Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death

by Jeffrey Allen

  “What happens if the fair loses money this year?” another voice asked.

  A loud murmur went up from the crowd.

  Mama set her hands flat on the table. “And why in tarnation would that exactly happen?”

  A man who I didn’t recognize stood. He was a little older than me, with thinning hair and a growing belly. He folded his arms across his chest. “The food stand has already taken a hit and people in the surrounding towns are already whispering that this year is a failure. If they don’t come to the fair, Rose Petal loses the revenue. If this is a nonprofit show, what happens if the fair week finishes in the red?”

  Heads turned from the man to Mama, who did not look pleased in any way.

  “We will be just fine,” she said with a tight jaw.

  “That doesn’t really answer my question.” The man frowned. “But I got a few other questions.”

  Mama smiled as if she were about to eat the canary. “Well, be my guest. Sir.”

  “The demolition derby was canceled this year,” he said. “It’s always one of the biggest draws. Why?”

  “Liability,” Mama answered. “Cost was too high. And we replaced that event.”

  “Yeah,” the man said, still frowning. “With a clown obstacle course. That no one cares about.”

  “Clowns are funny,” Mama said, glancing at her fellow board members.

  They all nodded in agreement.

  “But no one that I know has bought tickets,” the man said, looking around. “I can’t think of a single person I’ve talked to who is planning on going.”

  Most people nodded, including me. It had seemed weird to me when I’d read about it. I wasn’t a huge demo-derby fan, either, but that put me in the minority in Rose Petal. It was one of the big draws of the fair each year. When it wasn’t on the schedule, I’d expected there to be some blowback—and a worthwhile replacement. Clowns climbing walls and jumping over water and racing one another in their big clown shoes seemed . . . an odd replacement.

  “That was lost revenue even before George’s death,” the man said, gathering steam. “Makes no sense.”

  “Thanks for your opinion,” Mama said, her mouth an ugly smile now. “We’ll take that into account when we begin planning next year’s fair.”

  “And that band you hired? Rusty Cow?” He shook his head. “My ears still hurt. I’m not sure that guy had ever sung a single day in his life.”

  Mama’s mouth twitched. “They came highly recommended.”

  “From who?” he asked. “Deaf people?”

  A few more nervous laughs floated through the air.

  Mama just stared at the man.

  “And the Ferris wheel hasn’t been open at all” he said.

  “Mechanical issues,” Mama said, drumming her fingers on the table. “That is beyond our control and we won’t risk the lives of the people in this town.”

  “Isn’t that the most popular ride every year?”

  She sneered at him. “I don’t know. Why don’t you poll the people in town and get back to me?”

  “I don’t need to,” he said, unfazed by her tone. “I already know. You also denied the elementary school permission to do the snow cone booth this year. Why was that?”

  “We are trying to create a healthier environment this year at the Carriveau County Fair,” Mama Biggs said.

  “Does she believe what she’s saying?” Victor whispered in my ear. “Because, I don’t.”

  I wasn’t sure if she did or not, but I was with Victor. This guy was pointing out a lot of things that weren’t adding up.

  “Right,” the guy said. “Because mini-donuts and fried everything are so healthy. People come to the fair to eat fair food.”

  The crowd again murmured, both in agreement and excitement.

  Mama Biggs, however, was definitely not excited.

  “Sir, I don’t know who you are and I don’t really care,” she said, staring at him with eyes like lasers. “Until you have run the fair for two decades and actually have the experience to know what you’re talking about, I’d suggest you shut your yap.”

  The man’s face went crimson, but he didn’t back down. “Well, maybe it’s time for some new blood on the fair board.”

  Mama’s face turned to stone. “Elections are at the end of every fair. You are welcome to submit your name for consideration.”

  “Maybe I will,” he said, nodding. “Maybe I will. Because nothing you people are doing this year is making any sense to any of us.”

  The murmuring grew to actual conversations and people were clearly surprised and excited and confused at what had just transpired.

  Mama smacked her hand down on the table and stood. “And now that we’ve covered everything, I move that we end this evening’s meeting.”

  Matilda and Bruce both offered a meek “seconded” and the board hurried away from their table and out of the room, Mama still glaring at the man who dared question her.

  15

  The questioner of Mama Biggs stuck out his hand. “Butch Dieter. You’re Deuce Winters, correct?”

  We were standing outside the library, the crowd having moved out after the meeting but not in any hurry to disperse. Victor had disappeared to go talk to Matilda and I had sought out the questioner in the crowd.

  “I am,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Then I should thank you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you were my inspiration,” he said.

  “Inspiration?”

  He nodded. “I heard about you standing up to her earlier today. Heard you didn’t take any of her guff, that you stood your ground with her and called her out for being so obnoxious. Soon as I heard about that, I decided I was gonna stand up, too. So, thanks.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome,” I said, unsure of how to respond. “That was kind of a show in there.”

  He shrugged. “I guess. I’m just tired of that old bag lying to everyone.”

  “Lying?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Pinocchio has nothing on her.”

  “How do you know?”

  He looked me up and down. “I heard you’re working for her.”

  “Sort of,” I said, unsure of how to put it. “My partner and I are looking into Mr. Spellman’s death.”

  “That right?”

  “Yeah. You knew him?”

  His face clouded over. “George was a good friend.”

  “Was he? You weren’t just aware of him?”

  Butch nodded slowly. “Yeah. We were buddies. I was pretty shocked. We all were. He was a great, great guy. Deserved better.”

  “How’d you know him?”

  Butch scratched his head. “Gosh, I’ve known him for a long time. We used to be neighbors until he moved awhile back. And he was in the club.”

  “The club?”

  “Motorcycles,” Butch said. “Actually, the guys are about ready to take some action. When something happens to a brother, it’s serious business.”

  “A motorcycle club?” I asked, still unsure of what he was talking about.

  Butch glanced around us and stepped a bit closer. “Look, I can’t really talk about the club with someone who’s not a member, all right? But trust me. We are looking into this and we will respond.”

  “Respond? How?”

  “We’re supposed to ride during the parade at the fair,” he said. “We’ll probably make a statement then.”

  “What kind of statement?”

  “I can’t discuss it,” he said apologetically. “Club rules. But you can bank on it. The boys will respond.”

  I felt like I’d been dropped into some sort of weird B-movie version of Fight Club, but I let it go for the moment. “Were you serious about trying to get on the fair board?”

  “I don’t really know,” he said. “I’m pretty busy at my office and I got some other stuff going on, but I really think she’s ripping everyone and everything off.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I’m
an accountant,” he said. “When I’m not out riding my hog, I crunch numbers all day. Nothing she says or does makes sense. I love this fair. Been coming since I was a kid. And I think she’s got something cooking and it’s not good for any of us. But I can just eyeball the amount of cash that goes through here and this fair should be growing. Instead, it feels like it’s shrinking.”

  The crowd was finally starting to disperse. I agreed with Butch. The fair did seem to be shrinking and there really wasn’t a good answer for it.

  “So, maybe not me, but I think someone else needs to get on that board and break up her little family-run monopoly,” he said, frowning. “It’s not fair. No pun intended.”

  I thought for a moment. “George worked for the fair, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes, sir. Every year. He was in charge of the grounds. Big job. And he did it for nearly free because he loved the fair. It cut into his other jobs, but he didn’t care.”

  “What other jobs?” I asked.

  “He had a landscaping business and did some handyman work,” Butch said. “He was just one of those guys who could do a bit of everything. But come fair time, he’d clear his schedule. He liked being around the fair and being a part of the setup and upkeep. I mean—he loved it. He planned his entire life around it.”

  “He work a lot with Mama?”

  He smirked. “What do you think? Of course. She calls the shots, so she was the one giving him his workload.”

  “He get along with her?”

  “Actually, better than most,” Butch admitted. “He just kind of laughed about her. I think he just liked working here so much, that he was willing to overlook all of her crap. He found a way to coexist with her.”

  Cars were now streaming out of the parking lot.

  “Was George in a relationship?” I asked. “Was he married? Girlfriend?”

  Butch’s face went crimson just like it had during the meeting. “Hey, man. I can’t talk about that kinda stuff.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s against club rules to talk about other guys’ girls,” he said with a straight face. “That kind of thing could lead to bad news for me.” He shook his head, as if he was reminding himself. “No, sir. I can’t talk about that. My bros might find out and I’d have to answer to the rest of the PDs.”

  “The PDs?”

  “The Petal Dawgs,” Butch said. “That’s the name of the club.”

  16

  “So you think she’s lying?” I asked.

  Victor nodded. “Yep.”

  We were leaning against my minivan in the parking lot of the library. Most everyone had left and there were only a few cars remaining. Butch had excused himself, driving off in a late model Ford pickup rather than on a motorcycle like I’d expected, and I was left to ponder the validity of the Petal Dawgs when Victor came shuffling out of the library and motioned me to the parking lot.

  “I didn’t ask Matilda anything point-blank,” Victor said. “I didn’t want to freak her out. So I asked a couple of questions about how long she’d been on the board, that kind of thing. Then I asked how well she knew Spellman and she got real quiet.”

  “So you think Matilda was having an affair with Spellman, then?”

  He adjusted the hat on his head. “I don’t know if it was an affair, or what it was, but there was something going on. I started asking her questions and she turned red like a tomato and that bozo in the wig came over to intervene.”

  “Bruce. The bozo’s name is Bruce.”

  He waved a tiny hand in the warm evening air as if shooing away a pesky mosquito. “Yeah, sure, Bruce. Whatever. The dope in the wig. But he came over and tried to get all tough-guy with me and I told him if he didn’t back off, I’d beat the crap out of him like I do everyone else.”

  “I’d like to see that list.”

  “Shut up. Anyway, she didn’t give me a single straight answer about Spellman, and I felt like the rest of that group was eavesdropping the entire time. The old bag was definitely trying to listen in. We need to get Matilda alone and talk to her.” He paused. “Actually, I’d rather you get her alone. I’m afraid she might sit on me and kill me. Jesus, is she big.”

  Before I could come up with a way to get her alone, the doors to the library opened and Mama emerged, leading her crew. The Nor-volds walked quickly to their old pickup, Bruce and Matilda walked slowly toward an old SUV, and Mama was beelining right for us.

  “What exactly am I paying you two to do?” she demanded, her eyes bearing down on me first, then Victor.

  “Investigate,” Victor said. “That’s what you gave me the retainer for.”

  “Right. So what exactly do you think you’re doing in there upsetting Matilda?”

  “I wasn’t upsetting her. I was asking her questions.”

  “That upset her,” Mama said, her eyes bulging.

  “What exactly were you asking her?”

  “That, ma’am, is exactly none of your business.”

  Mama’s head looked like one of those cartoon characters whose heads were about to explode and steam started to shoot out their ears.

  “Shorty, I am paying you and you work for me,” she said through locked teeth. “Everything you do is my business.”

  Victor looked at me, bored. “Do all of you tall people just resort to short jokes when you got nothin’ else?”

  I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  He turned his attention back to Mama. “We are investigating. When we have something to share, we will. Until then, who we question and what we ask them is our business. If you’d like to dictate every single question, then maybe you should be the private detective, instead.”

  I worried for a moment that she might try to tackle him and I wasn’t sure how I’d intervene if that was the case. I definitely would’ve been on Victor’s side, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to appropriately remove an old woman from a midget. They don’t teach you that in part-time private detective school.

  “Maybe I’ll do just that and ask for my retainer back,” she said with a smug smile.

  “I’ll write you a check right now if you’d like,” Victor said, fixing her with his own smug smile. It was fun watching them play chicken with each other.

  Her smile dwindled.

  She didn’t know Victor well enough to understand two things about him: the worst thing you could do was threaten him, and he had more money than he knew what to do with. He wasn’t kidding. He would absolutely have written her a check right there on the spot.

  But, of course, she backed away from her threat.

  “Well, when am I gonna know something?” she asked, waving a hand in the air. “No one seems to know anything. The police don’t know anything and neither do you two.”

  “As soon as we know something, we’ll let you know,” Victor said, satisfied that he had once again swung an argument in his favor and gained the upper hand. “We still have more people to talk to.”

  “Who?”

  “People who might know things.”

  She scowled at both of us and looked like she was about to say something, but instead stormed off to her car.

  A brand spanking new BMW.

  17

  When I got home, Carly was already passed out after the long day at the fair. I checked in on her and gave her a good-night kiss on her forehead before heading to my own room. I remembered Julianne’s orders from earlier and found her stretched out on our bed in cotton shorts and a tank top that barely covered her massive belly, reading a magazine.

  As I undressed, I told Julianne about Mama’s car and about the motorcycle club.

  “I think I remember hearing something about the motorcycle club,” she said while I brushed my teeth. “Bunch of guys going through their mid-life crisis together. Not sure I’ve ever seen them, though. But I think I remember hearing the tail end of some story where they got kicked out of Sturgis or something.”

  “That sounds about right,” I said, lying down next to her. “This guy didn�
�t exactly give off a biker vibe to me. He wasn’t even riding a bike tonight.”

  “Was he wearing a leather jacket? With, like, a skull and crossbones on the back?”

  “He’s an accountant.”

  “So there were dollar signs and a ten-key machine on the back of it? How terrifying.”

  I laid my hand on her stomach. “How’s baby?”

  “Still in me.” She sighed. “Carly asked if it was going to come out her size since it was staying in there so long.”

  I laughed and so did she, placing her hand over mine.

  “You feel okay?” I asked.

  “Like Shamu, but, otherwise, yeah, I’m okay. Tell me more about the meeting.”

  When I finished sharing the details, she was staring at the ceiling, mulling it over. “So was this Butch guy suggesting that they were sabotaging the fair?”

  “I’m not sure what he was suggesting, but I think it could certainly be interpreted that way.”

  “That makes no sense, though,” she said, shaking her head. “Why in the world would the board do that?”

  I agreed, and it was what I had kept working over in my head on my way home from the meeting. It didn’t make sense. If they were skimming from the coffers of the fair, what exactly did they have to gain from sabotaging it? I didn’t see any way that that would work in their favor.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But the things he was saying? He was sort of right. All of those things are happening this year. Not to mention what happened with the replacement freezer. And it’s hard to look at any of them and not think that they make for a substandard fair.”

  “Maybe it’s coincidence.”

  “Maybe.”

  She rolled her head in my direction. “But what? I can hear the doubt in your voice.”

  “You know I don’t really believe in coincidence,” I said. “Lunacy in this town, I absolutely believe in. But coincidence?” I shook my head. “Almost never.”

  “But let’s say this,” Julianne said, putting on her trial lawyer hat. “Let’s say the Ferris wheel really is broken. That’s not hard to imagine. Those carnival rides look sketchy to begin with and I’d imagine that depending on the problem, they could be difficult and time-consuming to repair.”