He held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I understand. This is important to you." He grinned at her. "May I offer you a ride to the fairgrounds?"

  She took a breath and reset the bag on her shoulder. "Sorry. I get a little passionate." She grinned back at him. "Yes, I'd love a ride to the fair."

  He tipped his hat and walked to the door. "Your ride awaits, ma'am."

  Jean followed him to the door. "Thank you, sir."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The ride to the fairgrounds was quiet. Nick didn't know what to say to the woman. He admired her passion for the fair, though. He'd expected her to be one of those women who didn't cook and didn't know anything about doing things for herself. Instead she seemed to be well aware of the ongoing and rapid loss of the skills necessary for survival. He liked that. The lines of an old country and western song ran through his mind. Something about not wanting a drugstore woman, if he remembered correctly. He snuck a glance at her. She wasn't a drugstore woman.

  Jean was letting her short hair go gray. There was very little makeup on her face. Little lines were forming at the corners of her eyes. No nonsense, practical, he thought to himself. Her ex must be a fool.

  He let her off at the fair gate. "Take care, Jean," he said as she got out.

  She leaned in the door. "I will, Nick."

  He watched as she went through the gate and turned to go to the Exhibits building until she was out of sight. Nick glanced at the clock. He had a little while before he had things to do so he picked up the radio and called his friend, Paul Oliver, to meet for coffee.

  #

  Paul walked through the door of the Highway Diner ten minutes after the call. Nick was already there with a cup of coffee in front of him and the newspaper spread out on the table. Paul called out to the waitress. "Hey, Elaine, can I get a coffee?"

  She grinned at him. "Sure thing, Paul. Be right there."

  Paul slid into the booth opposite his boss. "Not like you to take a break. You okay?"

  "I'm fine." Nick folded up the paper and dropped it on the bench beside him. "I'm just tired. I was up most of last night and up early this morning. I think I had about four hours' sleep."
>
  "You're gettin' kinda old for that, buddy."

  Elaine brought a mug and the coffee pot. She poured for Paul. "You want more, Chief?"

  He slid the cup toward her. "Yes, please."

  She poured him a refill and dropped a spoon on the table for Paul. "You boys want anything else?"

  Nick slashed the air over the table with his hand. "No, I'm good."

  "Nothing for me, Elaine," Paul said.

  "Give me a holler if you change your mind." She walked off, stopping two tables down to freshen the coffee cups of two elderly men.

  Nick scrubbed his face with his hands, then put more sugar and creamer in his coffee. "I want you to put a man on protection detail," he told Paul as he stirred his coffee.

  "Let me guess, on Jean Hays?" Paul put his spoon down and sipped his coffee.

  Nick eyed him with bloodshot eyes.

  Paul laughed. "No, I'm not accusing you of anything but I read the morning reports. Her tires were slashed day before yesterday and last night she was attacked. Nothing was missing so it wasn't a robbery. Someone is out to get her."

  "That's the way I read it." Nick picked up his mug. "If she's driving around, have a cruiser follow her. She's still in the rental."

  Paul nodded. "Will do. You think you might catch whoever it is in the act?"

  "I hope so. I've had more crime this week than in the last six months." Nick watched the two old guys get up and leave.

  "What do you think of her now?"

  Nick brought his eyes back to Paul. "She's okay. Not the stuck-up Easterner I thought she'd be. I tried to get her to stay home this morning but she wouldn't have it. She's got a strong sense of commitment."

  A smile spread across Paul's face. "You like her."

  Nick snorted. "Hardly. But I admire her grit. She's back at the fairgrounds, some light blue scarf wrapped around her head to hide the bandages. She must have a hell of a headache but there she is, taking care of business." He finished off his coffee. "I've got to run out to Rancho Verde. Get someone on Vera MacIlroy. Seems there was an argument between her and Ina over quilts."

  Paul nearly snorted his coffee. "Quilts?"

  Nick shrugged. "It's not like I have a lot of leads here." He drained his cup. "Ina was a champion quilter or some such. Maybe it's something." The men got out of the booth and walked to the register.

  "Sure thing, boss. Get someone on Vera MacIlroy. I'll call one of the patrols to tail Ms. Hays. If there's any trouble, I'll let you know."

  Chapter Thirty

  As Jean walked to the Exhibits building, she could feel the sun beating down. It intensified her existing headache. It was almost noon and the sound of the carnival with the rides clanking, the music blasting and the kids screaming made her headache worse. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy filled the air. The sweet smell, almost burnt, turned Jean's stomach. She quickened her pace.

  Inside the Exhibits building it was quieter. People were walking slowly along the displays, pointing out exceptional pieces of work or cheering when they recognized their own or a friend's name. The carnival music subsided to a tolerable level. She grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler.

  Karen came up behind her. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be home resting?" She gave Jean a hug.

  "There's no way I could stay home the first day of the fair. Don't be silly."

  Karen walked her over to the Homemaking Arts area and sat Jean down. "What did the doctor say? Do you have a concussion? Should you be driving?"

  Jean laughed as she unscrewed the cap to the bottle of water. "Whoa there, one question at a time." She took a drink and recapped the bottle.

  Karen grabbed a second chair and sat beside her friend. "Spill it. Tell me every detail."

  "I've got a gash on my head where I was hit. You saw that in the hospital when you picked up the keys. The doctor says there's no concussion. I can drive but my rental car was here so Chief White gave me a ride over."

  "Chief White? He played taxi for you?" Both eyebrows raised.

  "He stopped by my house after I got home to try and convince me not to come here today."

  "He was right." Karen pointed her finger at her friend. "You should be home resting."

  "No, I should not. I should be here, especially since Arris is out." Jean waited as a family passed by them, the youngest boy dropping popcorn in a trail behind him. "Anyway, I was going to call a cab, but he offered to bring me over."

  "Well!" Karen said. "I think he's sweet on you."

  "I don't think so. It's more likely that he thinks I'm a pain in his backside. I've been involved in three separate incidents this week. I can't imagine that his statistics are going to look good when the town wants to review his performance."

  Karen shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Did he say anything about who might have attacked you?"

  "Nope. There were no fingerprints on the car. None of my stuff was stolen. No clues at all."

  Karen leaned back in her chair; disappointment covered her face. "That sucks." Her frown reflected concern. "So they don't know who hit you or why?"

  Jean shook her head as she uncapped the bottle and took another drink. Now that she was out of the sun and the noise, her head felt better.

  "So, whoever slashed your tires and attacked you can do it again?" Karen's voice rose. An elderly couple turned to stare. She waved at them and got back to Jean. "What's he doing about it?"

  "I have no idea. I told him about Josh Marlow. As far as I can tell he hasn't questioned the man at all. They have questioned Arris, though. Twice." Just thinking about it annoyed her. It was as though the man was totally ignoring her suggestions.

  "Maybe they're questioning a lot of people, Ina's family, friends, other people." Karen sat back in her chair again. "He might have a lead or two and not tell you."

  "True. He came in to question me last night. He was quite emphatic that I keep my nose out of his business." Her sarcastic tone of voice let Karen know what she thought of that. "Anyway, here I am, four hours late, but here. Thanks for getting more water and ice, by the way."

  "No biggie. I get water out of that cooler myself. Glad to help." Karen fussed with her tote bag, picking it up and putting it back down. "I may have something."

  Jean pressed the cold water to her temples, hoping to help the headache. "What?"

  "Well, I had dinner at home last night before I came back. Peggy and Tyler were there. I just had a feeling, a couple of times, about Tyler."

  "Peggy's boyfriend, right? We haven't met."

  "Right. Anyway, he was watching me when I left the kitchen. We'd just been talking about our visit to Marlow and your slashed tires. Maybe Tyler knows something."

  Jean blinked. The headache made it hard to think. "Did he know Ina? Does he seem like the kind of guy to kill someone?"

  "I have no idea." Karen sighed. "It's just more questions that we don't have answers for."

  "Don't feel bad. I told Nick about Vera MacIlroy. He looked at me like I was nuts and to be honest, I felt like a nut."

  "You had to tell him." Karen dug the building key out of her shorts pocket. "Here's your key back."

  "Thanks." Jean pulled her key ring out of her pocket and put the key back on it. "I appreciate the help."

  "We'll all give you a hand. The others told me to tell you that. Don't try to do everything alone."

  A grin spread across Jean's face. "Thanks. That’s so nice of everyone."

  Karen put her arm around Jean and gave her a hug. "That's what friends do, sweetie. That's what friends do."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was one in the afternoon when Nick drove his police SUV down the driveway of the K Bar Seven ranch. He pulled up in front of the bunkhouse trailer and rapped on the door. No answer. They're out working. Maybe the barn. He got in the truck and drove to the nearest barn. There were no work noises nor sounds of life. Nick passed by a chicken coop, the chicken-wire-fenced yard must have held about fifty chickens. The ranchers know what
they're eating this winter, he thought as he drove by. Where else could these guys be?

  After a stop at the ranch house for directions, he drove out on the ranch road to a pasture next to the river. He found four ranch hands stringing fence wire. He got out of the car. The heat hit him hard after the car's air-conditioning. It must have been ten or fifteen degrees warmer than in Greyson. The men watched him, all except one. "Josh Marlow!" Nick called out.

  The other three went back to work. The fourth man turned around. "Yeah. Who's askin'?"

  Nick put his Stetson on—the sun was brutal—and walked over to the group. "Greyson Police Chief, Nick White. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

  Josh glanced at the other ranch hands. They didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, whatever." He jerked off his leather work gloves and slapped the dirt out of them against his blue-jeaned leg.

  Josh's "whatever" set Nick's teeth on edge. He hated that phrase. "Let's step over here, sir." Nick pointed to the other side of the car.

  "Sure, why not." Josh sauntered over to the far side of the car, the Chief following.

  Nick adjusted his equipment belt and checked that his weapon was strapped down. He didn't like Marlow's attitude and wouldn't put it past the man to do something stupid. Nick stopped three feet away from the ranch hand. "Where were you between ten and midnight last night?"

  Josh turned his head and spit in the dirt. "Right here."

  "Can anyone corroborate that?"

  Marlow jerked his head at the other hands. "They can. We all live in the same crappy trailer the owners call a bunkhouse." He stuck his hands in his front pockets. "What's this about?"

  "How about day before yesterday, between midnight and six am? Where were you?"

  The man drew a big breath. "Same place, right here. We get up early, I was in bed."

  Nick didn't like the sullen look he was getting. "Sleeping? All of you?"

  Josh smirked at the Chief. "Yeah."

  "So you could have left for a while, come back, and no one would have been the wiser?"

  "What are you gettin' at, Chief?" He took a step forward, anger straining his voice.