by Cathy Tully
Susannah laughed as Bitsy rifled through her purse and presented her with her keychain. The peachy bob dangled as Susannah revved the engine and carefully wound the oversized vehicle out of the cordoned-off lot, across the back lawn and down a paved pathway that abutted the cemetery. The fairground was no more than a grassy field, part of which had been designated for inflatable bouncy houses and slides for the little ones. She drove along the grass and down a row of vehicles, and nosed the truck under a tall oak, pleased that she had caught some shade for Bitsy.
As she stepped down from the running board, she spied a man inspecting a small trailer that was hitched to a pickup. His Alabama ball cap was pulled down low, covering his face. Perhaps he had discovered a flat tire or locked himself out of his car. Susannah thought about offering him a hand, but at that moment her phone buzzed. Bitsy’s face showed on her screen.
“I need you to bring me some fortification. Some of that hot cocoa from the PGBA booth would go down good right now. And a biscuit, maybe you could find me a chicken biscuit,” she added, her voice fading out as she shouted instructions to someone, “but not from you know where.” Her last few words faded into a whisper, and the connection was broken.
Susannah studied the parking area. The man in the ball cap was gone. Making her way to the vendors’ booths, she examined the wares of the Peach Grove Gardening Club, traditionally the first booth. Valerie Underwood, the master gardener, waved her over, pointing at this year’s crop of Better Boy tomato plants. Susannah waved back and promised to return, but she knew that she would not. Her bad luck with plants was legendary, having earned her the nickname Doctor Black Thumb, and she dutifully kept away from all greenery. Any homegrown veggies she ate were given to her by those with greener digits.
The line for cocoa was long; no surprise, as the PGBA made sure that they manned the only stall that sold hot beverages. Patience was not one of Susannah’s better-known virtues, and she twisted to find her tent. Guilt pricked at her conscience. She had abandoned Larraine and needed to get back. She grabbed a couple of packets of sugar and a handful of napkins and threw them in her shoulder bag. The cocoa and biscuit were hot in her hands when she felt a tap.
“Doctor Shine!”
She turned to see Dolores and Pilar. Dolores waved, a small flick of her wrist, an economy of movement Susannah had seen in her mother.
Susannah returned the greeting, a flutter in her belly urging her to ask if they had turned Anita’s medical file over to the detective. It was more important than ever that Pilar relent and give the police department Anita’s information. “What are you doing here so early? The parade is not for an hour.”
“I was helping Tomás and Nolan set up the drink stand.” Dolores stepped toward her grandmother and squeezed her hand. “Now I want to show Abuela some of the scarves that the Peachy Things shop sells. Do you know where her booth is?”
Susannah shifted the steaming Styrofoam cups. “Straight ahead. If you wait a minute, I’ll walk you there.”
She hurried over to Bitsy, who plucked the cocoa and biscuit from her hands as if she had been trained at the famous School of the Seven Bells for pickpockets. “Is this the biggest they got? I need my strength if I’m gonna be in the sun all day,” Bitsy said.
“That’s all they had. When I come back, I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Can I have a funnel cake? I really love funnel cakes.”
“Anything you want,” Susannah replied, not bothering to mention that Peachy Things’ first customers of the morning were waiting for her to escort them to the booth. She hurried down the main aisle, where most vendors were set up and ready for business. She slowed as she found Dolores stopped at a booth that hawked handcrafted yard art. The welded metal had been sculptured into various whimsical animals. Susannah had noticed the vivid colors from fifty yards away. Up close, they were fun and comical.
“Look at this rooster,” Dolores chuckled, pointing out a specimen to Susannah that stood four feet tall with a yellow body and bright red cockscomb. Its tail feathers were painted in alternating green and blue, and its eyes were black under small metallic lids. It was surrounded by a brood of smaller statues of exactly the same shape but in a dizzying array of color combinations. “My mother would have loved this.”
Susannah agreed, remembering her glimpse into Anita’s personality during her tête-à-tête with Pilar.
Dolores turned to her grandmother, her hand poised to touch a woman who was no longer there. “Abuelita?”
Scanning the aisles, Susannah spotted Pilar a few yards away, gazing up at a black-and-white photograph that Marcie had hung across one of the Wing Shack’s three tents. The image, enlarged to the size of a poster, was daunting. A banner above it claimed 20 Years in Business. Susannah could not make out details, but it appeared to be a typical grand opening ribbon cutting ceremony. She’d had one when she had opened her chiropractic office.
Pilar stood alone, gazing at the photo. Susannah noticed Marcie Jones standing outside the tent talking with Hayle, who bobbed her head and pointed back toward the parking lot.
“What is it, Abuela?” Dolores asked.
Pilar turned and studied Dolores, and her posture changed; her shoulders sagged slightly and she shook her head, a small movement. “Nada, mi amor.” Color suffused her cheeks. “I was hungry, so I went over to see if they had anything ready, and the size of that photo impressed me. That is all.”
Dolores looked doubtful, but she put her arm around the old woman’s shoulder and gave her a protective squeeze. She glanced back at the Wing Shack. “I think that they’re selling chicken biscuits now. I can get you one.”
Pilar again shook her head ever so slightly, her face a tightly drawn mask. Susannah noticed how stiff she held herself, like her posture when she’d banged her fist on the table, swearing she would not give Anita’s personal information to the police. “No. No es necesario.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“I said no!” she snapped, then relented, her face softening in a gesture that Susannah recognized as fear. “I’m sorry, mijita. I can’t eat fried food.”
“Are you sure?”
“Chicken biscuits—me hace daño.”
Susannah knew enough Spanish to understand that the woman had said that chicken biscuits didn’t agree with her, but the way her face had darkened made Susannah suspect she was hiding something. Dolores didn’t notice.
“Let’s go then.” Dolores smiled. “No more getting sidetracked. I promise.”
Susannah continued down the row, passing Colin and Stevie, who were now sitting behind a table piled high with discount coupons. Unlike the Wing Shack, whose aspirations for the Independence Day Festival overflowed three spaces, Colin had one tent, which was empty, behind the small plastic folding table. He sat, his head tilted toward Stevie, deep in conversation. Though the morning was still cool, his face shone with sweat. His red tent, emblazoned with the OK Automotive logo, backed up to one of the few shade trees that ringed the fairground, and Susannah hoped his condition resulted from the exertion of setting up the tent and tables and not because he was drinking so early in the day.
She hurried past, not wanting to get caught up in a conversation with either man. Colin had not been quite the same to her since the day she and Bitsy took her Explorer for the oil change, and she wondered if her prying had angered him.
As they neared Bitsy’s booth, Susannah stopped and faced Pilar. She knew it was self-serving to make demands on someone who had recently lost a loved one, but at this point, she had no choice. “I want to ask you to turn over Anita’s insurance records to the detective today. It’s vitally important that she knows Anita did not take heart medication.”
Pilar’s eyes flashed. “No,” she said, and let fly a few words in Spanish. She walked into the Peachy Things booth and didn’t look back.
“What was that?” Susannah asked Dolores.
“Uh, it doesn’t matter, Dr. Shine. I’ll talk to her. She knows it’s
the right thing to do. Anyway, I don’t need her permission to talk to the detective.”
Susannah said nothing. She hoped the girl intended to keep her word. She nodded at Andrea, who raised her eyebrows as if to ask What’s going on?, but she made no comment and welcomed Pilar. Susannah watched as Pilar chose an intricately woven shawl in dark blues and greens. Exotic and alluring on its own, on Pilar it took on her aura of strength and mysticism. Susannah felt the woman’s energy amplified in a way she did not know was possible, and she pondered this revelation.
A cry in the distance caught her attention. It came again. Someone was screaming for help. Susannah turned from the Georgia Peach aprons and ran.
CHAPTER FORTY
Susannah sped down the aisle without thinking. Since the day Anita died, she had been on edge, and Larraine’s comments earlier had unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. Now her heart raced, and her adrenaline levels propelled her toward a crowd that had formed around the tomato plants that ringed the Gardening Club’s booth. Drawing closer to the crowd, she recognized Marcie’s voice.
“Don’t stand there staring!” Marcie yelled. Her slender hands trembled. “Call an ambulance!”
As Susannah pushed her way through the crowd, she held her breath, dreading what she might see. Marcie and Hayle had been together earlier and the thought that something had happened to the girl sent a chill down her spine. Then she spied Billy sitting on the ground, his hand to his head.
“Let me through.” She pushed her way past a heavyset man in overalls who was scratching his shaved head with dirty fingernails. Kneeling down next to Billy, she fished a few napkins out of her bag, glad she had forgotten to give them to Bitsy. Blood smeared Billy’s fingers and dripped from a wound on his left arm.
“He stabbed me.”
“Who stabbed you?” Susannah asked, placing the napkins on his arm and pressing firmly. “Did someone call 911?” She shot a glance at Marcie, who looked like she would faint.
“Y-yes,” Marcie said. “Is he all right?”
Her voice sounded like that of a frightened child, and for the first time since she had known the woman, Susannah felt sorry for her.
“I think so,” she lied, not at all sure what his condition was. Her experience as a first responder was limited, but she did know that there were a lot of nerves in the arm that could be easily damaged by a knife. The napkins were already soaked through, but the bleeding was slowing. Marcie moaned as a siren rose in the distance. Peach Grove Fire and Emergency was less than a mile away.
“Ow,” Billy said. “That hurts.”
“Get me more napkins,” she ordered Marcie, hoping she would step away and give her a minute alone to question Billy. Marcie gave a squeak and turned, racing back toward her booth. A man stepped out of the crowd and handed Susannah his handkerchief; it felt moist, and she hoped it hadn’t been used. She put it on top of the napkins, vowing to scrub her hands with disinfectant soap as soon as possible. “What happened?” she asked Billy.
“I can hold it.” He blinked at her, dazed. “I’m not sure. Hayle told me she saw someone hanging around the truck, and I went to check. He must have been hiding behind the trailer. He rushed me, and we tussled. I reckon I haven’t been tackled like that since high school.” He forced a smile, but the usual twinkle in his blue eyes was gone, replaced by a stark gray look. “Then I was on the grass.”
He twisted his arm, taking in the blood, his face pale, his expression grim. “I didn’t even realize I was hurt until I tried to get up and saw all the blood. I called Marcie to come help me, and she went to screaming.”
The crowd parted as the ambulance approached, the driver negotiating her way across the grass. At the same time, Susannah saw Randy pushing his way through the crowd. She had to make it quick. “You didn’t see who it was?”
“No, it happened so fast. It was a big blur.”
An EMT in a blue uniform climbed out of the passenger side of the truck. Susannah stepped back as the woman placed her orange gear bag on the ground and pulled a pair of gloves from the waist of her pants.
“What happened?” she asked, glancing from Billy to Susannah, as she removed the bloodied handkerchief and probed the wound. Randy arrived at her side, giving Susannah a menacing side-eye before peering down at Billy. Susannah backed away without a word and slipped into the crowd. She watched the attendant pull a bandage out of her bag, ripping open the package.
“I was jumped,” Billy finally answered, fixing his gaze on Randy, unaware that Susannah had deserted him, “but I didn’t see by who. He must have had a knife.”
At that moment, Marcie reappeared, her lipstick standing out on her pale face. She clutched a roll of paper towels to her chest like a child holding a security blanket.
Susannah made her way to the edge of the crowd, observing the scene. Could Anita’s killer be here? Was there some reason the killer wanted to hurt Billy? Susannah felt overwhelmed with questions. Who was this person, and what did he or she want? Anita and Tina had been poisoned, Susannah was almost killed, the stable was vandalized, now Billy had been stabbed, and no one had seen anything. How was it possible for one person to move so stealthily in such a small town? And what was the connection?
Susannah found herself in the parking lot, a few spaces away from Bitsy’s vehicle. She examined the white pickup truck, the same truck around which she had seen the man with the ball cap loitering. She now saw the door sported a small decal with the Wing Shack logo; she had not noticed it earlier. It towed an enclosed trailer with the Wing Shack name emblazoned on the side. In a rush to get back to Bitsy, she had not noticed the trailer when she parked her Explorer only an hour ago. She moved closer to examine it.
The trailer resembled an enclosed box, smaller than a car length, the kind that college students rent to move their belongings. It appeared to be in fine condition. Susannah couldn’t see any damage; there were no scratches or any sign that the man had been trying to force his way into it or steal it. The ground had not been disturbed.
She walked back to her booth, considering the possibility that this was unrelated to Anita’s death. She shook her head. The man with the ball cap had been lurking around before she parked Bitsy’s truck. What had he been doing? If he wanted to steal a trailer, this seemed like an odd time to do it. The parking lot was empty except for the vendors’ vehicles, and in an hour, families would arrive, and both the pathways of the Festival and the parking lot would be inundated with people and noise. One person standing around a parked truck would not generate a second thought. Besides that, the vendors would be involved at their booths and not inclined to leave. If someone wanted to steal anything from the parking lot, that would be the time.
Why hang around until the owner showed up? Unless the motive was not theft. Was the motive personal? Could Anita’s killer have a grudge against Billy? Or harbor ill will toward both Billy and Marcie? Billy, Marcie, and Anita were all restaurant owners. Could that be the connection? As far as Susannah’s investigation had gone, a motive for Anita’s murder still eluded her. Could Anita have been murdered because she was a restaurateur?
She stopped. Anita, Fiona, Marcie, and Billy were all members of the Peach Grove Business Association. Was there a connection there? Susannah was convinced this was not a random attack.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Susannah strolled back to her booth, on the lookout for anyone wearing an Alabama ball cap. The more she pondered it, the more she felt certain that this attack on Billy was related to all the others. Anita’s death, the vandalism at the Long Branch Stable, and the attempt on Tina’s life had to be connected. She just had to work out how.
It was 9:45 a.m., fifteen minutes short of the parade start time, but the aisles were filling with people. At the Wing Shack booth, there was a line for breakfast orders, and the smell of hot buttered biscuits filled the air. Hayle, her small frame swallowed up in one of the Wing Shack’s plus-sized aprons, handed a cup of cocoa and a biscuit wrapped in waxed
paper to a matronly woman who lumbered away, eating as she walked. Susannah queued up for coffee.
Hayle leaned over the plastic folding table, tears welling in her eyes. “Dr. Shine, thank you so much for helping my dad.”
“I was glad to, but I didn’t do much.”
“Mom told me she was grateful to you, and I am too.”
Susannah fumbled her wallet out of her bag. Billy hadn’t been badly hurt, and her ulterior motive of snooping around the festival grounds had led her into her role as a Good Samaritan. “Did the EMTs take your dad to the hospital?”
“Yes,” she said, a worried frown furrowing her cheeks. “My mom called and told me he would need a few stitches, but he’ll be okay.”
“That’s good news.” Susannah made a gesture with her hand indicating the cooking operation. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” she said, tilting her head to Zach, who stood behind her fiddling with a knob on a portable fryer. “Zach and I can handle the breakfast crowd, no problem.”
At that moment, a gust of wind shook the canvas tent, sailing cups and paper plates into the air and lifting the large anniversary photo. Hayle and Zach made chase as the photo bumped against the tent and then settled. Susannah’s gaze took in the picture, this time stopping to examine the black-and-white photo. It had been blown up from a less-than-perfect original, revealing an image that was grainy and pixelated rather than lifelike. Perhaps that was why they had chosen to go with black and white. Or maybe Marcie didn’t want to spring for the extra money for color, Susannah thought snarkily. In the center of the photo, Marcie stood behind a grand opening ribbon, holding the requisite giant pair of scissors and wearing a loose-fitting, billowy dress. On her left, a younger, slimmer Billy posed in a starched white apron, wearing a chef’s hat, flashing a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.