Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable

by Barbara Graham

  Tony made his way to the museum office as soon as the photograph session ended. A storage room had been set aside for the can-can dancers' dressing room. In a few minutes he would have to step onto the stage for his debut. He wasn't sure how the community might react to the entertainment supplied by the combination of firefighters and law enforcement, but he hoped the dance would be popular enough to fill the hats passed afterwards. Being able to buy some new rescue equipment would make the humiliation worthwhile.

  Retired sheriff Harvey Winston was tying his ruffled skirt on over a full set of bright red long underwear, opting to tie the skirt below the widest part of his belly. With the red long johns and his luxurious white mustache, Harvey looked like Santa Claus in drag. Tony relaxed, guessing no one would be able to focus on him. All eyes would have to be trained on Harvey's ensemble or Halfpenny's hitherto secret assortment of tattoos. The two of them made the remaining four dancers appear rather bland.

  Once onstage, the dancers in high heels spent most of their time trying not to have their toes crushed under hiking boots or firemen's boots. Miss Cindy's choreography was quickly abandoned. It became a case of every man for himself. The gaudy hats were tied under their chins and served the secondary purpose of holding the garish wigs in place, but a couple slid to one side, causing intense merriment among the dancers. The audience laughed, showing they thought the dance was funny too.

  Bow-legged Halfpenny, the bank manager, one of the dancers who had donned high heels, bent forward and flipped his skirt over his head, displaying the full cascade of gaudy ruffles and the unmistakable sight of blue denim shorts. The audience howled and clapped and whistled. Some people threw cash onto the stage. More money went into the hats and helmets being passed. The dancers descended into the throng, posing for pictures, for a fee.

  In spite of newspaperwoman Winifred Thornby's unpleasant editorial the previous week, she even put a few dollars in a hat and promised to praise the men, in print, for their enthusiasm. Tony had seen her deposit the money. He'd believe the rest of it when he saw it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Garbled sound came from the loud speakers. Mayor Calvin Cashdollar was taking this moment to make a speech to welcome all the visitors to the First Annual Silersville Ramp Festival. Considering the party had been going on for hours already, most people laughed or ignored him. Calvin made it sound like he'd slaved for months working on setting up the event. Tony wanted to yell at the man, and announce to all present that the mayor had absolutely no part in the organization or actual work of putting the festival together. He took a step forward, only to have his mom grab him by the arm.

  Jane's eyes sparkled with merriment. “Don't you dare.”

  “Dare what, Mom? I'm not causing any trouble.” Tony squeezed her hand. He doubted he could fool her any better now than he could when he was eight. He'd removed his hat and wig but still wore the can-can skirt in case more cash for photos was offered.

  “I invited the mayor to introduce the acts.” Jane fluffed her curls. “It gives him something to do. Even a part-time mayor needs to earn his keep.”

  Appeased, Tony glanced back at the food booths. “Are you going to have enough food?” The glimmer of panic in her expression told the story. “What can I do?”

  Jane rubbed the little line forming between her eyes. “I don't know. Those people are eating everything but the plates. And the bags of trash, mostly plates, are indecent. I had to send Tiberius into town for more garbage bags.”

  Once her words began, Jane babbled, mostly nonsense. When she ran out of steam, Tony heard an agonized plea, “Can you get them interested in something else, like the music or those vegetable weapons?” Jane's expression was a cross between horror and delight at the idea of another potato flying through the air, distracting the mighty diners.

  Tony nodded and turned, nearly tripping over two little boys in team shirts gathering trash and shoving it into a black plastic bag large enough to hold a man's body. It took both of them to haul the bag from table to table.

  Up on the stage, the mayor stepped away after introducing the next performers, a husband and wife team, Eddie and Ginger. Eddie plucked at the strings of a guitar while his wife arranged her skirt and settled on a stool, a zither on her lap. They played well, sticking to the old mountain songs, plaintive and at times cruel.

  Satisfied the musicians would help slow the diners, Tony headed for the ticket booth, thinking he could juggle the babies for a bit and let Theo have a break. Hairy Rags plowed into him, not bothering to glance up or apologize, and then veered away, walking toward the woods. As rude as ever, he had one hand pressed against the back of his neck, covering the space between ear and spine, and one over his chest. Mostly what Tony noticed was the odd sound he made: kind of a wheeze.

  Dodging people carrying plates of aromatic foods, Tony weaved his way through the “relics” until he found Theo. She looked pathetically happy to see him.

  “If I don't get to the bathroom, there's going to be a puddle right here.” Theo shoved one baby at him and then the other, climbed off her chair, and trotted toward the main office building.

  “Should I watch the girls?” Tony kept an eye on her back. When it went stiff, he knew she'd heard him and would talk about it later. He couldn't understand why he enjoyed ruffling her feathers, but he did.

  “Say, Sheriff.” The words came from the far side of the makeshift ticket booth. “Don't suppose you'd let an old man in without a payment? I kin promise not to eat much, but I purely desire some ramp pie.”

  Orvan Lundy. Tony couldn't believe his luck. He'd been at the ticket table for maybe ten seconds and was already in a quandary. Tony was sure the old sinner couldn't afford the seven-dollar entry fee and equally sure he shouldn't let the old guy in for free. Orvan sidled closer, rubbing his gnarled and weathered hands on the bib of his overalls. “Maybe there's chores I could do, you know, as a trade?”

  Tony thought it sounded like a good plan. “Why don't you go help the kids who are doing the trash collecting? Just tie the tops of the garbage bags closed, good and tight, then carry them out and put them in the back of Gus's pickup. Some of those boys are a little short for the duty.” Tony congratulated himself for not mentioning Orvan's own lack of vertical stature.

  Orvan stood at attention, clicked his heels, and saluted. Less than a minute later, Tony saw Orvan carrying a trash bag with one hand and a slab of ramp pie in the other. The old guy could probably qualify as a “relic” too, but would never admit to his age or do anything civic-minded. There certainly was nothing wrong with either his arm strength or his appetite.

  “I leave you in charge for two minutes and you've got Orvan working?” Theo's voice teased him. “And I heard what you said about holding the girls.”

  Before he could respond, the musicians stopped and an appreciative audience began to clap. Above the applause a boom announced Quentin's potato cannon had launched another spud. Tony turned to watch. The potato fell short of the stock tank again. The crowd cheered in spite of the miss.

  A scream cut through the noise.

  “I killed him.” From his vantage point, Tony saw Quentin bolt down the hill, his long arms flapping like featherless wings. “I killed him. Where'd he come from? I killed him.” His words fell into a shocked silence.

  Tony handed Theo the infants and took off running toward Quentin. It wasn't easy to dodge the crowd, a task made doubly difficult when people began shifting around trying to see what had happened. Mike Ott arrived first. When Tony made it through to the scene, he saw Mike bending over the prone figure of Hairy Rags. Wade was charging toward them from another direction. Like Tony, he still wore his can-can costume.

  Tony noticed Doc Nash hustling as fast as he could, weaving through the surging festival goers. Right on his heels was Wade's wife, Dr. Grace Claybough. A few people headed in the opposite direction, jamming up the doctors even more. At least the crowd wasn't screaming with panic.

  Theo hated being lef
t behind. She was too short to see over anyone taller than a small child, and holding two babies didn't make climbing onto the chair feasible. The decision about what to do was taken from her. The curious crowd hurried toward the clearing. She was carried along by a tidal wave of newcomers, forcing her to leave the ticket table unguarded. Luckily she was able to stash the cash box in the stroller, but then had to abandon the stroller.

  A glance into the concession area showed Jane and Martha and Callie standing on chairs, trying to see. To her right, the musicians on the stage waved their arms and sang louder to attract the attention of the audience but no one seemed interested in watching them. Giving up the fight, they stopped their music and turned to face the action. The “relics” clumped together, Nem taking an obviously protective stance near the cluster of frail old ladies.

  Hoping to find someone to hold the now-squalling babies while she returned for the cash box, Theo headed toward Nem and the relics.

  The Bainbridge sisters were huddled together, looking like they expected something awful to happen and they wanted to die together. Tiny Portia Osgood planted herself and her new walker firmly behind Nem and next to Caro. Ada walked in a circle around them all, swearing steadily under her breath. Nem waved Theo closer, “Miz Theo, you're welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you.” Theo walked over to the group, shifting the babies higher in her arms. “I don't suppose you have any idea what happened?”

  Ada's description was certainly colorful, but lacked details. Ada ignored Caro's attempts to stem her tide of profanity.

  “I saw it all.” Nem cleared his throat. “That wretch Ragsdale got himself shot with a spud. Walked right into it. Served him right, but I hate to see Quentin suffer for it.”

  “They ought to give him a reward,” Caro whispered to Theo. “I just never could like that man. Not after all the things he's done.” She reached out and smoothed Kara's hair. It stood away from the baby's scalp as if she'd touched a static electricity machine.

  Lizzie began squalling and if there were any other comments her wails drowned them out. Theo did manage to see Tony, Doc Nash with Grace, and Mike approach the prone figure of Harrison Ragsdale. She tried, but failed, to feel sorry for Ragsdale. Mostly she was concerned because the man appeared to have collapsed during Jane and Martha's big festival. She spied Chris and Jamie, all pretense of cleaning tables gone, trying to creep around the outside perimeter to get closer to the motionless body, and called them back. “You boys do something useful instead of nosing around where you don't belong. Chris, will you please go get the stroller for me. And Jamie, I'm sure we could all use some water.”

  Ada's steady stream of profanity attracted the boys' attention. Hesitating only briefly, they went off to do as they were bidden. “It's not like there's any blood,” Chris muttered. “Just a guy lyin' on the ground.”

  “Chris!” Theo waved him back. “The money box is in the stroller. Don't let it fall out.”

  The boy looked at the entrance and back to her. “Mom, there's people coming in without paying.”

  “I know. I know, and people are leaving just as fast.” Theo took a deep breath, forcing herself to use reason rather than frustration. “I'll go back as soon as you bring me the stroller. Your sisters are getting heavy.”

  Caro held out her arms. “I'd love to hold a baby for you.”

  With a grateful sigh, Theo passed Kara to her elderly friend and focused on calming the now hysterical Lizzie. “Poor baby.”

  Only moments later, Chris ran toward her pushing the stroller much faster than he would if it was occupied. The cash box bounced out and Jamie scooped it up, hanging on to it like a football. The boys skidded to a stop, garnering great applause from the elderly onlookers. The boys wrapped their arms across their waists and made dramatic bows.

  Theo had to laugh. Sometimes it took very little to be in the entertainment business.

  Doc Nash squatted next to the body of Harrison Ragsdale, stretched out facedown in the grass, and confirmed the man was dead. No reason to hurry now. He waved for Grace to join him. “If you're going to doctor in these parts, you'll be checking the dead as well as the living.” He squinted in Tony's direction and winked at Grace. “Especially as long as Tony's the law. But doesn't he have nice legs?”

  Tony didn't respond to the gibe. He watched as the doctor hooked a finger into Hairy Rags's collar and pulled it back so Wade could take pictures. Several scratches ran in parallel lines across the skin between the shirt collar and his thick, snow white hair. Tony asked, “What do those marks look like to you?”

  His deputy had made his way through the crowd just seconds behind everyone else, took one look and disappeared into the woods for a moment. Wiping his face with his handkerchief, he retrieved his camera bag from the car and now was all business, placing markers and rulers and making notes about the photographs he was taking.

  The doctor leaned closer and tilted his head back so he could focus through the magnifying part of his bifocals. “They look like claw marks. Maybe one of his charges took a swipe at him. I'd guess a game warden might interact with some of his furry charges but I've seen some similar marks left by angry humans. I'll take a good close look during the autopsy.”

  Tony nodded and looked up the hill to where Quentin had his potato cannon set up next to the trebuchet and the catapult. “How accurate do you think that cannon is?”

  “It's not a big cannon. I know some of the mega cannons can blow a potato through a wall.” Doc Nash chuckled. “As far as accuracy, a small cannon, in a professional's hands, and at closer range, it might be pretty good, in Quentin's shaky world, not so much.”

  Tony looked at Quentin, who had started running down the hill the moment Harrison fell. Now standing next to Mike, he was panting and wringing his hands, threatening to twist one off. Tony walked over. “You all right?”

  “I didn't see him.” Quentin's head bobbed twice and he wailed, “Wh-hat was he doing out here?”

  Tony glanced around, trying to ignore the horde of curious onlookers. “You and your friends clearly marked this area as a potentially dangerous place to be. I don't think you can be held responsible for someone ignoring the warning signs and walking into your potato.”

  “Bless you.” Quentin's shaking subsided a bit. “Bless you.” He turned and hustled back up the hill to where his friends waited.

  “Tony.” Doc Nash stood and brushed grass off his hands. “There's something iffy about this body.”

  “Iffy?” Acid poured into Tony's stomach. He reached into his pocket for his emergency antacid supply. “Iffy how?”

  Doc Nash watched Wade working with his camera. “I'm not sure. It doesn't look like the potato hit him hard enough to form a bruise, much less kill him. There are ways to determine force, but in my experience I'd say the spud is definitely innocent of any wrongdoing. I have no idea what he died of, though I'm pretty sure it was not natural causes.”

  “Pretty sure?” Tony wrote himself a note. “Those words don't exactly warm my heart.”

  Grace pointed at Harrison's mouth with a blade of grass. “It looks like some skin irritation here. Maybe he ate something he shouldn't have or something stung him. Does he have any allergies?”

  “Not that I'm aware of, but he's not a patient of mine.” Doc Nash searched the man's wrists and neck. “He's not wearing any kind of medical alert information.” He dug through Harrison's pockets. “No medications so far.” He pulled out Harrison's badge and placed it into a paper bag before reaching into another pocket. He extracted a revolver. “I'm giving this to you, Sheriff.”

  Tony checked it. It was fully loaded. He unloaded it and placed the gun and cartridges into an evidence bag.

  Doc's inventory continued. “I'll keep the knife, cell phone, comb, and handkerchief.” Doc made his own notes. “You take the keys.” Doc pulled out the wallet, flipped through the contents. “Nothing here about allergies.” He placed the wallet into the bag of personal items and stared at the body
for a moment, then said just loud enough for Tony to hear, “Maybe poison?”

  Hearing the “P” word, Tony reluctantly turned to face the milling crowd standing just beyond the makeshift fence. Would he see hordes of people falling to the ground, poisoned at his family's party? Thankfully, there were just the normal gawking faces, some serious, some gleeful. “Go back to the food and crafts and the music. There's nothing to see here.” He began walking forward, shooing the leaders, like he was moving cows. Jumping into the spirit of the situation, Berry and Gus worked their way around the outside of the crowd and added their assistance.

  Without warning, Martha grabbed one of the musicians, who, startled, fought her briefly and inadvertently scratched her arm with his fingernails. After a mumbled apology, he climbed the steps to the stage, pulling his partner with him. They launched into an upbeat favorite, and soon the audience was just that again, a group of people clapping and singing and eating and enjoying the beautiful spring afternoon. It wasn't like they'd lost someone they all cared for and there didn't seem to be anything much to see at the death site.

  Tony lined up the vegetable weapon crew, spacing them too far apart to allow for any conversation. He considered Quentin's potato striking the man nothing more than a fluke, but he thought the foursome demonstrating vegetable warfare might be able to help him. They would have had a great vantage point for seeing something out of the ordinary. “The four of you were looking down at our little event. So, one at a time I'd like to ask you some questions, and I don't want you talking to one another.”

  “Ladies first.” Wade beckoned to Veronica.

  Tony had no idea what had caused Ragsdale's death, so he decided to go with the generic, “Did you see anything that struck you as unusual?”