Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death

by Jeffrey Allen

  “True.”

  “And I could absolutely see the insurer declining to cover a demolition derby or raising their coverage fee so exorbitantly that it was difficult to pay.”

  “Okay.”

  “The elementary school snow cone thing? Who knows? Maybe some teacher said the wrong thing to her and pissed the old lady off. That could be any number of things.”

  “Sure.”

  “And no one counted on you finding that guy in the freezer,” she continued. “Except for maybe me, because these days it seems like you get in trouble as soon as you leave the house.”

  “Ha.”

  “But no one counted on that, so no one could’ve predicted it and what it’s done to the food stand and overall attendance. And who’s to say that new freezer was even working to begin with? Maybe it was an old one that sat around for years and no one ever used.” She nodded to herself, liking her own argument. “So when you separate all of those things out, I think you could very much say that it’s all bad luck and timing.”

  This is why she was such a good lawyer. She could divorce herself from the situation and look at it with fresh eyes, with no agenda or loyalty toward anyone else. She didn’t just play devil’s advocate. She brought the devil’s advocate to life.

  “So you think I’m being paranoid?” I asked. “You think it could all just be due to circumstance and that Spellman’s murder could be totally unrelated?”

  “Yes.” She thought for a moment. “But, maybe not.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think it means you should look at the fair and at Spellman’s death separately,” she said. “Focus on Spellman. If the stuff that’s going on at the fair is related, I’d think it would reveal itself as you look at what happened to him.” She paused. “Since you are now, very clearly, knee-deep in this case, after ignoring my pleas to stay out of it.”

  “Wait. I thought you gave me permission before to ignore your earlier pleas.”

  “Permission was never granted. You just ignored me. And I have learned to just live with you and your maddening ways.”

  I kissed her cheek. “Yes, you have. Thank you.”

  “Whatever,” she said, barely suppressing a smile. “Now. You have a job to do. Or are you ignoring that, too?”

  Of course, she remembered that. Pregnancy brain wouldn’t get in the way of a mission. “You really are quite the seductress today,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes and pushing herself up. “Now roll over on your back so I can climb on top of you and try and get this enormous infant out of me.”

  18

  The infant did not leave Julianne’s body that night, but not for my lack of trying.

  Twice.

  She was up before me and already cooking breakfast by the time I made my way downstairs. The kitchen smelled like scrambled eggs and coffee.

  “No luck?” I asked, kissing her cheek.

  “None,” she said grimly. “I’m moving to Operation Hot Sauce now.”

  “Is that my new nickname?”

  She produced a bottle of orangish-red liquid from the fridge and held it up. “This is my new boyfriend.”

  “I’m a little jealous, but I think I can take him.”

  She unscrewed the cap and covered her eggs with the liquid. “I’m going to chase the baby out with hot sauce. It’s going on everything I eat today.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  “I don’t recommend ice cream, then.”

  She shoved a forkful of sauce-soaked eggs into her mouth. “Everything.”

  “You’re sure that’s okay for the baby?” I asked.

  “The hot sauce?” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Deuce. It’s fine.”

  “Okay . . .”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I know what I’m doing here. The sex, this . . . all are tried and true methods for natural induction.”

  “Sort of like the Drano test was supposed to predict we were having a boy when you were pregnant with Carly?”

  The Drano test involved adding a few drops of the chemical cleaner to Julianne’s own urine and, then, based on what color the urine changed to, we’d know what gender our child was going to be.

  She ate another forkful of eggs. “That was an old wive’s tale. I just thought it might be fun to try.”

  “You were halfway to ordering an entire blue wardrobe and engraving the crib with the name Carlos before the voice of reason stepped in.”

  “Yes, your mother did convince me I shouldn’t put too much weight on that particular . . . test.”

  I sat down next to her. “I meant me.”

  “Hmm.” She changed the subject. “Speaking of the crib, did you finally get it assembled?”

  I cringed. The nursery had been a sore spot for the last month. Julianne had insisted we wait to work on the baby’s room, mostly because she knew she’d want to keep busy with it during her nesting phase, but also because she’d been so busy setting up her new practice, she’d barely had time to think about it.

  At the beginning of month eight, she’d tackled the guest room with a vengeance, hauling out the old furniture and stripping wallpaper in preparation for converting it into a nursery. She’d ordered a new crib and a whole slew of baby items.

  Boxes arrived daily. Carly thought it was Christmas. I thought it was April Fool’s Day.

  “What on earth is this?” I’d asked, holding up a space age–looking trash can.

  “A Diaper Wizard,” Julianne had said.

  “And it’s magical how?” I’d asked as I examined the opening.

  “It’s supposed to keep diaper odors at bay.”

  “So do plastic Walmart bags.”

  “No, this is different,” she’d said.

  “Yeah,” I’d told her. “This cost fifty dollars. Plastic Walmart bags are free.”

  And then the crib had arrived. A crib that supposedly converted into a toddler bed and then a twin bed. I’d stared at the slats and springs and the 72-page instruction manual and thrown my hands up in frustration.

  “Why can’t we just use Carly’s old crib?” I’d asked.

  “Because Victor has it,” Julianne had reminded me.

  Yet another strike against the midget. His wife had recently given birth to their own baby, and in a burst of generosity—or insanity—we had given him the crib Carly had outgrown.

  I’d studied page one of the instructions on the fancy new crib. “This thing is ridiculous. I could assemble a space shuttle quicker.”

  “The baby would probably love a space shuttle. You can do that after the crib. I’ll call NASA now.”

  “The baby might be sleeping in a shoebox,” I’d mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I’d laid the instructions out in front of me. “This will probably take me a couple days.”

  A couple days turned into a couple months and it was still in a state of disarray upstairs. A shoebox was a distinct possibility. But I wasn’t worried. I had big feet. The kid would have plenty of room.

  Carly bounded down the stairs, already dressed in shorts and a tank top, and immediately made a face. “What are you eating, Mommy?”

  “Eggs,” Julianne said, her eyes watering. “With hot sauce.”

  Carly eyed her suspiciously. “Does it hurt?” Julianne shook her head no, but couldn’t produce any words.

  Carly looked at me. “Is it to get the baby outside of her?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t think I ever want to have a baby,” Carly said. “It seems . . . hard.”

  “Your mom is kinda insane right now,” I whispered.

  “What’s insane?”

  “Crazy.”

  “I’m right here,” Julianne mumbled, her mouth full of eggs and burning fire. “I’m pregnant, not deaf.”

  “What are we doing at the fair today?” Carly asked.

  “You and Mommy are working in the baby animal barn, I thi
nk,” I said.

  Julianne nodded. “Yeah. Would be a nice place to have a baby.”

  “Is the food stand open yet?” Carly asked.

  “I’m not sure, kiddo,” I said, standing up. “I’m gonna head over there now and find out what the deal is today.”

  “Can I come with?”

  “No,” I said, running a hand through her hair. “I need you to stay here and keep your mom company. In case she sets herself on fire.”

  “I know where the fire extinguisher is!” Carly exclaimed. “It’s in the closet!”

  “Excellent,” I said. “If you see any flames around her body, you pull the pin on that thing and aim it at the middle of Mommy.”

  “Okay.”

  Julianne ignored us and continued plowing through the eggs, sweat streaming down her forehead, determined to pop that kid out.

  19

  I was halfway to the fairgrounds when I realized someone was following me. And they weren’t doing a very good job of staying inconspicuous. Amateurs.

  I’d showered and dressed and put gas in the minivan and was in the middle of town when I spotted a black Toyota Prius right behind me. I’d noticed it at the gas station because it was at the pump across from me and the college kid driving it hadn’t seemed to know where to put the gas in. He’d puttered around it nervously, before finally sticking the nozzle where it belonged. When I’d finished at the pump, he’d hurriedly done the same, spilling gasoline on the ground and hustling to get in his car.

  The car had stayed right behind me since I’d left the station and as I pulled into the fairground parking lot, it turned in, too, parking several rows over from me, despite the fact that there were only a few cars in the lot.

  I took my time getting out and watched the Prius driver get out, along with a girl on the passenger side. Both looked to be college aged and both wore sunglasses. He had on plaid Bermuda shorts, a tank top with a peace symbol in the middle of it, and slip-on Vans. The girl wore her long blond hair in a tight braid, denim shorts, and a bright green T-shirt with a design on it that I couldn’t make out.

  They both seemed unsure of themselves and I just stood at the back of the minivan, waiting them out. They whispered back and forth, shooting furtive glances my way, probably waiting for me to move.

  I sat down on the back bumper of the van and smiled at them.

  They whispered some more and then finally headed my way.

  “Was wondering if we were going to stand here all day and just look at one another,” I said when they got close.

  They exchanged glances again and the girl cleared her throat. “We know who you are.”

  At least they hadn’t tried to deny that they were following me. “Okay.”

  “The private detective,” she said. “Right?”

  “You said you knew who I was. You tell me.”

  “You’re Deuce Winters,” the guy said.

  “And who are you two?”

  Nervous glances again.

  “I’m Dorothy,” the girl said. “He’s Scarecrow.”

  “Really.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “The Tin Man couldn’t make it? He have to work today, or is he in the back of the Prius with the flying monkeys?”

  They both shuffled their feet. They may have followed me, but they were absolutely not professionals.

  “Okay, Dorothy,” I said. “I’ll play along for now. Why were you following me?”

  “We have information for you,” Dorothy said.

  “Yeah? Okay. Information would be great. I’m always looking for information. It’s just like free money.”

  “Hey, man,” Scarecrow said, trying to give me a hard stare. “She’s serious. We’re serious.”

  I gave him my own hard look. “You just named yourselves after characters from The Wizard of Oz and looked like you wanted to pee your pants when I sat here and waited you out. Excuse me if I don’t take you too seriously right now.”

  “Talking to you could get us in trouble,” he said, lowering his voice, despite the fact that we were the only ones in the parking lot.

  “How’s that?”

  He looked at Dorothy.

  “We have information about George Spellman,” Dorothy said.

  I hesitated. “Have you shared it with the police?”

  They both made faces like I’d force-fed them lemons.

  “Man, the pigs are a joke,” Dorothy hissed. “They’d never believe us. They hate us.”

  I didn’t think I’d easily believe someone who called the cops “pigs,” either. They’d been watching too many bad seventies movies. “Why’s that?” I asked.

  Scarecrow puffed out his chest. “We’re anti-establishment, man.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Never mind what it means,” Dorothy said. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s got a class at noon and I have to get to work,” she said. “I’m a server at Chili’s.”

  “Very anti-establishment,” I observed.

  “Do you know what fracking is?” Dorothy asked, undeterred by my observation.

  It was the second time in a couple of days that the term had come up. It was apparently a very hot topic and something I really needed to learn more about.

  “I know a little bit about it, but not a ton. Why?”

  “Because Rose Petal is under attack, man,” Scarecrow said.

  Dorothy nodded in agreement. “Attack is exactly the right word. They’re looking to destroy the environment.”

  “Who exactly are they?”

  “The frackers!” she said. “The gas companies that want to drill and contaminate our water supply and our air and our food.”

  “Everything, man,” Scarecrow said, shaking his head sadly. “They want to destroy everything.”

  “There are currently six companies seeking to obtain drilling rights in Rose Petal right now,” Dorothy said. “Six. Did you know that?”

  “I did not.”

  She shook her head as if she knew I would never know that. “Six companies who want to come in here, bring their trucks in, drill massive holes in the ground, and start screwing everything up.”

  “Everything, man,” Scarecrow said again, with the same sad headshake.

  “Okay,” I asked, completely confused. “But what does this have to do with George Spellman?”

  They looked around, cautious and paranoid. Dorothy looked at Scarecrow and he finally gave a nod to her.

  “He was a part of our group,” she said, quietly.

  “Your group?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. George was in C.A.K.E. with us.”

  “Cake?”

  “C-A-K-E,” she said. “Citizens Against Killing the Environment.”

  20

  Cars were beginning to stream into the parking lot, filling in the rows around us.

  “We formed C.A.K.E. about a year ago,” Dorothy explained. “We just got tired of all the abuse going on and decided to do something about it.”

  “What do you mean, abuse?”

  She shrugged. “Climate change is real, okay? If we don’t start taking steps to protect the environment, find other fuel resources, and recycle the products we use, the entire planet is endangered. And that isn’t me just spouting off. That’s a fact.” She glanced at Scarecrow. “So think globally, act locally. We decided to get a group together that would take some action and make people aware.”

  Her speech was good. I couldn’t tell if it was because it was well rehearsed or because she was well informed. I was leaning toward well informed. She seemed a bit sharper than her partner. And her alias was at least a real name.

  “What exactly do you do?” I asked.

  “We protest,” Scarecrow said. “Man, we protest.”

  “How? Where? Who?”

  “Right now, we’re kind of a . . . loose group,” Dorothy said, adjusting her sunglasses on her nose. “Our membership is growing. We hold some infor
mation sessions about things people can do, but they aren’t well attended, to be honest. So sometimes we get together and protest. Peaceful demonstrations.”

  “How many members do you have?”

  She shuffled her feet. “About twenty. We’re trying to grow it, but it’s not easy. People either don’t want to get involved or they don’t believe.”

  I was expecting to hear that it was just her and Scarecrow, so I was actually surprised.

  “We do petitions, hold rallies, things like that, too,” Scarecrow said.

  “And George was part of your group?” I asked, a little disbelieving.

  They both nodded vigorously.

  “George was awesome,” Dorothy said, a wistful smile on her face. “He came to a meeting we had about three months ago and he knew a lot about a lot. He was really into recycling. He knew about composting. He was really well read. He just was into it and he didn’t treat us like a bunch of crazy hippies. He was older than most of the rest of us, so he wasn’t so much our leader, but he was kind of a . . .”

  “Mentor,” Scarecrow said.

  “Yeah, mentor. That’s a good word. He helped us find info and he would run meetings when I couldn’t be there,” Dorothy said. “Like when I had to be at work at Chili’s or Luke . . .”

  “Jesus, Emily,” Scarecrow/Luke whispered under his breath.

  Her face reddened. I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d given his name away first or that I now knew hers, too.

  “It’s okay, Dorothy,” I said, nodding and pretending I didn’t catch her real name. “Go on.”

  Despite the stupid names, I sort of liked them.

  “I mean, when Scarecrow had a frat meeting,” she said. “Or something like that. The point is, George was involved and he helped us and he was really concerned about what was going on in Rose Petal. He took it seriously.”

  “How did he help?”

  “He’d put information together,” she explained. “Make it so we could understand it. He totally broke down fracking and the dangers it posed to people, especially in Rose Petal. When people got fired up, he’d calm them down. He believed in nonviolent protest all the way. He didn’t want us to do anything stupid. But he really believed in the idea of making people aware.”