Veronica gazed down the hill. “We were all having a great time. The weapons performed better than expected.” She paused, reining in her enthusiasm. “I didn't see the man on the field until the potato was in the air. Looking back, it seems like he might have staggered an instant before he was hit, but the ground is uneven and I've come close to turning my ankle several times.”
“Staggered?” Tony considered the implications of the word.
“You know, like he'd had too much to drink, or maybe as if he stepped in a hole and was losing his balance.”
“Anything else?” Tony stared down the hill at the ambulance arriving to cart off the corpse.
“No.” Veronica shrugged. “Sorry. It was a tremendously fun day until then. I hope we get to do it again.”
Tony sent her to change places with Roscoe. Their conversation didn't last long. If anything, Roscoe had seen less than Veronica because he was “gazing at my lady love” instead of looking down the hill.
The professor strode toward them. With each step, his great belly swung right, and then the other way. Up close, his red velvet tunic was well sewn and highly decorated with embroidery and jewels. Tony thought Theo would be proud of his ability to judge the quality of needlework. It had taken her years to train his eye—a long transition from Neanderthal to an appreciative viewer. “Who made your outfit?”
The professor's wide smile broadened. “My wife.” He waved to someone in the crowd below. “That's her, the gray-haired woman buying a ticket, or more likely twenty of them, for the quilt being given away. She's more interested in the crafts than our weapons.”
Tony thought he detected bewilderment about his wife's lack of interest in the weapons. Although he couldn't see the woman, he believed she was in the crowd. “How, or why, did you decide to participate today?”
“Are you kidding? I live for this.” The professor's belly bounced, making the jewels flash in the sunlight. “Food, music, and the chance to blow rubber duckies out of a trough with a vegetable. Can life get better?” He lowered his voice and reined in some of his exuberance. “Except for this incident and that one hideous musical act.” He shuddered at the memory.
Tony had to admire the man's enthusiasm. He wasn't too sure what it would take to get him out in public in a miniskirt, but to each his own. Tony managed to convince himself the can-can skirt was much more masculine, at least while the black satin hung straight down covering the inner ruffles. “I understand you're from Knoxville. Have you ever met Harrison Ragsdale?”
The jovial expression vanished. “I have.” The professor averted his eyes and his lips pressed tightly together.
“Under what circumstances?” Tony always found it curious how disparate lives so often intersected with each other.
“You might find this hard to believe, but we were roommates our freshman year at the university.” The professor shook his head. “To be precise, we were roommates for the first month of freshman year. After that, I was able to make other living arrangements. To be frank, I'd have rather slept under one of the bridges than share with him any longer.”
“Wow.” Totally gobsmacked, Tony stared. “Why?”
The professor looked as if he might not answer. Then, exhaling loudly, he began talking. “It was not awful the first week. We were young, away from home for the first time. He was from this end of the state, but I grew up in Pulaski, so I was farther from my home. The first few days, he was the only person I knew on campus.” The professor's hands shook as he pulled a handkerchief from a hidden pocket in his tunic and blew his nose. “I'll not get into more detail unless necessary, but I quickly learned he delighted in cruel behavior toward people and animals.”
“Were you aware he lived and worked in this county?” Tony paused. “As a game warden?”
“Hell, no.” The feathers on his hat whipped from side to side. “I might not have come if I'd known there was a chance Ragsdale would be here.”
Tony felt his eyebrows climb. “When was the last time you saw him before today?”
“The day I moved out of the dorm. The university is large and our majors led us to different parts of the campus. I found joy and love in the history department and he—I don't know what he found.” The professor slipped his handkerchief into a secret pocket. “I don't think he wanted to be happy. You ever meet someone who seems to revel in unhappiness, whether theirs or someone else's?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Tony had met several people in the category and couldn't understand their penchant for misery.
“That was Harrison.” The professor jiggled impatiently. “Can we go back to our machines?”
“Yes. I have your contact information.” Tony beckoned Quentin forward. “But I can't have you firing down at a possible crime scene.”
“Crime scene?” Quentin leaned forward as if he'd be able to see something special from up on the hill. “We've been up here all afternoon. Honest, Sheriff, when I fired the cannon, no one was anywhere down there.”
“I'm sure that's true.” Tony absolutely believed him.
Quentin started twitching more than usual. “What crime then?”
Tony had no answer and thought Quentin nailed the crux of the problem. If there was a crime, Tony didn't think it actually happened here in the field but more likely it occurred in the crowded public zone. Tony glanced at the hordes of restless party goers. “Never mind. Have fun. Shoot all the spuds you want after we clear the area.” Tony could only hope he was making the right decision.
“I've been replaced on the ticket table by Ruth Ann and Walter. Isn't it nice to see her husband out and about again?” Parking the stroller with the angelic—now that they were sleeping—babies, Theo sat down next to Callie and grinned at her sister-in-law. “Has your mom always been a magnet for mayhem?”
Callie, who had been on the verge of answering, froze. Looking past Theo she said, “Hi, Mom.”
“Can you believe it?” Jane plopped onto an empty chair, nearly causing the folding chair to do just what it was named for. Both Theo and Callie grabbed to support it. Jane thanked them sweetly before taking a long drink of her iced tea. “Honestly, I don't know why these things happen around me.”
Callie turned to Theo. “Does that answer your question?” She reached for Jane's hand. “I don't think you have anything to do with it, Mom. If you stayed home alone, you'd miss too much fun.”
Theo mumbled something about not wanting the roof to cave in around her mother-in-law so it was safer for her to be out and about, and made everyone laugh. “Now that we're all feeling better, why don't we see what's for sale in the crafts booths. I heard the senior citizens' craft group has worked for months making hot pads, doll clothes, and place mats.”
Nina came close enough to hear them and chimed in. “My French Club kids hope to sell enough cookies and brownies and cakes to fund a collection of music and movies in French. Their goal, since no one can afford to travel to France, is to have enough entertainment to last through an all-night party.”
“I'm sure I need some cookies and hot pads.” Callie rose and led her mother in the direction of the crafts area. “Now that most people have eaten, let's go see what all is for sale over there. I was afraid of being trampled earlier.”
Theo handed Nina ten dollars. “Buy me something chocolaty. I need to get back to the ticket table and see if Ruth Ann and Walter have had enough fun yet.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Sheriff?” Doc Nash called Tony over to the ambulance. “I've changed my mind. I'm not going to do this autopsy.”
Tony looked into the doctor's serious brown eyes. “Why not?” He really didn't need to ask. Over the time they had worked together, Tony had come to understand the doctor was willing to admit when a situation was beyond his training and available equipment. What the statement really meant was Doc Nash believed the body was evidence in a murder case, and he wasn't going to risk destroying evidence that might point to the killer, and he didn't want the killer to get away wit
h it.
Doc Nash pointed to Ragsdale's face. “Now that he's on his back I can tell you this is not normal. See the way there's a bit of swelling around the lips. He probably ate something he was allergic to or some insect bit him, or I don't know what I'm talking about. He's not one of my patients, but people with strong food allergies are normally very careful about what they eat and routinely carry medication to counteract a reaction until they can reach medical help.” The doctor's bright brown eyes met his. “Plus . . .”
“Plus?” Tony actually felt his stomach fall. An expression he now understood. “What is plus? Plus doesn't sound good.”
“Look at this.” Doc Nash peeled back the jacket, exposing the end of a wooden stake about as thick as a wooden spoon handle. It was definitely not a twig, and it was jammed into the deceased's chest. “What does that make you think of?”
“Old vampire movies.” Tony leaned closer and Wade jumped forward with the camera, photographing the thing from several angles. There was a small amount of blood on the point.
“Yeah, my thought exactly. But in the middle of the afternoon? Shouldn't it be midnight in a cemetery?” Doc Nash sighed. “I don't know if it penetrated the heart or not, but it punctured something. I'll leave it to an expert to find out.”
Tony studied the surrounding area. On this side of the rope marked with brightly colored pennants, there was a wide space, clear of trees all the way up to the mostly level space where the cannon, trebuchet, and catapult sat. The medieval enthusiasts' Bush Hog mowed all the vegetation in the area to a height of about eight inches. In his viewpoint, the idea of someone being able to hide before, during, and after stabbing Ragsdale with a wooden stake was ludicrous.
On the festival side of the rope, hundreds of people milled about, some watching the show on the stage, some roaming around the food and craft booths, some just standing around talking, and some staring at him and the ambulance. With such a crowd, there was little room to move around. Tony couldn't help but wonder how someone could be stabbed with no one, apparently, noticing. Or maybe someone had. A groan worked its way up from his stomach. They needed to talk to everyone at the festival.
He saw Rex Satterfield dancing with his wife in the space in front of the stage. Although Flavio Weems had made progress as far as becoming a good dispatch officer, he would not be as efficient and professional as Rex for another twenty years. Tony didn't have his radio with him, so he used his cell phone to call Flavio. “I know where Wade and Mike are—I need you to contact Sheila and Darren and tell them to come to the museum. Now. And tell them to bring plenty of paper.”
Tony thought they could set up tables in the barn/exhibit hall and run everyone through to get statements. He didn't want their life stories, just their names, addresses, where they were standing and anything they might have seen that struck them as unusual. His stomach growled. He was probably the only person here who hadn't eaten. He decided some lunch would improve his attitude, if not his heartburn, and he headed for the food booths.
Avoiding the ramp dishes, he settled on a barbeque sandwich. It came with a huge pickle and a bag of potato chips. Carrying his plate with both hands because the weight of the pickle alone would cause it to collapse, he made his way to Theo's table at the entrance.
Her smile was welcoming but strained. He placed his lunch on the table and settled onto an empty chair. “You can have the pickle.”
Theo's smile brightened a bit as she reached for it. “People are getting cranky about not being allowed to leave. Others are still arriving, or returning.”
“And other than remembering them, how do you know they've paid?” He took a big bite of the excellent barbeque and started opening the potato chips as he chewed.
Theo looked at him like he'd arrived from Mars. “I stamp their hand when they pay.” She waved a small rubber stamp under his nose. “Like they do at just about every event we attend.”
Tony had to admit he'd forgotten he'd stamped hands earlier and had overlooked the most obvious solution to his dilemma. “Do you happen to have another stamp or another color ink we could use?”
“Yes, both, but the pickle isn't enough of a bribe. You have to tell me what's going on.”
Theo, following Tony's instructions, found a rubber stamp with a second design and gave it to him. Each person would need to be checked for a second stamp, a red heart, before they'd be allowed to leave.
Thankfully, Berry stepped in to help her at the gate. While not built anything like Tony and Gus physically, Berry was nonetheless an Abernathy man and, like the other two, he wasn't intimidated by a few cranky people wanting to leave without checking in with the sheriff's office representatives. No red heart on their hand, no departure. His authority was undisputed.
Theo stayed at the table and continued to take money and let Berry deal with those leaving. It didn't take her friends and quilt shop customers long to find her and attempt to extract information from her. It was easy to stay quiet about Tony's investigation, because he hadn't told her anything.
Nina brought the plate of brownies Theo had ordered and stayed to help with the twins. Even she attempted to extract information from her. Nina's eyes sparkled with mischief. “Really, Theo, I'm sure you know something.”
Theo didn't have to feign ignorance. “No. I don't.” She lowered her voice. “If you learn anything, please come tell me. I hate being the only person left out of the loop.”
“Deal.” Nina patted Lizzie's tiny back and cooed, “Aren't you the sweetest baby?” She winked at Theo. “I say the same thing to Kara. Does that make me a big fat liar or what?”
“I'll forgive you for them. I'm afraid I do the same thing. They'll be warped for life, each one claiming to be my favorite.”
Nina glanced past Theo. “Berry doesn't look at all like Tony and Gus, does he?”
Theo studied the dark-haired brother and shook her head. “He and Callie take after Jane's side of the family while Tony and Gus are built like their dad.” She glanced over to the table where Berry towered over Orvan Lundy, preventing the little old man from leaving without being cleared. Orvan's whine wasn't getting him anywhere. “Berry's not exactly small, you know, he's just a lot smaller than his brothers.”
Nina agreed. “Plus, he has a lot more hair. I know hordes of women who would give their back teeth to have a mane of black hair like his.”
“No kidding. It looks like something in a shampoo commercial.” As they talked, Theo realized she hadn't seen their elderly friend for a while. “Have you seen Caro?”
“She was over with the rest of the ‘relics.’ ” Nina half-stood, looking toward the concession stand. “I don't see her now. Why?”
“I'm a bit concerned about her. She hasn't been at Thursday Night Bowling League lately, not even in the daytime, but then, neither have you.”
“I expect to be there this week. Last time was parent teacher conferences, and I don't remember why I couldn't come before. How's Caro doing?”
“She feels so guilty when she can't go see her husband more often, but when she does visit, he has no idea who she is. Alzheimer's has taken him far beyond her reach.” Theo sighed. “It's amazing his body can keep going for so long without his mind.”
“It's too sad to contemplate.” Nina looked beyond Theo's shoulder. “What is fun to think about is Blossom and her coterie of gentlemen. How many beaux does she have now?”
As a change of subject, Theo thought it was inspired. “Well, let's see. The last I knew, Kenny and DuWayne were sort of costars. Why?”
“Because she's dancing with Doctor-looks-so-good again.” Nina stared at the dancers. “He's very easy on the eyes.”
Unable to resist, Theo turned to look. Flamed-haired and quite light on her feet for a plus-size woman, Blossom was dancing the two-step with a tall man with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Neither Kenny nor DuWayne had any height to speak of, so it wasn't one of them. Theo said, “That new dentist is gorgeous, isn't he?”
“Only
if you think tall, dark, and handsome is gorgeous. I'm jealous of Blossom. Where does she find them?” Nina sighed. “All the men I seem to meet these days are married, losers, or married losers.”
Theo saw the expressions of concern on Blossom's beaux' faces. “Maybe you could cut in. I'll bet her boyfriends Kenny and DuWayne wouldn't mind.” There was nothing more Theo could suggest. With not a lot of men in Park County, few were single and even fewer were stellar. As Theo watched, the musicians stopped playing and the dancers applauded. A girl, maybe thirteen, carrying a guitar, took the stage. She sang poorly, but the audience stayed to listen and applauded generously when she finished. All in all, hers was a much superior performance to that of the Elves.
Theo's younger quilting friend Susan dropped by the admission table and told Theo that the quilters guarding the display in the barn reported a lot of sightseers but not much in the way of sales. Normal. For them this festival was a chance to show what they liked to do and perhaps interest onlookers in joining their fabric-filled world. Self-appointed quilt guardians were fiercely protective and handled the quilts with white gloves. No one else was allowed to touch them. The combination of fabric and weeks, months or years of work did not welcome hands smudged with barbeque sauce and ramps. Just thinking about greasy red-orange smudges on an heirloom made a couple of women withdraw their quilts from the exhibition.
The senior citizens had set up their booth to make money, and they were cleaning up, monetarily, selling their small homemade items to all and sundry. The biggest sellers were the hot pads, microwavable fabric potato pockets, followed by the place mats and, running last, crocheted toilet paper roll covers disguised as girls in flamboyant colored full skirts.
Theo knew how much work those covers were to make and hoped not too many of them would soon be disposed of, to be collected by their trash hauler Claude Marmot and taken to the dump. Mostly because she was sure Claude would rescue them, and poor Katti would have fifteen hoop-skirted toilet paper-holding girls in their small house. Not all of them were pink, so they could create a major decorating issue for Katti.
Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable Page 10