Fatal Festival Days

by Jamie M. Blair

  I decided to walk across the bridge and toward Johnna’s house, which was opposite of my normal dog-walking route, thinking I’d search for Metamora Mike. My dogs always had a thing for Mike, sniffing him out and barking like mad when they caught sight of him.

  The snow still covered the ground, but there was much less than a few days earlier. The slush had turned to ice and then softened again to a milkshake consistency that soaked through my canvas boots.

  Gus stopped at the horse stalls and snuffled around the ground, digging his nose into the hay for a good sniff, while the twins attempted to dart across the street to the train depot where Jim Stein was standing outside smoking a cigar.

  “Afternoon, Cam,” he called. “Got your hands full there.”

  Struggling to keep two dogs restrained by holding their leashes in my right hand, and Gus’s leash in the crook of my left elbow under the sling. I had to agree. “They rarely want to go the same direction.”

  “Searching for Mike?” he asked, blowing smoke into the air.

  “I thought we’d give it a try while we were out anyway. Where do you think he’s gone?”

  Jim shook his head. “I fear the worst has happened.”

  A pang struck me in the chest. “But he’s survived so many winters.”

  “Nothing like this has come through here in a long time.”

  I peered down the bank at the frozen canal. There was no denying that this winter had been worse than any others I’d experienced in town.

  “He’s only a duck, after all,” Jim said. “But if he is around and you want to find him, you should play your clarinet. He seemed to like that.”

  The humiliating memory of Jim’s wife, Fiona, teaching me to play in the train depot, and me making nothing but horrid goose honks on the clarinet, came flooding back to me. Mike had come waddling in the open depot door honking right back at me.

  “I think he thought it was some kind of mating call,” Jim said. “It could work to get him to come around if he’s out here somewhere.” He winked. “Give it some thought.”

  I told him I would and we headed off. It wasn’t a bad idea, but the last time I played was in the fall, for my bees, and Fiona heard me playing across the canal. She wasn’t exactly complimentary about my progress. But if worse came to worst, I’d do it to find Mike.

  We approached Johnna’s house on our right just as Roy was coming out of her door with a paper grocery bag. I saw a rolled up, crinkled potato chip bag sticking out of the top. Was Johnna giving him food from her cupboards?

  Gus barked and they both looked over. “Are you following me, Cameron Cripps-Hayman?” Roy asked.

  “She’s got better things to do than follow some old coot around town,” Johnna said. “You heard about Jason?” she called to me.

  I led my troop to the bottom of her porch steps. “Betty just told me. Do you think he did it?”

  “’Course he did,” Roy said. “They found the murder weapon in his house, didn’t they? Sure sign of guilt right there.”

  “Doesn’t seem right, though,” Johnna said, scratching her chin. “He didn’t have a reason to do it. What does Ben say about it?”

  “Nothing. He doesn’t tell me very much about cases.”

  Johnna narrowed her eyes. “Your mama never taught you how to get what you want from your man?”

  Good gravy. My mom telling me things like that? The thought made me ill. Clearly, Mom was a free woman and out having the time of her life; I just didn’t need to think about it.

  “I better get going,” I said, and tugged Gus’s leash to get him moving. Colby and Jack were ready to head home. I knew when the cold started getting to them—they stopped being rowdy and actually walked like good dogs on their leashes. Soon I’d take them to Quinn for training. Now that they had names there was no reason not to.

  On our way back to Ellsworth House, I wondered if Gus had what it takes to be a K9 officer like Brutus. I’d have to ask Ben what he thought about it. If Quinn could train Brutus to be a respectable police dog, then surely Gus could be one, too.

  “Cameron?”

  I turned to find Roy hustling after me.

  “What’s in those dog treats your sister makes?”

  “There are all different kinds,” I said. “All the ingredients are natural and come from the local stores and farms. Why? You don’t have a dog. You’re not thinking of eating them yourself, are you? Roy, let’s go to my house and drop off the dogs and I’ll take you shopping.”

  “No, no. I already told you I don’t need anything. I was just curious is all. Johnna talks those treats up all the time and I wanted to make sure they were good for Charlie. He’s her pride and joy, you know.”

  What was going on with Roy and Johnna? Certainly, they weren’t becoming an item. Coconspirators was more like it. But he must have a soft spot for her. “I promise you they’re good for Charlie. Monica uses fresh fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and meats, and mixes them in flour from the grist mill.”

  “Not that poisoned stuff that Clayton got his hands on, I hope.”

  “None of that, no,” I said.

  “I still don’t understand how Starnes Buntly gets away with putting poisoned seeds in his flour, but I’m no lawman.”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” I said, “and it wasn’t what Clayton died from, ultimately.”

  “How do they know it wasn’t intentional? He was killed, wasn’t he? Maybe it just didn’t do its job.”

  “Why would Starnes want to kill Clayton? They were best friends.”

  “Most murdered people are killed by friends and family,” he said. “There’s always a reason why. We just need to find it.”

  “Do you know Richard Banks, Clayton’s brother?”

  “It’s been a long time, but I used to know him when we were younger.”

  “Think you might want to stop over at Clayton’s with me and express your sympathy?”

  “You mean snoop? I’m free this evening. Pick me up at six o’clock.”

  And with that, he set off, up the road toward his house. I wrangled my dogs to the right and walked down the road beside the canal back home.

  • Eleven •

  This was a bad idea, and not just because I lied to Ben and told him I was taking Roy grocery shopping.

  Roy had a hand-held tape recorder tucked in his pocket and had memorized a list of questions to work into the conversation. As we drove down the highway, he practiced a mock interview, as he called it.

  “So then I’ll say, ‘It was mighty coincidental that you were on your way to town and your brother was murdered. You hadn’t talked to him in years, had you? Had you? And out of the blue Dixon’s murdered, and Jason’s in jail, too. Who’s staying in this house, then? You are, Richard. You killed them both, didn’t you?’ ”

  “You can’t do that, Roy. He’ll kick us out. You have to be subtle about this.”

  “Subtle, like an ice pick to the head, you mean?” He snorted and took a swig out of his flask.

  “You really think Richard murdered his brother and Dixon?”

  “I don’t rule out anyone until I confront them with my suspicions.”

  “Confrontation isn’t going to get us answers. Just follow my lead and don’t say anything to make them boot us out the door.”

  “Fine, but you’ll end up doing things my way. Mark my words.”

  We parked in the driveway and walked up the sidewalk, which, to my relief, was shoveled and salted. I didn’t want to repeat the nasty fall I took here or at my own house.

  Roy rapped on the door like he was a member of a CSI unit, and pressed Record on the tape recorder in his pocket. Richard answered and seemed truly surprised to see Roy.

  “It’s been a long, long time,” he said, shaking Roy’s hand. “Come in.” He stepped back and gestured for us to come inside. “Robin�
�s just stepped out to do some visiting of her own. She’s at your mother-in-law’s house,” he said to me.

  Paying the grande dame a visit. All who enter town must bestow their respects upon Irene Hayman. “How nice,” I said, stifling an eye roll.

  Ginger lifted her head from where she lay beside the coffee table where the urn still sat. She was one depressed dog. Poor girl. I hoped she’d be okay soon.

  “What brings you to town?” Roy asked, glancing suspiciously around the room.

  “Originally, the plan was to visit my brother. Then it turned into burying him.”

  “But you had him cremated,” Roy said, in his best gotcha voice. “Not buried.”

  “We’re planning on burying the remains.” Richard blinked with confusion. I could tell he was already beginning to wonder what Roy’s ulterior motive was for being there. “I didn’t realize you were friends with Clayton,” he said.

  “Small town,” Roy said. “Who do you think killed him, then?”

  “Um,” I said, jumping into the conversation, “I talked with Betty today. She told me about Jason. I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do for him, or for you and Robin?”

  Richard’s eyes moved back and forth between me and Roy, like he was trying to figure out if this was some sort of game. “Jason didn’t kill anyone, especially not David Dixon, who’d been around him his whole life. Clayton, David, and Starnes used to take him fishing and hunting. He was like another father to Jason.”

  “What about the murder weapon?” Roy asked and pointed to the sofa. “Wasn’t it found right under there?”

  “What’s this about?” Richard asked, crossing his arms. “You come in here and start throwing out accusations. What’s the reason for this?”

  “There’s at least one murderer in town, maybe two,” Roy said. “We’re going to find out who it is and see that they’re locked up for life.”

  “The two of you? Who appointed you to the FBI?”

  “We appointed ourselves,” Roy said, taking a step forward toward Richard, looking a bit menacing for an old drunk man.

  “We shouldn’t have come,” I said, taking Roy by the arm. “I’m sorry. We’re leaving.”

  “I want to get to the truth just as much as anyone else,” Richard said. “That ice pick wasn’t Jason’s. There were other people here the day it was found, including you,” he said to me. “How do I know you’re not the killer and you tucked the weapon away under the sofa to frame Jason?”

  “What? Why would I … ?” I shook my head in disbelief, but he was right. “Was anyone else here that day other than me, Monica, and Lana?”

  “No, but the three of you are enough. One of you must’ve done it.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me or Monica,” I said. “It had to have been Lana if it wasn’t Jason’s.”

  I remembered the way she shoved the bottle of moonshine deeper into her bag, and the way I had hidden the pill bottle in the couch. She could’ve done the same, rolling the ice pick right underneath at the same time I was tucking that pill bottle between the cushions.

  “Lana loved Clayton like a brother,” Richard said. “They’d known each other their whole lives, just like Starnes and David.”

  “Most murders are done by loved ones,” Roy said, repeating his reasoning from earlier. “Which is why I’m interested in your whereabouts the morning of your brother’s murder.”

  “I’ve put up with this nonsense long enough. It’s time you leave.” Richard stormed to the door and swung it open. “And don’t come back.”

  I hustled through the door onto the porch. Roy took his time, like a peacock with his feathers furled, strutting past Richard. “Don’t leave town,” he said, lifting his chin. “We’ll be in touch.”

  The door slammed behind us. I heard Ginger let out a few disgruntled barks from inside.

  “That went well,” Roy said, tugging on the bottom of his worn, navy blue polyester sports coat.

  “Well? It was a nightmare.”

  We got back into the car. I wanted to yell at Roy, but the gears in my mind were working overtime. “I think he might have been on to something. What if the ice pick isn’t Jason’s after all?”

  “Let’s get some coffee and pie and discuss this further. There’s a place right down the road here.”

  “How about a cheeseburger and fries instead? I could really go for McDonald’s.” It was my greatest weakness. I’d never give up my cheeseburgers.

  “Even better.”

  I drove to the nearest one in Brookville. We went inside, ordered, and settled into a booth. “Going by Richard’s theory,” I said, “the ice pick had to belong to either Richard himself, Robin, Jason, me, Monica, or Lana. We can exclude me and Monica, of course.”

  “Can we?” Roy asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Don’t get smart,” I said. “So that leaves the other four to consider.”

  “Robin’s got no reason to kill David.” Roy took a bite of his cheeseburger and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “She’s got a nice life in Lexington, and I don’t see her having the guts to jab an ice pick into a man’s head.”

  “I agree. I don’t want to write her off completely yet, but she’s the most improbable.”

  “Jason coulda done it, but the motive of him being mad at Dixon for being in the festival seems like a stretch.”

  “I saw firsthand how mad he was that the festival was even going to happen, so I’m not ready to let that one go yet.”

  “Fair enough, but I’m betting my money on Richard. Those two have been at odds for as long as they’ve been brothers.”

  I dipped a fry in ketchup, considering. “A lot of brothers bicker and don’t get along. What makes you think it was more than that with Richard and Clayton? Enough to make Richard kill him?”

  “He’s always been a sly one. He’s made a lot of money in his life by being in the right place at the right time. I have a feeling there’s more to him coming up to visit Clayton than just brotherly love and forgiveness.”

  “Okay, so he stays on the list. What about Lana?”

  “Can’t see why she’d want Clayton dead. Heck, with him gone, half of the money she and Starnes make on moonshine is gone with him.”

  “Half? He drank that much?”

  “Nah, but he used it to barter with. Gave them a lot of customers coming to get more when they found out where he got it from.”

  “So, essentially, he was advertising for them.”

  “Sure, if you want to see it like that.”

  “Then it doesn’t really make sense for Lana to be the one who hid the murder weapon.”

  “None at all.” He popped the last bit of cheeseburger into his mouth.

  Still, I had something telling me not to write off Lana just yet. “I’ll have to think about that some more.”

  “You do that.”

  “Roy, why didn’t you ever tell me you’re an Army veteran?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t come up, I guess.”

  “Well, thank you for your service.”

  “How about one of them apple pies as a thank-you?”

  “And a coffee to go with it?”

  “You read my mind Cameron Cripps-Hayman. You read my mind.”

  By the time I got up the next morning, Mia was already at school, Ben was at work, and Monica was baking up a storm in the kitchen. “I can’t believe I slept until ten o’clock,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “I can’t remember the last time I slept this late.”

  “It’s the weather,” Monica said, rolling out a ball of dough. “I’d hibernate like a bear for the winter if I could get away with it.”

  “Thanks for letting me use your car last night.”

  “Anytime you need it, it’s yours to use. You should probably look into getting one, though.”

  “I
know. I will.”

  “You need something huge for all those dogs, like a big old Suburban.”

  “That’s true. I’m going to ask Quinn when he can get them scheduled for training.”

  “He might be able to do it here. It’s not like he isn’t over all the time.”

  “Oh! The perks of having a sister dating a K9 trainer.”

  “Yes,” she said, grinning. “Another one is a trip to Ireland. Well, that’s a perk for me, not you. He’s taking me to meet his family in the spring.”

  “Meeting the family all the way in Ireland? This is serious, Mon.”

  “It is. I think he’s going to propose while we’re there.” Her shoulders hunched up and she let out a little squeak of excitement.

  “I’m so happy for you!” I grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. “First a successful business, and now this.”

  “And all because I moved to this little no-stoplight town. I never would’ve guessed it.”

  “I told you, there’s more here than fried chicken and antiques.”

  We laughed and the dogs got into the action, yipping and barking like they thought something was hilarious, too. Then a knock on the door sent them careening into the front hall.

  “That’s probably Johnna,” Monica said. “She’s picking up dog treats she asked me to make with crushed pretzels in them.”

  “Charlie is so spoiled,” I said.

  “I told her pretzels weren’t a healthy option for dogs, but she insisted.”

  Monica let Johnna in and the two of them walked back into the kitchen. “Still in your jammies, Cam?” Johnna asked, shaking her head. “You missed the whole morning, didn’t you?”

  “I just need to put your treats into bags,” Monica said.

  “No need. I brought this plastic container with me.” She handed a bowl with a snap tight lid to Monica. “Might as well save the packaging for someone else.”

  “Want a cup of coffee?” I asked, being polite.

  “No, thank you. I can’t stay.”

  “Busy day?” I asked, wondering what Johnna was up to. She was the biggest gossip in town, which meant she always had information to share.