Mystery at the Fair

by Connie Cockrell

  He nodded, confused. His sister, Tracy Marks, gave him a hug. "The drain clogged and the water slowed to a trickle. It was fixed by five. The first round showing lineup was juggled to give the kids who hadn't groomed their animals later start times."

  "Ah." He reached out and pretend-pinched his niece's nose. "You did just fine then. When's the next showing?"

  "Tomorrow," the girl chirped. She gave her steer a hug. "Me and Rusty are going to get the Grand Champion ribbon, aren't we boy?" She stroked the animal's face between its eyes.

  Nick raised his eyebrows at his sister and they walked off together around the barn. The place was a hive of activity. Final food and water for the day was being given to each animal by its owners. Kids were displaying their ribbons on back boards. Families were handing out sacks of fast food for dinner. Spare stalls were set up as little family enclaves where they could hang out, visit with other ranch families and keep an eye on the animals.

  Fair goers wandered through the barn as well, stopping to admire a healthy-looking steer or pig. Tracy greeted many of the families and Nick did as well. His position was elected, and while he was mainly there to see his sister and her family, it didn't hurt to remind the voters that he was one of them.

  Paul caught up to him at the last stall in the barn. "Hey, there. I see you started without me." He gave Tracy a hug. "Where's that old man of yours?"

  "He's over in the small livestock barn with Daniel. They're feeding the sheep and goats."

  "Tell him hi for me. I fully intend to beat him next Saturday on the golf course."

  "I'll tell him," she laughed. The two men, high school friends and rivals, had an ongoing challenge every other week on the golf course.

  Nick gave his sister another hug. "I'm going to take a stroll around the fair. I'll try and get over here tomorrow for the next judging rounds. Call me with the times."

  "I'll do that. Dan and Morgan would be thrilled if you could watch."

  Paul tipped his police Stetson. "Have a good night, Tracy."

  She waved, then headed back to Rusty's stall.

  They ran into Jason Lerner outside the barn. "Hey there, Jason," Nick said. The men all shook hands. "Heard you had some trouble this afternoon." The music of the carnival drifted over them.

  "We did. The livestock wash rack drain clogged up. I've been telling the maintenance people about that drain for a year. Well, they had to do something about it, finally, today. That new woman, Jean? She got a plumber right on it."

  Paul winked at Nick, who glared back. "I'm glad it was resolved. My niece, you know Morgan, was one of the ones affected."

  "Oh, yeah, good kid. She was a trooper. And she did really well at the first round showing. That Rusty is a fine steer. I may have to bid on him myself."

  A grin spread across Nick's face. He appreciated it when his niece and nephew received compliments. "Thanks, Jason. I'll tell them you said so."

  The three men said good night and moved on. Paul looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, let's go look at the exhibits. My aunt has some pickles in the Canned-Goods department."

  Nick shot him a look. "How about we go over to the midway and get something to eat. I missed lunch."

  Paul laughed. "Fair enough. Let's get the barbeque. I could use a pulled pork."

  The two strolled, taking in the flow of people buying food. Nick stopped to glare at a foursome of teen boys, rough-housing next to a full trash can. The boys caught the look and moved on, still punching at each other. The men walked on.

  "Hard to believe we were that silly," Paul said.

  "We were never that silly. We both had a full load at school, ranch chores to do and after-school jobs to go to."

  Paul laughed. "Oh yeah? What about the time you, me, Lyle Andrews and Jerry Cole took three days off to run up to President Lake the summer after we graduated? I distinctly remember—"

  Nick held up a hand. "I was there. I remember. We were lucky none of us got killed that weekend." He drew in a deep breath and became quiet. After a few steps he said, "Shame about Lyle. He would have been a good man."

  Paul grew somber as well. "Damn shame. That elk went right through the windshield. Freak accident."

  "Yeah. He was the smartest of us. He would have made a fine doctor one day."

  "Yep."

  The men reached the barbeque trailer and each ordered a pulled pork. They continued walking around the grounds toward the Exhibits building after they each had one in hand. "How's Ms. Hays?" Paul asked around a mouthful of pork.

  "I haven't seen her since I brought her over here this morning,"

  "You drove her over here?"

  Nick swallowed. "Yeah. I tried to talk her out of coming. She insisted on coming here as soon as she got out of the hospital. I know her head had to be splitting."

  Paul grinned. "I saw in the morning report you did the interview in the hospital."

  Nick's voice went hard. "She was assaulted. How the hell often does that happen in Greyson? And not a thing stolen, so it wasn't a druggie."

  "You think someone has it out for her?" Paul stopped grinning. "You don't think they'd murder her, do you?"

  "Well they had their chance. She was unconscious." Nick ate the last bite of his sandwich and threw the paper wrapper in the trash. He pulled a napkin from his pocket and wiped his hands and threw that in too, then walked on. "I've got my eye on Josh Marlow."

  Paul had to think a moment. "Ranch hand down in Rancho Verde?"

  "That's the guy. He's got a history of bar fights and drunk and disorderly."

  "Big jump from that to murder, Nick."

  "Maybe so, but something about the guy sets my teeth on edge. I'm going to keep an eye on him while I check out other leads."

  "Fair enough. What do you want me to do?"

  "Check out the other ranch hands. Marlow bunks with three or four other guys. I'm going to look into Ina's family. She had a gambling problem. That might make someone angry. Maybe even the casino, though I think that's a long shot. Jimmy Crowfoot assured me they use attorneys for debt collection. I need you to look into the companies the casino is using to collect gambling debts. See if there's any funny business going on there. Reports of people getting roughed up, stuff like that. And check with the track down in Phoenix. Maybe they had some hinky collection agency do something, too."

  "What a mess," Paul said.

  "Tell me about it." Nick hoped he was covering all the bases.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When she got out of the rental car the next morning, Jean adjusted the gray scarf she'd wrapped around her head. This is what I get for taking a sleep aid. Late! The very fact she was two hours late made her crazy. She was never late, for anything. But between the head injury, the bad dreams and the minor sleep aid, she'd overslept. 'Minor sleep aid' my ass. She silently cursed the doctor who had told her it was very mild. She hurried through the back gate, where the exhibitors and fair workers entered, and rushed to the Exhibitor Building. It was already nine in the morning. An hour after the fair opened. Jean was sick with embarrassment.

  She skidded to a halt outside the west end of the Exhibitor Building. It was open. A family of five exited the door, the mother nodding to her as they passed. She took a deep breath and walked into the building.

  Several families and couples were inside, pausing at the school exhibits, the fine arts and the photography display. Jean smiled and nodded. When she paused in the photography area an elderly woman, Jean guessed about seventy-five, asked, "How do I enter an exhibit?"

  Jean led her to the table the photography Superintendent had set up with the help of the local photography club. She introduced the woman to the club member on duty there and drifted away. The woman waved when Jean left.

  Well, good to know I'm not a complete waste of space. She wound her way around exhibits and fairgoers. She still had a headache. Jean adjusted the scarf again. It was falling over her left eye.

  When she arrived at the middle
of the building, Karen was waiting for her. "You got some rest!"

  Jean shook her head. "Not so much. Horrible dreams, sleeping drugs, it was all bad. Thank you for opening."

  Karen gave her a hug. "Not a problem. You still have a headache, don't you?"

  An eyeroll gave Karen all the ammunition she needed. "Why are you here? Just go home. Sleep. Relax. We can do this."

  "I feel guilty." Jean sank onto the chair next to the one Karen usually used. "I signed on to volunteer, not lay about my house at the most important time."

  "Oh, for gosh sakes! You were bashed in the head. You get to lay about!"

  Jean eyed her friend. "You're trying to take over, you are? Power mad, you are!" Jean's voice rasped in her best Yoda impersonation.

  Karen slapped her on the arm. "That was awful. Does that work for you?"

  Jean laughed, until she had to press her hand to her scalp wound. "Ow. That hurts. Don't make me laugh."

  Karen glared at her in response. "Really. Why are you here?"

  A nod in the direction of the middle door was her answer. "He was back with me at eight. There was a car outside on the curb in front of my house at nine pm. Another car was there at six. Mr. Police Protector was standing at the gate to follow me in when I got here. I'm starting to feel like bait."

  "The Chief and his deputy were through here last night just after you left."

  Jean rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me. They wanted to question me?"

  Karen snorted a laugh. "No. They wanted to see Paul's aunt's pickles in Canning."

  A blush crept up Jean's face. "Excuse me!" She shifted on the chair. "That's all?"

  "Yep." Karen walked over to a display table and readjusted a crooked entry. "They were pretty casual about it, but I noticed the Chief looking around the building."

  "He's a cop. He's trained to look around and notice things." Jean crossed her arms over her chest. Was he looking around for me? She seriously doubted it but was intrigued nonetheless.

  Karen's right eyebrow arched. "Of course."

  "I'm going to get something to eat." Jean stood up, sliding the chair back. "You want something?"

  "Yeah, an order of those curly fries drenched in cheese."

  Jean's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"

  "Oh, yeah. I wait all year for those suckers. Can I give you some money?" Karen headed for her purse.

  "Nonsense. I'm buying." Jean waved her off. "But I can't believe Ms. Healthy Food is asking for that."

  Karen stared at her wide-eyed. "It's fair food. Once a year! Get me my fries!" She pointed imperiously.

  Jean bowed. "To hear is to obey. Cheesy curly fries on their way."

  After grabbing her wallet, Jean strolled out of the building and toward the midway. The craft fair was in the space between her building and the midway. Jean walked from booth to booth looking at the jewelry, hand-made soaps, end-of-season vegetables, knitted goods, hand-crafted dolls and rugs and wood-worked wares. She stopped to talk to most of the vendors, asking them about their sales and fair experience so far. At the wood-working booth she bought an exotic wood pen for her son. It would make a good Christmas gift.

  She was constantly aware of the young officer behind her. Today he was in civilian clothing. She had to admit he blended in better that way, though it still bugged her that he had to follow her at all.

  As Jean approached the midway, she spied Analise's gourmet sandwich truck. It was still a little early for the lunch crowd but Jean saw a young man—dark hair, dark complexion, wearing cowboy boots, jeans and a western-style shirt—standing at the window, arguing with Analise. She was too far away to hear what was being said. He waved his arm, and Analise pointed at him, her face the picture of anger. What's going on there? Jean shifted her bag from the wood-worker from one hand to the other. She closed on the food truck, doing her best to stay out of sight of the window.

  "You'll be sorry." The young man flung his hands up and stormed off, away from Jean. Too bad I couldn't hear the whole conversation. She checked her escort. He was looking at the display of children's toys three stalls behind Jean. Of course he has small children. And now that he's following me, he isn't going to have time to bring his family to the fair. Jean sighed as the cloak of guilt settled over her. Damn!

  Jean drifted by the sandwich truck. Analise was on the phone inside, her back to the window.

  "I don't care. Just take care of it," Jean overheard her say, but then Analise hung up. Something isn't right here. But Jean could hardly hang around the sandwich truck all day waiting for something else to happen, so she decided to move on. I wouldn't buy a sandwich from that woman on a bet. I might just as well say, "Come poison me." She walked down to the Knights of Columbus stand.

  "A brat, please."

  An older man took her money and handed her the tiny tray covered with a grill-toasted bun and a charred brat. He pointed out the mustard.

  As she bit into the sausage through the crisp skin, the fat from the dog spurted out and splashed on the bun. Not as good as the rindwurst in Germany, but it will do. Jean eyed Analise's truck; she was taking a sandwich order. No more clues there for the time being.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jean finished her brat as she stood beside the Knights of Columbus cart. They told her this year's fair was good for them. There were a lot of people attending this year. One old guy joked, "Nothing like a dead body to bring people in." Jean smiled while thinking there was nothing funny about a dead body falling on you. She thanked them for the brat, tossed her trash in the nearby can and walked on.

  Moving along the midway, she stopped and introduced herself and asked each vendor how they were doing. As to be expected, some were doing better than others. She thanked each of them for coming to the fair and walked to the next vendor. It was nice to see families out, enjoying the event. Kids raced up and down the midway, balloons dancing in the air behind them. Teens walked by in pairs or packs, eating shaved ice or cotton candy or popcorn. Girls in pairs whispered to each other. Boys tended to push, shove, smack and otherwise annoy the others in their group. She remembered that from when her son was a teen. Boys just couldn't seem to hold still.

  Halfway down the midway she noticed a commotion by one of the picnic tables. She hurried over. A middle-aged woman hovered over an elderly man as another woman fanned him with her napkin. Jean interrupted. "Is something wrong? I'm with the fair."

  The woman fanning looked worried. The middle-aged woman said, "My dad is having problems with the heat."

  Jean moved in. The man was pale, but not sweating. He panted as he sat on the picnic table bench and his eyes were beginning to roll back in his head. "How long has he been like this?"

  "Just a minute. He said he didn't feel good and we sat down here."

  Jean pulled off the scarf over her head, exposing the bandages. Thank goodness I wore a cotton one today. She glanced around. There was a bottle of water on the table. "Is that your water?"

  The woman nodded. Jean grabbed it, soaked her scarf with the water and put the wet cloth on the man's head. She turned around. Her escort was a few steps away. "Officer, call an ambulance. I suspect this man is suffering from heat exhaustion, maybe worse." She saw him pull a cell phone from his pocket and turned back to the family. "I'm Jean. We're calling an ambulance."

  The younger woman said, "I'm Mae, this is my mom Willa and my dad is Henry. I don't understand. Dad was drinking a lot of water."

  Jean nodded. "That helps, of course, but in this case we need to bring his body temperature down and drinking water won't help. We need to cool him down. Head first, then neck, wrists and so on as best we can. Can you go over to the vendor there and get me three more bottles of water? As cold as they have them."

  Mae nodded and hurried off.

  "Willa, how are you? Are you too hot, too?"

  The woman, in her late sixties as far as Jean could tell, shook her head. "No, I feel fine. Henry had a cold last week. I wondered if he felt well enough to come out
today but he insisted." She wiped an unshed tear from her eye. "Bull-headed, always was."

  Mae rushed back. "Here." She thrust the bottles at Jean.

  Jean uncapped one and took the scarf from his head. The water she poured over it was ice cold. She put it back on his head. "Do you have a scarf, bandana, anything?"

  Both women shook their heads. A voice from behind Jean broke in. "I have a bandana." She turned around. A young man in well-worn, dusty cowboy boots, dirty jeans and grubby western-style shirt pulled a bandana out of his shirt pocket. "Take it. I have a lot more."

  Jean nodded her thanks and took the bandana. It was clean. She unfolded it and poured water over it, then wrapped it around Henry's neck. Two more people handed her a handkerchief and another bandana. She wet them and wrapped them around Henry's wrists. The officer moved closer to her. "Ambulance is on the way. It's about five minutes out."

  "Thank you." She looked at him. "I don't know your name."

  "Williams." He tipped his cowboy hat.

  "Thank you, Officer Williams."

  "Not a bother, Ms. Hays." He drifted to the back of the small crowd.

  The next few minutes were spent rewetting the cloths to cool them off and getting Henry to drink some of the cold water. Officer Williams cleared a path through the crowd when the EMTs arrived with a stretcher. Jean stepped back and let the crew do their job. Willa went with the EMTs when they rolled the stretcher away. Mae shook Jean's hand. "Thank you for the help. I just didn't know what to do."

  "I was glad to help. Do you need a ride to the hospital?"

  "No." She sniffed, wiping at a few tears. "I'm going to drive over. I just wanted to take a second to say how grateful we are."

  "You're welcome. I hope he recovers quickly."

  "Me, too." Mae hurried away.

  Jean took a breath. The crowd had melted away now that the drama was over. She caught a few passersby looking at her head. A flash of embarrassment washed over her, but then she shook it off. I've got nothing to be embarrassed by. I have a wound, it's bandaged. She stood up straight and held her head up. She continued her visit to each vendor. Four booths away a woman was selling hand-dyed silk scarves.