On the drummer's bass drum was the name of the band: Rain Nor Heat.
I had to smile at their cleverness. Surely the band was comprised entirely of mail carriers, and the name was taken from the unofficial creed of the USPS: Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.
Rain Nor Heat was upbeat and cheerful, perfect for a hootenanny, and from what I knew of folk music, professional quality.
Since my two companions were on the dance floor, I headed over to the punch bowl, scanning faces and waving hello as I walked.
There were many familiar folks in the crowd, but I kept peering around. I was looking for one person in particular: Harper. Sunday night on the phone, she'd assured me she would be here tonight. Should I have offered her a ride? I wished I'd thought of it sooner. I had been looking forward to picking her brain about her bosses, the Sweets. Harper might have let it slip to someone that Michael hung out at their empty house listings to spend quality time with himself. If she was friends with someone who was also friends with Trigger Canuso, that would explain how Trigger might have discovered Michael's whereabouts the day he was killed.
Talking to Harper was a long shot, but experience had taught me that long shots paid off on occasion.
I spotted two young women who also worked at the Olive Grove and went over to talk to them.
“Do you know if Harper's coming tonight?”
They were both so distracted by my cheerleader uniform that it took them a minute to answer. One looked at the other and asked, “Doesn't she have that bad sinus cold that's going around?”
“She'd better have it,” the friend replied. “She was going to take a few of my shifts for cash, but then she backed out at the last minute and I had to miss my sister's shower.” She looked at me with a pained expression. “Baby shower, not wedding shower. Much to our parents' horror.”
“Congratulations,” I said anyway. “It seems like so much fun to be an auntie.” I glanced around, trying to come up with more small talk. I had nothing, so I cut to the chase. “Are either of you friends with Trigger Canuso?”
They gave each other a look, and then the first one wrinkled her nose. “Not really. I mean, we know who she is, and we don't have a problem with her, but...” They looked at each other again.
“Never mind,” I said. “Thanks for letting me know about Harper. Maybe I'll stop by her apartment tomorrow with some chicken soup.”
As I walked away from the girls, I could hear them whispering my name and giggling. My body felt heavy, and I suddenly wished I was at home, or anywhere but a barn dance. I wouldn't normally have cared about people talking about me behind my back, but wearing my high school cheerleader uniform must have put me in touch with some of my youthful insecurities.
I headed toward the refreshments table. Another familiar face popped out of the crowd: my trusty employee, Brianna. Was I ever happy to see her. I scooped myself a cup of pink juice from the punch bowl and went to join her.
Brianna looked like a stylish farm girl, in denim shorts and a plaid shirt tied above her navel. She'd styled her hair differently for the occasion—two pigtails. Before she saw me, she'd been twisting the pigtails around to cover her ears, which she felt stuck out too much even though they were perfectly adorable.
“Hey, Brianna,” I said. “Are you getting lots of new source material for your web comic?”
She stared at my cheerleader sweater and then my skirt. “Stormy? Is that you?” She lifted her red plastic cup of punch to her nose and sniffed it. “Don't drink the punch,” she said. “There must be magic mushrooms in here because I'm trippin' balls. I swear you're wearing a cheerleader uniform.”
“Ha ha,” I said. “It was all Jessica's idea, but something tells me Quinn put her up to it.”
“Sounds like Quinn.” She patted the sleeve of my sweater. “Where did you get this sweater? It looks so real.”
“It's real. This is mine. From high school.” I could tell she didn't believe me. “Brianna, once upon a time, I was a cheerleader.”
“Sure you were,” she said with wide eyes. “Tell me another one.” She followed up her sarcasm with a hiccup.
“Go easy on the punch,” I said.
With exaggerated slowness, she replied, “Oooookay, boss.”
Rain Nor Sleet finished their song, and the crowd of about two hundred people applauded. Brianna and I didn't have anywhere to set our red cups, so we shouted Whoo sounds, as one does.
The next song started up, at an even more upbeat tempo than the last one.
“Your cousin Chip is quite the fiddle player,” I said to Brianna. “Is the rest of your family as musically talented?”
“Sort of. My mother and the other white McCabes are into folk and country. My father's side is more about classical piano and violin.” She grinned. “Stereotypical Chinese Americans, I know.”
“What do you play?”
“Video games.” She hiccuped again and waved to someone across the way.
I followed her gaze across the crowded barn to her parents and her grandma, Lily, on her mobility scooter. They saw me and waved excitedly, so I waved back. Brianna's mother was blond, like many of the other McCabes. All three Changs were laughing and clapping along with the music.
“This isn't their first hootenanny,” I observed.
We watched the band and the action on the dance floor as we finished our drinks. I offered to refill Brianna's red cup. I gave myself another serving of punch and filled hers with half punch and half ginger ale.
When I brought her the cup, she said, “Do one of your famous Irish toasts!”
“Just for the two of us? Sure.” I rattled off the first one that came to mind. “May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty.”
Brianna grinned with delight, and we clinked red plastic cups.
We watched the band play a few more songs. They took a break and switched over to DJ music, with the volume turned down so people could socialize more easily.
The cavernous barn filled with the sounds of conversation, seeming even fuller than it had been moments before. The soft lighting from strings of white lanterns crisscrossing overhead was universally flattering. I looked down at my bare legs, pleased to see that the little bruises and imperfections didn't show at all.
The din of conversation rose up around us. Snippets floated over to my ears. Several people were talking about the upcoming filming of the Hallows series, and young Quinby's role. There would be many opportunities for locals to play extras; it would be an economic boon for the town. Even my gift shop would benefit. All of this news certainly added to the festivity of the annual event.
Brianna said to me, “I heard from a friend that the role of Kinley was actually cast months ago, and the open casting call here was just a publicity stunt to sell a carefully crafted narrative.”
“I never knew you were such a conspiracy nut.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “How much do you know about microwaves and government monitoring?”
I rolled my eyes. We had a few known conspiracy theorists in town. They came into the gift shop sometimes to talk to Brianna when the library turfed them out. She humored them and took notes for her web comic. Her art was a great way for her to take life's lemons and turn them into lemonade.
A few people came over to chat with me.
Ruby Sparkes came over to give Brianna one of her warm, matronly hugs. They chatted for a few minutes about Brianna's comic, and how things were going at the store. She smirked as she asked my employee if her boss was being good to her, or if she was looking for a career change.
“Don't you dare poach my best employee,” I told Ruby.
She tilted her head back and roared laughter before giving me a hug as well.
“Aren't you adorable,” she said. “What's Logan Sanderson dressed up as? A scarecrow? Or the Tin Man?”
“Probably his regular business-casual look,” I said. “He'
s not here with me. He was tired, and his sister claims to be dangerously allergic to both hay and folk music.”
Ruby swayed as her eyes flitted around without focus. She'd been enjoying the punch, by the look of her.
After a moment, she patted me lovingly on the shoulder. “Stormy Day, never mind what people say. Logan's a good fella.”
I asked, “What do you mean?”
She flopped her head from side to side, her purple-red curls bouncing softly. “You two suit each other,” she said. “You're a real power couple. If one of you runs for mayor someday, you can whip this whole town into shape!”
“Ah, the power,” I joked. “Imagine me as mayor. I would appoint Jeffrey as one of my chief advisers, of course. Do you think I can get people to call me Her Royal Highness?”
“Sure,” she said with a hand wave, barely listening to me. “If you'll excuse me, I see a gentleman I'd like to ply with more punch.” With a girlish giggle, she was off.
I turned to say something to Brianna, but she was gone, off talking to some guys her age. Rather than cramp her style, I wandered off in search of my companions.
The alcohol in the punch was tickling at my brain in a pleasant way.
Tonight was going to be fun.
I couldn't say what it was, exactly, but I had a strong premonition the hootenanny was going to end with a bang.
Chapter 39
When Rain Nor Heat started up again, Kyle insisted I dance with him.
“Hang on a minute,” I said.
Our hosts had dropped a sheet from a hay loft, forming a makeshift projection screen. Quinn was setting up her laptop with a projector, and displaying recent photographs of her daughter dressed up for her starring role. After a dozen photos, the screen abruptly turned a bright, blinding white. It was a business card, an advertisement for the photographer.
“That guy's name looks familiar,” I said to Kyle.
He looked up just as the advertisement dissolved into an image of Quinby's angelic face as she posed with a sword she could barely hold up.
“Let's dance,” he said. “No more stalling. You know that expression, dance with the one who brought you? Come on already. I promise I'll keep one eye on the screen and only one eye on those legs of yours.”
“Dimples, I'm only going to dance with you if you promise not to look at my legs at all.”
“I can only promise to try,” he said, giving me a double eyebrow raise as he steered me onto the hay-strewn wooden dance floor.
The song stopped before we'd taken even one dance step. Everyone clapped, and a few people called out requests. The band immediately started up a new tune, this one a much slower tempo. All around us, couples got closer, the women wrapping their arms around their dates' necks.
“When in Rome,” Kyle said, placing his hand on my waist.
I put my hands loosely on his shoulders and tried to relax. I hadn't danced this way in years, but it came back to me. They say the body has a memory of its own.
After a minute, I said, “Stop it.”
His arms stiffened, and he increased the space between us. “Stop what? I'm not too close, am I?”
“That's fine. But you keep gazing at me. I can feel your eyes on me. Look at the screen up there and tell me what's strange about the name of that photographer.”
“I'm not gazing at you.” He blew air up his face, fluffing his fair hair away from his sweaty forehead. “You're basically a big sister to me.”
“Good,” I said.
“What would you think if I started calling Finnegan Dad?”
“I would think you had acquired some sort of brain parasite.”
“He could be my dad, sort of. There are two ways I could make it legitimate.”
I frowned up at him. “Is one of those ways getting adopted by him? You seem a bit old for adoption.”
“Or I could marry your sister,” he said. “Sunny.”
My feet stopped moving. “That will be difficult, since she doesn't live here.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Hasn't Dad—I mean Finnegan—told you? She's coming back.”
I snorted and started dancing again. “I'll believe it when I see it.”
“Sooner or later, everyone comes home again. When I moved away, I thought it was for good, but look at me now.”
“Maybe I will.” I leaned back and looked him up and down. If he was going to gaze at me and my legs, I could do the same. “You've got a trim figure, Dimples. How do you keep all those bottles of beer and donuts from settling around your waistline?”
“By hitting the gym five days a week. You should come with me some time. I can introduce you to my personal trainer, but I must warn you. My trainer will make you cry.”
“I don't cry,” I said. Even as I uttered the lie, I didn't know why. I'd cried more than once over Colt facing a homicide charge, and about Samantha Sweet's family being torn apart. I'd cried more in the last week than I had through my entire breakup with Christopher.
The song finished, and Quinn took to the stage. She and her daughter, Quinby, were dressed in matching trench coats.
“Thank you all for coming,” Quinn gushed.
Everyone applauded, and the louder it got, the taller she stood.
“On behalf of my parents and the other Baudelaires, as well as the McCabes, I'm so glad you could make it. This might be our last Autumn Hootenanny for a while, because we'll be super busy soon.” She patted her stomach. A ripple ran through the crowd. Was she announcing they were having a second child?
She yanked her hand away from her stomach and clutched the microphone.
“Because of Quinby's starring role,” she said quickly. “Some of the filming will be on location right here, at the farm! Isn't that wonderful news?”
The crowd cheered. Quinn raised both hands in the air forming a V for Victory.
She scanned the crowd, stopping on me as she brought the microphone to her mouth again. “And now I'd like to invite two of my oldest and dearest friends up on stage to join me in a cheer.”
I stiffened and glanced around like a cornered rodent, but there was no escape. Jessica had gotten me into my cheerleader uniform for a reason, and this was it. As she dragged me onto the stage, Quinn unbuttoned her trench coat and tossed it aside. Her daughter did the same. Quinn was wearing her old head cheerleader uniform, and her daughter was wearing a smaller replica.
The next several minutes were both familiar and strange. We did some cheers, and my body remembered most of the moves. The crowd roared. They seemed to enjoy it almost as much when we messed up as when we got the routines right. I was sweating like crazy from the exertion, but I didn't care. I lost myself in the group effervescence. I was, for the first time in what felt like forever, having a great time.
For the second-to-last song of the evening, Rain Nor Heat gave me a chill down my spine with their original song about a vengeful ghost in Colorado who lured a killer off a mountain cliff.
Kyle Dempsey, who'd gone outside to take a phone call, came to tell me some good news. “I've got Trigger Canuso waiting at the station. She asked for me specifically.”
I gave him a high five. “You're going to crack this case wide open!”
“Thanks to you,” he said. “I don't think we'd have broken her if you hadn't leaned on me to work a little harder.”
“Dimples, I can't take credit for this one. I feel like I've been more hindrance than help.”
He glanced down at my pleated cheerleader skirt. “At least we didn't wreck a cruiser.”
“Not yet.”
“Speaking of cruisers, I need to get back to the station pronto, and I'm your chauffeur.”
“Go ahead. Jessica and I will hitch a ride back into town with someone else.”
Right then, Jessica appeared beside us. “Are you talking about me?”
“You're just like Jeffrey,” I said. “I say your name and you appear.”
She yawned as she looked at the keys in Kyle's hand. “Oh, good. We're le
aving,” she said. “I'm so tired.”
“It's up to you,” Kyle said, and he explained how he was leaving now and heading to the station.
Jessica yawned again. “Would it be an obstruction of justice to get dropped off at my house?”
Kyle grinned, dimples deepening. “It's no problem to add five minutes to my trip.”
I asked Kyle, “Will you let me know how it goes at the station?”
“If it goes well, I'm sure you'll find out soon enough.” He paused, frowning as though fighting an internal battle. “Can you keep something to yourself?”
“Better than you,” I said.
“Trigger didn't do it.” He glanced around, making sure no one was paying much attention to our conversation. “The last time I talked to Trigger, she swore she drove past the house because she was interested in buying it as a rental property, and she saw Samantha going inside at eleven o'clock on the day of.”
I snorted. “How convenient that Trigger just happened to be driving by at that time.”
Kyle shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Sometimes people end up in the wrong place at the worst time.”
“Good luck getting the truth out of her.”
“It's going to be a late night,” he said.
“Maybe when I'm done helping Quinn clean up here, I'll catch a ride to the station. Can I sit in the observation room if I bring you something to eat?”
“It's Misty Falls. Everything's closed by now.”
“I happen to have a place,” I said knowingly. “The best hot dogs in town.”
“You're on.” He gave me a wink before turning to leave with Jessica.
As I watched them walk away, I noticed how Kyle Dempsey took Jessica's hand and led her through the crowd so she didn't get knocked down by enthusiastic dancers.
I tilted my head and wondered, Kyle and Jessica? Maybe. If she didn't come clean with Mitch about the misunderstanding, she had other options.
The band played one more original tune and then, when everyone begged for an encore, two more classics.
Death of a Double Dipper Page 25